He exhorted them to
throw the fish overboard, as the only measure to secure their
safety. In the goodness of his heart, he even offered to pay the
value of the jettison as soon as the vessel reached Drontheim.
But the descendants of the Vikings were stupid and unenlightened
men--"educatione sua et professione homines crassissimi"--and
would not swallow the medicine so generously offered. They claimed
that, as they had bought the fish from the Russians, their
proceedings were quite lawful. As for being paid to throw the fish
overboard, they must have spot cash in advance or they would not
do it.
After further fruitless conferences, Father Hell determined to
escape the danger by transferring his party to the other vessel.
They had not more than got away from the wicked crew than Heaven
began to smile on their act--"factum comprobare Deus ipse
videtur"--the clouds cleared away, the storm ceased to rage, and
they made their voyage to Copenhagen under sunny skies. I regret
to say that the narrative is silent as to the measure of storm
subsequently awarded to the homines crassissimi of the forsaken
vessel.
For more than a century Father Hell had been a well-known figure
in astronomical history.
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