But most wonderful of all was the silence and the stillness, the incomparable, mighty calm in a balloon that moved with the wind and in which a candle flame would burn as steadily as in a closed room.
“Strange … it is like sitting in a glass cupboard,” said Miss Lähnfeldt in a low voice and there was after all involuntary admiration in her voice. But then she added: “Though I must say I thought it would be more exciting. …”
Stellan bit his lip: he was not in the mood for enjoying anything beautiful just now. He felt like a stage manager who is responsible for effect before a critical and spoilt public. He thought of Peter, his affairs, marriage—without any enthusiasm for the last. … He felt almost hostile to the woman by his side. Her affected indifference irritated him. He could not manage to pay her any sort of attention. He felt like a partner who dances out of time and has nothing to whisper into his partner’s ear. Annoyed, he tapped the barometer. It sank, though the balloon was sinking slowly. It was already three o’clock in the afternoon. The sun suddenly disappeared. Behind them in the west the sky was clouded. The air began to grow a cold, whitish grey, and clouded over, they no longer saw the earth below them. In an incredibly short time they had become enveloped in a dense cloud.
Stellan did not descend, as was his duty with an approaching storm when he was so near the sea. He was a desperado. Miss Lähnfeldt was going to have an experience, that was all. He threw out several sacks of ballast, which disappeared in long brown streaks in the fog below them.
His manoeuvring was not quite planless. He had observed that the wind in the upper strata was several degrees more southerly and he began to think of the Åland islands.
Now they were suddenly out in the sunshine again, in the cold dazzling sunlight over an enormous shimmering sea of cloud. They soared alone in a dazzling white, ever changing, chaos of snow mountains and lakes of fog—millions of years before human life existed. …
“I have seen this before in Switzerland,” said Miss Lähnfeldt shivering with cold.
The balloon had risen rapidly and lost much gas. It soon began to sink again through the cloud world, which now grew grey. When it cleared up below them they were already out over a nasty grey, white-crested sea. A very strong wind was blowing.
Then the first feminine exclamation escaped from Miss Lähnfeldt:
“But, good heavens, how shall we get back?”
Stellan bowed for the first time with a polite and amiable smile:
“By steamer,” he said. “We will sleep at Mariehamn tonight.”
As a matter of fact he was not so sure of it. The wind higher up had evidently been a few degrees more in the west than he had counted on. In its present quarter they would pass south of Åland. But the storm lower down might draw them south … otherwise … well what otherwise? Well, otherwise they would go to hell. …
What does a man like Captain Stellan Selamb feel when he mutters to himself that he might “go to hell”? Nothing really. He has never properly conceived death. His egoism is so hard and polished that the thought of death slips off everywhere.
If you want an opinion of a man, try to find out his views of death. Death comes in life and not after life. And it is what happens in life that makes us really alive. What else are we but our conception of, our defiance of, our struggle against, and our victory over, death? Yes, because there is a real, a living courage which conquers death. …
Stellan had the gambler’s courage. It is always better than cowardice. But it is really very superficial. A hard frozen surface with no resilience beneath. Clear but shallow thoughts that have never penetrated to the depths of life. An inner reflection of a blind, pitiless Fate. … How much of the courage that meets us in the wild and bloody history of the world is not of this kind? The great gamblers! Minds and souls are only cards to them, playing cards or trumps in the wild gamble of politics and war. They only know themselves even as trumps in the game. Even their own terrible egoism is really only a mirage. For death has not made them alive. …
The balloon drove eastwards with the gale. Stellan sailed low and saved his ballast. In the north they could see Åland and Lernland and Lumparland. The waves washed heavily in the apparent stillness around them. They were sinking lower and lower. The last sack of ballast went over. The balloon began to shrink round the valve. There must be a leakage. Now a giant roaring wave attempted to grab the gondola.
Stellan had to throw out everything loose, the ballast sacks themselves, ropes, fur coats, stethoscopes and barometer. He used the momentary respite to assist Miss Lähnfeldt up into the rigging where she sat as on a trapeze and held on to the cordage. She was very pale and looked as if she might faint any moment, so he thought it best to make her fast.
“This is abominable,” she mumbled, as if she had been exposed to some clumsiness on the part of a vulgar partner. But she did not whimper.
They swept in over the breakers and rocks of the wild and deserted skerries of Kökars. The gondola was already trailing in the water, and the balloon began to swing and jerk to and fro. Stellan also climbed up into the rigging. He took the anchor with him. With violent jerks they trailed over a stony rocky island on the skerries. Then again they were carried over an empty
