“Turning to the celestial city, to infinite serenities, to love
  without limit, to perfect joy.”

The next evening Peter and Suneva and Dr. Balloch sat around Jan’s hearth, and talked of all that he had seen and done during his absence.  “But where is Michael Snorro?” asked the doctor.  “I thought to have heard him talk to-night.”

“Snorro stays by the yacht.  His quarters are on her, and she is in his charge.  No one finds Snorro far from the post of duty,” answered Jan proudly.  “He is the best sailor in her Majesty’s service, and the best fighter.”

“That is likely,” said Peter.  “Since the days of Harold Halfager, the Snorros have been called good fighters.”

“And why not?” asked Suneva, with a proud toss of her handsome head.  “He is pure Norse.  Will a Norseman turn from any fight in a good cause?  That he will not Peter, there is none can tell us better what the Norseman is than thou can.  Speak out now, for Jan and the minister will be glad to hear thee.”

Every Shetlander can recite.  Suneva had taught Peter to believe that no one could recite as well as he could; so he laid down his pipe, and, with great spirit and enthusiasm, spoke thus: 

  “A swarthy strength with face of light,
  As dark sword-iron is beaten bright;
  A brave, frank look, with health aglow,
  Bonny blue eyes and open brow;
  A man who’ll face to his last breath
  The sternest facts of life and death;
  His friend he welcomes heart-in-hand,
  But foot to foot his foe must stand;
          This is the daring Norseman.

  The wild wave motion, weird and strange,
  Rocks in him:  seaward he must range. 
  He hides at heart of his rough life
  A world of sweetness for his wife;

  From his rude breast a babe can press
  Soft milk of human tenderness,
  Make his eyes water, his heart dance,
  And sunrise in his countenance;
          The mild, great-hearted Norseman.

  Valiant and true, as Sagas tell,
  The Norseman hateth lies like hell;
  Hardy from cradle to the grave,
  ’Tis his religion to be brave;
  Great, silent, fighting men, whose words
  Were few, soon said, and out with swords! 
  One saw his heart cut from his side
  Living-and smiled, and smiling, died,
          The unconquerable Norseman!

  Still in our race the Norse king reigns,
  His best blood beats along our veins;
  With his old glory we can glow,
  And surely sail where he could row. 
  Is danger stirring?  Up from sleep
  Our war-dog wakes the watch to keep,
  Stands with our banner over him,
  True as of old, and stern and grim;
          The brave, true-hearted Norseman.

  When swords are gleaming you shall see
  The Norseman’s face flash gloriously;
  With look that makes the foeman reel: 
  His mirror from of old was steel. 
  And still he wields, in battle’s hour,
  That old Thor’s hammer of Norse power;
  Strikes with a desperate arm of might,
  And at the last tug turns the fight: 
          For never yields the Norseman.”

“That is true,” said Jan; “and Snorro knows not the way to yield.  Once, on the river Songibusar, when we were attacking Sherif Osman, there was danger that a battery would be taken in reverse.  ‘The Ajax’ had come up to assist the ‘Hydra,’ and her commander sent a sergeant to tell Snorro that he had better spike his gun and retreat.”

Suneva laughed scornfully, and asked, “Well, then, what did Snorro answer?”

“’Thou tell him that sent thee, that Michael Snorro takes his orders only from Captain Jan Vedder, and Captain Vedder has not said “retreat.”  No, indeed!’ Then he got his gun round to bear on the enemy, and he poured such a fire down on them that they fled, fled quick enough.  As for Snorro, he did things almost impossible.”

“Well, Jan, Osman was a very bad man.  It is not well to pity the downfall of tyrants.  He had made Bornéo, it seems, a hell upon earth.”

“My minister, he was a devil and no man.  But five hundred free blue jackets were more than he could bear.  We utterly destroyed all his forts, and took all his cannon, and made the coast habitable.”

“To-day,” said Margaret, “I heard thee say to Snorro, ’when thou comes next on shore, bring with thee that idol of Chappo’s for the minister.’  Who then is Chappo?”

“A wretch worth fighting.  A Chinese pirate who came out against us with forty junks, each junk carrying ten guns and a crew of fifty men.  He had been blockading the island of Potoo, where many English ladies had taken refuge.  It is not fit to name the deeds of these devils.  We took from them sixty wretched captives, destroyed one hundred of their crafts and two hundred of their guns, and thus enabled a large number of merchant vessels which had been shut up in different rivers for ransom, to escape.  There was even a worse state of affairs on the Sarabas.  There we were assisted by an American ship called ’The Manhattan,’ and with her aid destroyed a piratical expedition numbering one hundred and twenty proas carrying more than twelve hundred men.  These wretches before starting beheaded and mutilated all their women captives, and left their bodies with that of a child about six years old upon the beach.  Snorro’s wrath that day was terrible.  He shut his ears to every cry for mercy.  I do not blame him; indeed, no.”

Thus they talked, until the minister said, “Now I must go to my own house, for Hamish is full of fears for me if I am late.”  So Jan walked with him.  It was midnight, but the moon was high in the zenith, and the larks singing rapturously in mid-air.  A tender, mystical glow was over earth and sea, and both were as still as if they were a picture.  Many good words were said on that walk, and the man who was saved and the man who saved him both lay down upon their beds that night with full and thankful hearts.

For two months, full of quiet joy, Jan and Margaret occupied their old home.  They were almost as much alone as in their honeymoon; for little Jan spent most of his time with his friend Snorro, on board “The Lapwing.”  Snorro had been much pleased to join his old mates in the fishing boats, but he could not bear to put off, even for a day, his uniform.  However, Jan and he and little Jan often sailed in advance of the fleet, and found the herring, and brought word back what course to steer.  For this knowledge was a kind of instinct with Jan; he could stand and look east and west, north and south, and then by some occult premonition, strike the belt of fish.

