Authors: Jules Verne
As the clock struck three, the president waved his hand, and declared
the drawing begun.
The prolonged murmur that greeted the announcement lasted several
minutes, after which quiet was gradually established.
The president rose, and though evidently much excited, made a short
speech suited to the occasion, in which he expressed regret that there
was not a prize for each ticket-holder; then he ordered the drawing
of the first series of prizes, which consisted, as we have before
remarked, of ninety prizes, and which would therefore consume a
considerable length of time.
The six little girls began to perform their duties with automaton-like
regularity, but the audience did not lose patience for an instant. It
is true, however, that as the value of the prizes increased with each
drawing, the excitement increased proportionately, and no one thought
of leaving his seat, not even those persons whose tickets had been
already drawn, and who had consequently nothing more to expect.
This went on for about an hour without producing any incident of
particular interest, though people noticed that number 9672 had not
been drawn, which would have taken away all chance of its winning the
capital prize.
"That is a good omen for Sandgoist!" remarked one of the professor's
neighbors.
"It would certainly be an extraordinary thing if a man like that
should meet with such a piece of good luck, even though he has the
famous ticket," remarked another.
"A famous ticket, indeed!" replied Sylvius Hogg; "but don't ask me
why, for I can't possibly tell you."
Then began the drawing of the second series of prizes, nine in number.
This promised to be very interesting—the ninety-first prize being one
of a thousand marks; the ninety-second, one of two thousand marks,
and so on, up to the ninety-ninth, which was one of nine thousand. The
third class, the reader must recollect, consisted of the capital prize
only.
Number 72,521 won a prize of five thousand marks. This ticket belonged
to a worthy seaman of Christiania, who was loudly cheered and who
received with great dignity the congratulations lavished upon him.
Another number, 823,752, won a prize of six thousand marks, and how
great was Sylvius Hogg's delight when he learned from Joel that it
belonged to the charming Siegfrid of Bamble.
An incident that caused no little excitement followed. When the
ninety-seventh prize was drawn, the one consisting of seven thousand
marks, the audience feared for a moment that Sandgoist was the winner
of it. It was won, however, by ticket number 9627, which was within
only forty-five points of Ole Kamp's number.
The two drawings that followed were numbers very widely removed from
each other: 775 and 76,287.
The second series was now concluded, and the great prize of one
hundred thousand marks alone remained to be drawn.
The excitement of the assemblage at that moment beggars all
description.
At first there was a long murmur that extended from the large hall
into the court-yards and even into the street. In fact, several
minutes elapsed before quiet was restored. A profound silence
followed, and in this calmness there was a certain amount of
stupor—the stupor one experiences on seeing a prisoner appear upon
the place of execution. But this time the still unknown victim was
only condemned to win a prize of one hundred thousand marks, not to
lose his head; that is, unless he lost it from ecstasy.
Joel sat with folded arms, gazing straight ahead of him, being the
least moved, probably, in all that large assembly. Hulda, her head
bowed upon her breast, was thinking only of her poor Ole. As for
Sylvius Hogg—but any attempt to describe the state of mind in which
Sylvius Hogg found himself would be worse than useless.
"We will now conclude with the drawing of the one hundred thousand
mark prize," announced the president.
What a voice! It seemed to proceed from the inmost depths of this
solemn-looking man, probably because he was the owner of several
tickets which, not having yet been drawn, might still win the capital
prize.
The first little girl drew a number from the left urn, and exhibited
it to the audience.
"Zero!" said the president.
The zero did not create much of a sensation, however. The audience
somehow seemed to have been expecting it.
"Zero!" said the president, announcing the figure drawn by the second
little girl.
Two zeros. The chances were evidently increasing for all numbers
between one and nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, and every
one recollected that Ole Kamp's ticket bore the number 9672.
Strange to say, Sylvius Hogg began to move restlessly about in his
chair, as if he had suddenly been stricken with palsy.
