In the Eighteenth Century men began to think of reclamation.  A thousand German colonists were called in and settled on the heath, but it was stronger than they, and they drifted away until scarce half a hundred families remained.  The Government tried its hand, but there was no one who knew just how, and only discouragement resulted.  Then came the war with Germany in 1864, that lost to Denmark a third of her territory.  The country lay prostrate under the crushing blow.  But it rose above defeat and disaster, and once more expectant eyes were turned toward the ancient domain that had slipped from its grasp.  “What was lost without must be won within” became the national slogan.  And this time the man for the task was at hand.

Enrico Mylius Dalgas was by the accident of birth an Italian, his father being the Danish consul in Naples; by descent a Frenchman; by choice and training a Dane, typical of the best in that people.  He came of the Huguenot stock that left France after the repeal of the Edict of Nantes in 1685 and scattered over Europe, to the great good of every land in which it settled.  They had been tillers of the soil from the beginning, and at least two of the family, who found homes in Denmark, made in their day notable contributions to the cause of advanced, sensible husbandry.  Enrico’s father, though a merchant, had an open eye for the interests which in later years claimed the son’s life-work.  In the diary of a journey through Sweden he makes indignant comment upon the reckless way in which the people of that country dealt with their forests.  That he was also a man of resolution is shown by an incident of the time when Jew-baiting was having its sorry day in Denmark.  An innkeeper mistook the dark-skinned little man for a Jew, and set before him a spoiled ham, retorting contemptuously, when protest was made, that it was “good enough for a Sheeny.”  Without further parley Mr. Dalgas seized the hot ham by its shank and beat the fellow with it till he cried for mercy.  The son tells of the first school he attended, when he was but five years old.  It was kept by the widow of one of Napoleon’s generals, a militant lady who every morning marshalled the school, a Lilliputian army with the teachers flanking the line like beardless sergeants in stays and petticoats, and distributed rewards and punishments as the great Emperor was wont to do after a battle.  For the dunces there was a corner strewn with dried peas on which they were made to kneel with long-eared donkey caps adorning their luckless heads.  Very likely it was after an insult of this kind that Enrico decided to elope to America with his baby sister.  They were found down by the harbor bargaining with some fishermen to take them over to Capri en route for the land of freedom.  The elder Dalgas died while the children were yet little, and the widow went back to Denmark to bring up her boys there.