The White Wolf and Other Fireside Tales by Arthur Thomas Quiller Couch

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THE WHITE WOLF AND OTHER FIRESIDE TALES.

By Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch ('Q').

CONTENTS.

MIRACLE OF THE WHITE WOLF.

SINDBAD ON BURRATOR.

VICTOR.

THE CAPTURE OF THE _BURGOMEISTER VAN DER WERF.

KING O' PRUSSIA.

THE MAN WHO COULD HAVE TOLD.

THE CELLARS OF RUEDA.

THE HAUNTED YACHT.

PARSON JACK'S FORTUNE.

THE BURGLARY CLUB.

CONCERNING ST. JOHN OF JERUSALEM.

COX _VERSUS_ PRETYMAN.

THE BRIDALS OF YSSELMONDE.

ENGLAND!

JOHN AND THE GHOSTS.

THREE PHOTOGRAPHS.

THE TALKING SHIPS.

THE KEEPERS OF THE LAMP.

TWO BOYS.

THE SENIOR FELLOW.

BALLAST.

THE MIRACLE OF THE _WHITE WOLF_.

I.--THE TALE OF SNORRI GAMLASON

In the early summer of 1358, with the breaking up of the ice, there came
to Brattahlid, in Greenland, a merchant-ship from Norway, with
provisions for the Christian settlements on the coast. The master's
name was Snorri Gamlason, and it happened that as he sailed into
Eric's Fiord and warped alongside the quay, word was brought to him that
the Bishop of Garda had arrived that day in Brattahlid, to hold a
confirmation. Whereupon this Snorri went ashore at once, and, getting
audience of the Bishop, gave him a little book, with an account of how
he had come by it.

The book was written in Danish, and Snorri could not understand a word
of it, being indeed unable to read or to write; but he told this
tale:--

His ship, about three weeks before, had run into a calm, which lasted
for three days and two nights, and with a northerly drift she fell away,
little by little, towards a range of icebergs which stretched across and
ahead of them in a solid chain. But about noon of the third day the
colour of the sky warned him of a worse peril, and soon there came up
from the westward a bank of fog, with snow in it, and a wind that
increased until they began to hear the ice grinding and breaking up--
as it seemed--all around them. Snorri steered at first for the
southward, where had been open water; but by and by found that even here
were drifting bergs. He therefore put his helm down and felt his way
through the weather by short boards, and so, with the most of his men
stationed forward to keep a look-out, fenced, as it were, with the
danger, steering and tacking, until by God's grace the fog lifted, and
the wind blew gently once more.

And now in the clear sunshine he saw that the storm had been more
violent than any had supposed; since the wall of ice, which before had
been solid, was now burst and riven in many places, and in particular to
the eastward, where a broad path of water lay before them almost like a
canal, but winding here and there. Towards this Snorri steered, and
entered it with a fair breeze.

They had come, he said, but to the second bend of this waterway, when a
seaman, who had climbed the mast on the chance of spying an outlet,
called out in surprise that there was a ship ahead of them, but two
miles off, and running down the channel before the wind, even as they.
At first he found no credit for this tale, and even when those on deck
spied her mast and yard overtopping a gap between two bergs, they could
only set it down for a mirage or cheat of eyesight in the clear weather.

But by and by, said Snorri, they could not doubt they were in chase of a
ship, and, further, that they were fast overtaking her. For she steered
with no method, and shook with every slant of wind, and anon went off
before it like a helpless thing, until in the end she was fetched up by
the jutting foot of a berg, and there shook her sail, flapping with such
noise that Snorri's men heard it, though yet a mile away.

They bore down upon her, and now took note that this sail of hers was
ragged and frozen, so that it flapped like a jointed board, and that her
rigging hung in all ways and untended, but stiff with rime; and drawing
yet nearer, they saw an ice-line about her hull, so deep that her
timbers seemed bitten through, and a great pile of frozen snow upon her
poop, banked even above her tiller; but no helmsman, and no living soul
upon her.