"Nine," said the president, stating the number the third little girl
had just extracted from the third urn.
Nine! That was the first figure on Ole Kamp's ticket.
"Six!" said the president.
For the fourth little girl was timidly displaying a six to all the
eyes riveted upon her.
The chances of winning were now one out of a hundred for all the
numbers from one to ninety-nine, inclusive.
Could it be that this ticket of Ole Kamp's was to be the means of
placing one hundred thousand marks in that villainous Sandgoist's
pocket. Really such a result would almost make one doubt the justice
of God!
The fifth little girl plunged her hand into the next urn, and drew out
the fifth figure.
"Seven!" said the president, in a voice that trembled so as to be
scarcely audible, even to those seated on the first row of benches.
But those who could not hear were able to see for themselves, for the
five little girls were now holding up the following figures to the
gaze of the audience:
00967.
The winning number consequently must be one between 9670 and 9679, so
there was now one chance out of ten for Ole Kamp's ticket to win the
prize.
The suspense was at its height.
Sylvius Hogg had risen to his feet, and seized Hulda Hansen's hand.
Every eye was riveted upon the young girl. In sacrificing this last
moment of her betrothed, had she also sacrificed the fortune Ole Kamp
had coveted for her and for himself?
The sixth little girl had some difficulty getting her hand into
the urn, she was trembling so, poor thing! but at last the figure
appeared.
"Two!" exclaimed the president, sinking back in his chair, quite
breathless with emotion.
"Nine thousand six hundred and seventy two!" proclaimed one of the
directors, in a loud voice.
This was the number of Ole Kamp's ticket, now in Sandgoist's
possession. Everybody was aware of this fact, and of the manner in
which the usurer had obtained it; so there was a profound silence
instead of the tumultuous applause that would have filled the hall of
the University if the ticket had still been in Hulda Hansen's hands.
And now was this scoundrel Sandgoist about to step forward, ticket in
hand, to claim the prize?
"Number 9672 wins the prize of one hundred thousand marks!" repeated
the director. "Who claims it?"
"I do."
Was it the usurer of Drammen who answered thus?
No. It was a young man—a young man with a pale face, whose features
and whole person bore marks of prolonged suffering, but alive, really
and truly alive.
On hearing this voice, Hulda sprung to her feet, uttering a cry that
penetrated every nook and corner of the large hall; then she fell back
fainting.
But the young man had forced his way impetuously through the crowd,
and it was he who caught the unconscious girl in his arms.
It was Ole Kamp!
Yes; it was Ole Kamp! Ole Kamp, who, by a miracle, had survived the
shipwreck of the "Viking." The reason the "Telegraph" had not brought
him back to Europe can be easily explained. He was no longer in the
region visited by the dispatch-boat, for the very good reason that
he was already on his way to Christiania on board the vessel that had
rescued him.
This is what Sylvius Hogg was telling. This is what he repeated to all
who would listen to him. And what a crowd of listeners he had! This
is what he related with the triumphant accents of a conqueror! Those
around him repeated it to those who were not fortunate enough to be
near him, and the good news flew from group to group until it reached
the crowd that filled the court-yard and the neighboring streets.
In a few moments, all Christiania knew that the young mate of the
"Viking" had returned, and that he had won the grand prize of the
Schools Lottery.
It was a fortunate thing that Sylvius Hogg was acquainted with the
whole story, as Ole certainly could not have told it, for Joel nearly
smothered him in his embrace while Hulda was regaining consciousness.
"Hulda! dearest Hulda!" said Ole. "Yes, it is I—your betrothed—soon
to be your husband!"
"Yes, soon, my children, very soon!" exclaimed Sylvius Hogg. "We will
leave this very evening for Dal. And if such a thing was never seen
before, it will be seen now. A professor of law, and a member of the
Storthing will be seen dancing at a wedding like the wildest youth in
the Telemark."
But how had Sylvius Hogg become acquainted with Ole Kamp's history?
