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Updated: June 23, 2025
Ole Ericsen heaved a great sigh. "Ay never tank Ay see my wife never again," he confessed. "Why, we were never in any danger," said Charley. Ole looked at him incredulously. "Sure, I mean it," Charley went on. "All we had to do, any time, was to let go our end as I am going to do now, so that those Greeks can untangle their nets."
Beorn Ericsen, the Man with the Dead Soul as he was called, was a fitting tutor to a pupil of this philosophy. Compared with him, his daughter was a whirlwind of words; the lesson of silence, which she taught by her behaviour, she had first learnt from her father on the winter trail in the presence of his stern taciturnity she appeared a garrulous amateur.
Ole Ericsen heaved a great sigh. "Ay never tank Ay see my wife never again," he confessed. "Why, we were never in any danger," said Charley. Ole looked at him incredulously. "Sure, I mean it," Charley went on. "All we had to do, any time, was to let go our end as I am going to do now, so that those Greeks can untangle their nets."
The captain of a bay schooner is supposed to work with his hands just as well as the men. Ole Ericsen verified Charley's conjecture that the Mary Rebecca, as soon as launched, would run up the San Joaquin River nearly to Stockton for a load of wheat. Then Charley made his proposition, and Ole Ericsen shook his head. "Just a hook, one good-sized hook," Charley pleaded.
One of them, held by the legs by his mates, would lean far over the bow and make the tackle fast to the float-line. Then they would heave in on the tackle till the blocks were together, when the manoeuvre would be repeated. "Have to give her the staysail," Charley said. Ole Ericsen looked at the straining Mary Rebecca and shook his head. "It will take der masts out of her," he said.
The river straightened out here into its general easterly course, and we squared away before the wind, wing-and-wing once more, the foresail bellying out to starboard. Ole Ericsen seemed sunk into a state of stolid despair. Charley and the two sailors were looking hopeful, as they had good reason to be.
Since he had become certain of Mordaunt's death, he had vaguely planned out for himself a course of spiritual debauchery, though he would not have applied to it such a word. He had expected to marry Peggy Ericsen, and to live with the memory of the woman for whom he had really cared.
Luckily for him, about this time Beorn Ericsen, the Man with the Dead Soul, as he was named, the only white Company trapper in the district, had quarrelled with the factor over the price which had been offered him for a silver fox; in revenge he had betaken himself to Granger, bringing with him his half-breed daughter, Peggy, and his son, Eyelids.
Ole Ericsen, lying on his back close to the rail and grinning upward at the sky, turned over on his side and looked at him. "Ay tank we go into Collinsville yust der same," he said. "But we can't stop," Charley groaned. "I never thought of it, but we can't stop." A look of consternation slowly overspread Ole Ericsen's broad face. It was only too true.
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