Then Snorri let lower his boat, and was rowed towards her; and, coming
alongside, gave a hail, which was unanswered. But from the frozen pile
by the tiller there stuck out a man's arm, ghastly to see.
Snorri climbed on board by the waist, where her sides were low and a
well reached aft from the mast to the poop. There was a cabin beneath
the poop, and another and larger room under the deck forward, between
the step of the mast and the bows. Into each of these he broke with
axes and bars, and in the one found nothing but some cooking-pots and
bedding; but in the other--that is, the after-cabin--the door, as he
burst it in, almost fell against a young man seated by a bed.
So life-like was he that Snorri called aloud in the doorway, but anon,
peering into the gloomy place, perceived the body to be frozen upright
and stiff, and that on the bed lay another body, of a lady slight and
young, and very fair. She, too, was dead and frozen; yet her cheeks,
albeit white as the pillow against which they rested, had not lost their
roundness. Snorri took note also of her dress and of the coverlet
reaching from the bed's foot to her waist, that they were of silk for
the most part, and richly embroidered, and her shift and the bed-sheets
about her of fine linen. The man's dress was poor and coarse by
comparison; yet he carried a sword, and was plainly of gentle nurture.
The sword Snorri drew from its sheath and brought away; also he took a
small box of jewels; but little else could he find on the ship, and no
food of any kind.

His design was to leave the ship as he found it, carrying away only
these tokens that his story, when he arrived at Brattahlid, might be
received with faith; and to direct where the ship might be sought for.
But as he quitted the cabin some of his men shouted from the deck, where
they had discovered yet another body frozen in a drift. This was an old
man seated with crossed legs and leaning against the mast, having an
ink-horn slung about his neck, and almost hidden by his grey beard, and
on his knee a book, which he held with a thumb frozen between two pages.

This was the book which Snorri had brought to Brattahlid, and which the
Bishop of Garda read aloud to him that same afternoon, translating as he
went; the ink being fresh, the writing clerkly, and scarcely a page
damaged by the weather. It bore no title; but the Bishop, who
afterwards caused his secretary to take a copy of the tale, gave it a
very long one, beginning: "God's mercy shown in a Miracle upon certain
castaways from Jutland, at the Feast of the Nativity of His Blessed Son,
our Lord, in the year MCCCLVII., whereby He made dead trees to put forth
in leaf, and comforted desperate men with summer in the midst of the
Frozen Sea" . . . with much beside. But all this appears in the tale,
which I will head only with the name of the writer.

II.--PETER KURT'S MANUSCRIPT [1]

Now that our troubles are over, and I sit by the mast of our late
unhappy ship, not knowing if I am on earth or in paradise, but full-fed
and warm in all my limbs, yea pierced and glowing with the love of
Almighty God, I am resolved to take pen and use my unfrozen ink in
telling out of what misery His hand hath led us to this present Eden.

I who write this am Peter Kurt, and I was the steward of my master Ebbe
while he dwelt in his own castle of Nebbegaard. Poor he was then, and
poor, I suppose, he is still in all but love and the favour of God; but
in those days the love was but an old servant's (to wit, my own), and
the favour of God not evident, but the poverty, on the other hand,
bitterly apparent in all our housekeeping. We lived alone, with a
handful of servants--sometimes as few as three--in the castle which
stands between the sandhills and the woods, as you sail into Veile
Fiord. All these woods, as far away as to Rosenvold, had been the good
knight his father's, but were lost to us before Ebbe's birth, and leased
on pledge to the Knight Borre, of Egeskov, of whom I am to tell; and
with them went all the crew of verderers, huntsmen, grooms, prickers,
and ostringers that had kept Nebbegaard cheerful the year round.
His mother had died at my master's birth, and the knight himself but two
years after, so that the lad grew up in his poverty with no heritage but
a few barren acres of sand, a tumbling house, and his father's sword,
and small prospect of winning the broad lands out of Borre's clutches.

Nevertheless, under my tutoring he grew into a tall lad and a bold, a
good swordsman, skilful at the tilt and in handling a boat; but not
talkative or free in his address of strangers. The most of his days he
spent in fishing, or in the making and mending of gear; and his
evenings, after our lesson in sword-play, in the reading of books (of
which Nebbegaard had good store), and specially of the Icelanders,
skalds and sagamen; also at times in the study of Latin with me, who had
been bred to the priesthood, but left it for love of his father, my
foster-brother, and now had no ambition of my own but to serve this lad
and make him as good a man.

But there were days when he would have naught to do with fishing or with
books; dark days when I forbore and left him to mope by the dunes, or in
the great garden which had been his mother's, but was now a wilderness
untended. And it was then that he first met with the lady Mette.