Simply through the last letter that the Naval Department had addressed
to him at Dal. In fact this letter—the last he had received, and
one whose receipt he had not mentioned to any one—contained another
letter, dated from Christiansand. This second letter stated that the
Danish brig "Genius" had just reached Christiansand, with several
survivors of the "Viking" on board, among them the young mate, Ole
Kamp, who would arrive in Christiania three days afterward.
The letter from the Naval Department added that these shipwrecked men
had suffered so much that they were still in a very weak condition,
and for this reason Sylvius Hogg had decided not to say anything to
Hulda about her lover's return. In his response he had also requested
the most profound secrecy in regard to this return—and in compliance
with this request the facts had been carefully kept from the public.
The fact that the "Telegraph" had found no traces nor survivors of the
"Viking" can also be easily explained.
During a violent tempest the vessel—which had become partially
disabled—being obliged to scud along before the wind in a
north-westerly direction, finally found herself about two hundred
miles from the southern coast of Iceland. During the nights of the
third and fourth of May the worst nights of the gale—it collided
with one of those enormous icebergs that drift down from the shores
of Greenland. The shock was terrible, so terrible, indeed, that the
"Viking" went to pieces five minutes afterward.
It was then that Ole hastily penned his farewell message to his
betrothed, and after inclosing it in a bottle, cast it into the sea.
Most of the "Viking's" crew, including the captain, perished at
the time of the catastrophe, but Ole Kamp and four of his comrades
succeeded in leaping upon the iceberg, just as the vessel went down;
but their death would have been none the less certain if the terrible
gale had not driven the mass of ice in a north-westerly direction. Two
days afterward, exhausted and nearly dead with hunger, these survivors
of the catastrophe were cast upon the southern coast of Greenland—a
barren and deserted region—but where they nevertheless managed to
keep themselves alive through the mercy of God.
If help had not reached them in a few days, it would have been all
over with them, however; for they had not strength to reach the
fisheries, or the Danish settlements on the other coast.
Fortunately the brig "Genius," which had been driven out of her course
by the tempest, happened to pass. The shipwrecked men made signals to
her. These signals were seen, and the men were saved.
The "Genius," delayed by head-winds, was a long time in making the
comparatively short voyage between Greenland and Norway, and did not
reach Christiansand until the 12th of July, nor Christiania until the
morning of the 15th.
That very morning Sylvius Hogg went aboard the vessel. There he found
Ole, who was still very weak, and told him all that had taken
place since the arrival of his last letter, written from
Saint-Pierre-Miquelon, after which he took the young sailor home with
him, though not without having requested the crew of the "Genius" to
keep the secret a few hours longer. The reader knows the rest.
It was then decided that Ole Kamp should attend the drawing of the
lottery. But would he be strong enough to do it?
Yes; his strength would be equal to the ordeal, for was not Hulda
to be there? But had he still any interest in this drawing? Yes, a
hundred times, yes; both on his own account and that of his
betrothed, for Sylvius Hogg had succeeded in getting the ticket out
of Sandgoist's hands, having repurchased it from him at the same
price the usurer had given for it, for Sandgoist was only too glad to
dispose of it at that price now there were no more bidders for it.
"It was not for the sake of an improbable chance of gain that I wished
to restore it to Hulda, my brave Ole," Sylvius Hogg remarked, as
he gave him the ticket; "but because it was a last farewell you had
addressed to her at the moment when you believed all was lost."
And now it seemed almost as if Professor Sylvius Hogg had been
inspired of Heaven, certainly much more so than Sandgoist, who was
strongly tempted to dash his brains out against the wall when he
learned the result of the drawing. And now there was a fortune of one
hundred thousand marks in the Hansen family. Yes, one hundred thousand
marks, for Sylvius Hogg absolutely refused to take back the money he
had paid to secure possession of Ole Kamp's ticket.
It was a dowry he was only too glad to offer little Hulda on her
wedding-day.