Jutland - Fishermen Stands Erect

"Let bygones be bygones," said Morten; and thereupon they became much
better friends. When they returned to Jutland and the sand-hills, and
told all that had passed, it was remarked that Jörgen might boil over,
but he was an honest pot for all that.

"But not of Jutland manufacture—he cannot be called a Jutlander," was
Morten's witty reply.

They were both young and healthy, well-grown, and strongly built, but
Jörgen was the most active.

Up in Norway the country people repair to the summer pastures among
the mountains, and take their cattle there to grass. On the west coast
of Jutland, among the sand-hills, are huts built of pieces of wrecks,
and covered with peat and layers of heather. The sleeping-places
stretch round the principal room; and there sleep and live, during the
early spring time, the people employed in the fishing. Every one has
his Æsepige, as she is called, whose business it is to put bait on
the hooks, to await the fishermen at their landing-place with warm
ale, and have their food ready for them when they return weary to the
house. These girls carry the fish from the boats, and cut them up; in
short, they have a great deal to do.

Jörgen, his father, and a couple of other fishermen, with their
Æsepiger, or serving girls, were together in one house. Morten lived
in the house next to theirs.[23]

There was one of these girls called Elsé, whom Jörgen had known from
her infancy. They were great friends, and much alike in disposition,
though very different in appearance. He was of a dark complexion, and
she was very fair, with hair almost of a golden colour; her eyes were
as blue as the sea when the sun is shining upon it.

One day when they were walking together, and Jörgen was holding her
hand with a tight and affectionate grasp, she said to him,—

"Jörgen, I have something on my mind. Let me be your Æsepige, for
you are to me like a brother; but Morten, who has hired me at
present—he and I are sweethearts. Do not mention this, however, to
any one."

And Jörgen felt as if a sand-hill had opened under him. He did not
utter a single word, but nodded his head by way of a yes—more was not
necessary; but he felt suddenly in his heart that he could not endure
Morten, and the longer he reflected on the matter the clearer it
became to him. Morten had stolen from him the only one he cared for,
and that was Elsé. She was now lost to him.

If the sea should be boisterous when the fishermen return with their
little smacks, it is curious to see them cross the reefs. One of the
fishermen stands erect in advance, the others watch him intently,
while sitting with their oars ready to use when he gives them a sign
that now are coming the great waves which will lift the boats over;
and they are lifted, so that those on shore can only see their keels.
The next moment the entire boat is hidden by the surging
waves—neither boat, nor mast, nor people are to be seen: one would
fancy the sea had swallowed them up. A minute or two more, and they
show themselves, looking as if some mighty marine[24] monsters were
creeping out of the foaming sea, the oars moving like their legs. With
the second and the third reef the same process takes place as with the
first; and now the fishermen spring into the water and drag the boats
on shore, every succeeding billow helping and giving them a good lift
until they are fairly out of the water. One false move on the outside
of the reefs—one moment's delay, and they would be shipwrecked.