Never had Jan dreamed of such happiness as came at last to him in that humble home of his early married life.  It was a late harvest of joy, but it was a sure one.  Margaret had wept tears of fond regret in all its rooms; its hearth had been an altar of perpetual repentance to her.  But the sorrow had been followed by the joy of forgiveness, and the bliss of re-union.  Its walls now echoed the fond words of mutual trust and affection, and the hearty communings of friendship.  There was no stint in its hospitality; no worry over trivial matters.  Margaret had learned that in true marriage the wife must give as well as take-give love and forbearance, and help and comfort.

Jan’s and Snorro’s visit was a kind of festival for Lerwick.  Though it was the busy season, Peter and Suneva kept open house.  Never had Peter been so generous both in friendship and in business; never had Suneva dressed so gayly, or set such plenteous feasts.  She was very proud of Margaret’s position, and paid her unconsciously a vast respect; but she opened all her warm heart to little Jan, and every thing that was hers she determined to give him.

Dr. Balloch, in his quiet way, enjoyed the visit equally.  He went very often to sea in the yacht with Jan and Snorro, and, in the happy intercourse with them, the long days were short ones to him.  He saw the full fruition of his faith and charity, and was satisfied.

Fortunately, after this event Jan was never very long away at one time.  Until the Russian war he made short cruises in the African seas, and Snorro had many opportunities of realizing the joy of liberating the slave, and punishing the oppressor.  In the toil and suffering of the Crimea, Jan and Snorro bore their part bravely.  Jan had charge of a naval brigade formed of contingents from the ships of the allied fleets.  No men did a greater variety of duties or behaved more gallantly than these blue jackets on shore.  They dragged the heavy guns from their ships, and they fought in the batteries.  They carried the scaling ladders in assaults.  They landed the stores.  They cheerfully worked as common laborers on that famous road between Balaclava and Sebastopol, for they knew that on its completion depended the lives of the brave men famishing and dying on the heights.

But after many happy, busy years, Jan came home one day and found only Margaret to welcome him.  His son Jan was commanding his own vessel in Australian waters; his son Peter was in the East Indies.  His daughters’ homes were far apart, Margaret, with fast silvering hair, and the heavy step of advancing years, longed greatly for the solace and strength of his constant presence; and Jan confessed that he was a little weary of the toil, and even of the glory of his life.

The fact once admitted, the desire for retirement grew with its discussion.  In a little while Jan and Snorro returned to Shetland for the evening of their lives.  They had been twenty years away, but Lerwick was very little changed.  The old world had not been invaded by the new one.  Here and there the busy spirit of the age had left a finger-mark; no more.  The changes were mostly those which under any circumstances would have come.  Doctor Balloch had finished his work, and gone to his reward.  Peter’s store was in another name, but Peter, though a very old man, was bright and hale, and quite able to take an almost childlike interest in all Jan’s plans and amusements.

At first Jan thought of occupying himself with building a fine new house; but after he had been a week in Shetland, his ambitious project seemed almost ridiculous.  He noticed also that Margaret’s heart clung to her old home, the plain little house in which she had suffered, and enjoyed, and learned so much.  So he sat down contentedly on the hearth from which he began a life whose troubled dawning had been succeeded by a day so brilliant, and an evening so calm.

Snorro, never far away, and never long away, from his “dear captain,” his “dear Jan,” bought the little cottage in which he had once lived.  There he hung again the pictured Christ, and there he arranged, in his own way, all the treasures he had gathered during his roving life.  Snorro’s house was a wonderful place to the boys of Lerwick.  They entered it with an almost awful delight.  They sat hour after hour, listening to the kind, brave, good man, in whom every child found a friend and comforter.  His old mates also dearly loved to spend their evenings with Snorro, and hear him tell about the dangers he had passed through, and the deeds he had done.

How fair! how calm and happy was this evening of a busy day!  Yet in its sweet repose many a voice from the outside world reached the tired wayfarers.  There were frequent letters from Jan’s children, and they came from all countries, and brought all kinds of strange news.  There were rare visits from old friends, messages and tokens of remembrance, and numerous books and papers that kept for them the echoes of the places they had left.

Neither did they feel the days long, or grow weary with inaction.  Jan and Snorro, like the majority of men, whose life-work is finished, conceived a late but ardent affection for their mother earth.  They each had gardens and small hot-houses, and they were always making experiments with vegetables and flowers.  It was wonderful how much pleasure they got out of the patches of ground they tried to beautify.  Then the fishing season always renewed their youth.  The boats in which Jan or Snorro took a place were the lucky boats, and often both men sat together during the watch, as they had done long years before, and talked softly in the exquisite Shetland night of all the good that had come to them.

For the companionship between these two souls grew closer and fonder as they drew nearer to the heavenly horizon.  They were more and more together, they walked the long watches again, and fought over their battles, and recalled the hours which had been link after link in that chain of truest love which had bound their hearts and lives together.

And Margaret, still beautiful, with hair as white as snow, and a face as fair and pink as a pale rose-leaf, sat smiling, and listening, and knitting beside them; no fears in any of their hearts to beat away, no strife to heal, the past unsighed for, the future sure, they made a picture of old age, well won,

          “Serene and bright
  And lovely as a Shetland night.”

Transcriber’s note: 

Archaic spellings have been preserved, including rereward, throstle, wadmall, and lish.

Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (italics).