For as he walked there one morning, a little before noon, a swift shadow
passed overhead between him and the sun, and almost before he could
glance upward a body came dropping out of the sky and fell with a thud
among the rose-bushes by the eastern wall. It was a heron, and after it
swooped the bird which had murdered it; a white ger-falcon of the kind
which breeds in Greenland, but a trained bird, as he knew by the sound
of the bells on her legs as she plunged through the bushes. Ebbe ran at
once to the corner where the birds struggled; but as he picked up the
pelt he happened to glance towards the western wall, and in the gateway
there stood a maiden with her hand on the bridle of a white palfrey.
Her dog came running towards Ebbe as he stood. He beat it off, and
carrying the pelt across to its mistress, waited a moment silently, cap
in hand, while she called the great falcon back to its lure and leashed
it to her wrist, which seemed all too slight for the weight.

Then, as Ebbe held out the dead heron, she shook her head and laughed.
"I am not sure, sir, that I have any right to it. We flushed it yonder
between the wood and the sandhills, and, though I did not stay to
consider, I think it must belong to the owner of the shore-land."

"It is true," said Ebbe, "that I own the shore-land, and the forest,
too, if law could enforce right. But for the bird you are welcome to
it, and to as many more as you care to kill."

Upon this she knit her brows. "The forest? But I thought that the
forest was my father's? My name," said she, "is Mette, and my father is
the Knight Borre, of Egeskov."

"I am Ebbe of Nebbegaard, and," said he, perceiving the mirth in her
eyes, "you have heard the rhyme upon me--

"'Ebbe from Nebbe, with all his men good,
Has neither food nor firing-wood.'"

"I had not meant to be discourteous," said she contritely; "but tell me
more of these forest-lands."

"Nay," answered Ebbe, "hither comes riding your father with his men.
Ask him for the story, and when he has told it you may know why I cannot
make him or his daughter welcome at Nebbegaard."

To this she made no reply, but with her hand on the palfrey's bridle
went slowly back to meet her father, who reined up at a little distance
and waited, offering Ebbe no salutation. Then a groom helped her to the
saddle, and the company rode away towards Egeskov, leaving the lad with
the dead bird in his hand.

For weeks after this meeting he moped more than usual. He had known
before that Sir Borre would leave no son, and that the lands of
Nebbegaard, if ever to be won back, must be wrested from a woman--and
this had ever troubled him. It troubled me the less because I hoped
there might be another way than force; and even if it should come to
that, Sir Borre's past treachery had killed in me all kindness towards
his house, male or female.

He and my old master and five other knights of the eastern coast had
been heavily oppressed by the Lord of Trelde, Lars Trolle, who owned
many ships, and, though no better than a pirate, claimed a right of
levying tribute along the shore that faces Funen, upon pretence of
protecting it. After enduring many raids and paying toll under threat
for years, these seven knights banded together to rid themselves of this
robber; but word of their meetings being carried to Trolle, he came
secretly one night to Nebbegaard with three ships' crews, broke down the
doors, and finding the seven assembled in debate, made them prisoners
and held them at ransom. My master, a poor man, could only purchase
release by the help of his comrade, Borre, who found the ransom, but
took in exchange the lands of Nebbegaard, to hold them until repaid out
of their revenues; but of these he could never after be brought to give
an account. We on our side had lost the power to enforce it, and behind
his own strength he could now threaten us with Lars Trolle's, to whom he
had been reconciled.

Therefore I felt no tenderness for Sir Borre's house, if by any means
our estates could be recovered. But after this meeting with Sir Borre's
daughter, I could see that my young lord went heavily troubled; and I
began to think of other means than force.

It may have been six months later that word fame to us of great stir and
bustle at Egeskov. Sir Borre, being aged, and anxious to see his
daughter married before he died, had proclaimed a Bride-show. Now the
custom is, and the rule, that any suitor (so he be of gentle birth) may
offer himself in these contests; nor will the parents begin to bargain
until he has approved himself,--a wise plan, since it lessens the
disputing, which else might be endless. So when this news reached us I
looked at my master, and he, perceiving what I would say, answered it.

"If Holgar will carry me," said he, "we will ride to Egeskov."

This Holgar was a stout roan horse, foaled at Nebbegaard, but now well
advanced in years, and the last of that red stock for which our stables
had been famous.

"He will carry you thither," said I; "and by God's grace, bring you home
with a bride behind you."

Upon this my master hung his head. "Peter," he said, "do not think I
attempt this because it is the easier way."

"It comes easier than fighting with a woman," I answered. "But you will
find it hard enow when the old man begins to haggle."

I did not know then that the lad's heart was honestly given to this
maid; but so it was, and had been from the moment when she stood before
him in the gateway.

So to Egeskov we rode, and there found no less than forty suitors
assembled, and some with a hundred servants in retinue. Sir Borre
received us with no care to hide his scorn, though the hour had not come
for putting it into words; and truly my master's arms were
old-fashioned, and with the dents they had honourably taken when they
cased his father, made a poor battered show, for all my scouring.

Nevertheless, I had no fear when his turn came to ride the ring.
Three rides had each wooer under the lady Mette's eyes, and three rings
Ebbe carried off and laid on the cushion before her. She stooped and
passed about his neck the gold chain which she held for the prize; but I
think they exchanged no looks. Only one other rider brought two rings,
and this was a son of Lars Trolle, Olaf by name, a tall young knight,
and well-favoured, but disdainful; whom I knew Sir Borre must favour if
he could.

I could not see that the maiden favoured him above the rest, yet I kept
a close eye upon this youth, and must own that in the jousting which
followed he carried himself well. For this the most of the wooers had
fresh horses, and I drew a long breath when, at the close of the third
course, my master, with two others, remained in the lists. For it had
been announced to us that the last courses should be ridden on the
morrow. But now Sir Borre behaved very treacherously, for perceiving
(as I am sure) that the horse Holgar was overwearied and panting, he
gave word that the sport should not be stayed. More by grace of Heaven
it was than by force of riding that Ebbe unhorsed his next man, a
knight's son from Smalling; but in the last course, which he rode
against Olaf of Trolle, who had stood a bye, his good honest beast came
to the tilt-cloth with knees trembling, and at a touch rolled over,
though between the two lances (I will swear) there was nothing to
choose. I was quick to pick up my dear lad; but he would have none of
my comfort, and limped away from the lists as one who had borne himself
shamefully. Yea, and my own heart was hot as I led Holgar back to
stable, without waiting to see the prize claimed by one who, though a
fair fighter, had not won it without foul aid.

Having stalled Holgar I had much ado to find his master again, and
endless work to persuade him to quit his sulks and join the other
suitors in the hall that night, when each presented his bride-gift.
Even when I had won him over, he refused to take the coffer I placed in
his hands, though it held his mother's jewels, few but precious.
But entering with the last, as became his humble rank of esquire, he
laid nothing at the lady's feet save his sword and the chain that she
herself had given him.

"You bring little, Squire Ebbe," said the Knight Borre, from his seat
beside his daughter.

"I bring what is most precious in the world to me," said Ebbe.

"Your lance is broken, I believe?" said the old knight scornfully.

"My lance is not broken," he answered; "else you should have it to match
your word." And rising, without a look at Mette, whose eyes were
downcast, he strode back to the door.

I had now given up hope, for the maid showed no sign of kindness, and
the old man and the youth were like two dogs--the very sight of the one
set the other growling. Yet--since to leave in a huff would have been
discourteous--I prevailed on my master to bide over the morrow, and even
to mount Holgar and ride forth to the hunt which was to close the
Bride-show. He mounted, indeed, but kept apart and well behind Mette
and her brisk group of wooers. For, apart from his lack of inclination,
his horse was not yet recovered; and by and by, as the prickers started
a deer, the hunt swept ahead of him and left him riding alone.

He had a mind to turn aside and ride straight back to Nebbegaard,
whither he had sent me on to announce him (and dismally enough I
obeyed), when at the end of a green glade he spied Mette returning alone
on her white palfrey.

"For I am tired of this hunting," she told him, as she came near.
"And you? Does it weary you also, that you lag so far behind?"

"It would never weary me," he answered; "but I have a weary horse."

"Then let us exchange," said she. "Though mine is but a palfrey, it
would carry you better. Your roan betrayed you yesterday, and it is
better to borrow than to miss excelling."

"My house," answered Ebbe, still sulkily, "has had enough borrowing of
Egeskov; and my horse may be valueless, but he is one of the few things
dear to me, and I must keep him."

"Truly then," said she, "your words were nought, last night, when you
professed to offer me the gifts most precious to you in the world."

And before he could reply to this, she had pricked on and was lost in
the woodland.

Ebbe sat for a while as she left him, considering, at the crossing of
two glades. Then he twitched Holgar's rein and turned back towards
Nebbegaard. But at the edge of the wood, spying a shepherd seated below
in the plain by his flock, he rode down to the man, and called to him
and said--

"Go this evening to Egeskov and greet the lady Mette, and say to her
that Ebbe of Nebbegaard could not barter his good horse, the last of his
father's stable. But that she may know he was honest in offering her
the thing most precious to him, tell her further what thou hast seen."

So saying, he alighted off Holgar, and, smoothing his neck, whispered a
word in his ear. And the old horse turned his muzzle and rubbed it
against his master's left palm, whose right gripped a dagger and drove
it straight for the heart. This was the end of the roan stock of
Nebbegaard.

My master Ebbe reached home that night with the mire thick on his boots.
Having fed him, I went to the stables, and finding no Holgar made sure
that he had killed the poor beast in wrath for his discomforture at the
tilt. The true reason he gave me many days after. I misjudged him,
judging him by his father's temper.

On the morrow of the Bride-show the suitors took their leave of Egeskov,
under promise to return again at the month's end and hear how the lady
Mette had chosen. So they went their ways, none doubting that the
fortunate one would be Olaf of Trelde; and, for me, I blamed myself that
we had ever gone to Egeskov.

But on the third morning after the Bride-show I changed this advice very
suddenly; for going at six of the morning to unlock our postern gate, as
my custom was, I found a tall black stallion tethered there and left
without a keeper. His harness was of red leather, and each broad
crimson rein bore certain words embroidered: on the one "A Straight
Quarrel is Soonest Mended "; on the other, "Who Will Dare Learns
Swiftness."

Little time I lost in calling my master to admire, and having read what
was written, he looked in my eyes and said, "I go back to Egeskov."

"That is well done," said I; "may the Almighty God prosper it!"

"But," said he doubtfully, "if I determine on a strange thing, will you
help me, Peter? I may need a dozen men; men without wives to miss
them."

"I can yet find a dozen such along the fiord," I answered.

"And we go on a long journey, perhaps never to return to Nebbegaard."

"Dear master," said I, "what matter where my old bones lie after they
have done serving you?" He kissed me and rode away to Egeskov.

"I thought that the Squire of Nebbe had done with us," Sir Borre began
to sneer, when Ebbe found audience. "But the Bride-show is over, my
man, and I give not my answer for a month yet."

"Your word is long to pledge, and longer to redeem," said Ebbe.
"I know that, were I to wait a twelvemonth, you would not of free will
give me Mette."

"Ah, you know that, do you? Well, then, you are right, Master Lackland,
and the greater your impudence in hoping to wile from me through my
daughter what you could not take by force."

Ebbe replied, "I was prepared to find it difficult, but let that pass.
As touching my lack of land, I have Nebbegaard left; a poor estate and
barren, yet I think you would be glad of it, to add to the lands of
which you robbed us."

"Well," said Borre, "I would give a certain price for it, but not my
daughter, nor anything near so precious to me."

"Give me one long ship," said Ebbe; "the swiftest of your seven which
ride in the strait between Egeskov and Stryb. You shall take
Nebbegaard for her, since I am weary of living at home and care little
to live at all without Mette."

Borre's eyes shone with greed. "I commend you," said he; "for a stout
lad there is nothing like risking his life to win a fortune.
Give me the deeds belonging to Nebbegaard, and you shall have my ship
_Gold Mary_."

"By your leave," said Ebbe, "I have spent some time in watching your
ships upon the fiord; and the ship in my mind was the _White Wolf_."

Sir Borre laughed to find himself outwitted, for the _White Wolf_ could
outsail all his fleet. But in any case he had the better of the bargain
and could afford to show some good-humour. Moreover, though he knew not
that Mette had any tenderness for this youth, his spirits rose at the
prospect of getting him out of the way.

So the bargain was struck, and as Nebbe rode homewards to his castle for
the last time, he met the shepherd who had taken his former message.
The man was waiting for him, and (as you guess) by Mette's orders.

"Tell the lady Mette," said Ebbe, "that I have sold Nebbegaard for the
_White Wolf_, and that two nights from now my men will be aboard of her;
also that I sup with her father that evening before the boat takes me
off from the Bent Ness."

So it was that two nights later Ebbe supped at Egeskov, and was kept
drinking by the old knight for an hour maybe after the lady Mette had
risen and left the hall for her own room.

And at the end, after the last speeding-cup, needs must Sir Borre (who
had grown friendly beyond all belief) see him to the gate and stand
there bare-headed among his torch-bearers while my master mounted the
black stallion that was to bear him to Bent Ness, three miles away,
where I waited with the boat.

But as Ebbe shook his rein, and moved out of the torchlight, came the
damsel Mette stealing out of the shadow upon the far side of the horse.
He reached down a hand, and she took it, and sprang up behind him.

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