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CHAPTER THREE
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about technology and resourcefulness making up
for lack of courage and about putting a bad tooth to a good use
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Sailing the oceans blue... Just listen to the words, young man, listen to their music. The oceans, the spaces. It smacks of astronomy, indeed it does. You are like a star, a planet, an artificial satellite at the very least.
That is why people like myself, or my namesake Christopher Columbus, are drawn by the ocean's open spaces, promising the thrills of new discoveries.
Still and all, this is not the main attraction that makes you leave your native shores. I'll explain.
Of course the joys of sailing the oceans are great. But still greater is the pleasure of telling about the amazing things you have seen to your friends and acquaintances, of describing the vicissitudes of a seafarer's life.
But what are you likely to meet in the open sea? Water and wind, for the most part.
And what are the hazards you are likely to face? Storms, spells of dead calm, fog, shallows. Of course, unusual things also occur in the open sea, as they did to us during our trip, but on the whole, it's just water, winds, fogs and shallows, and they are not likely to enthral a listener. To be sure, there are also typhoons, tidal waves, pearl fishing, octopuses and such like.
It's all mighty interesting, but it has been described so many times before that no sooner do you open your mouth than your listeners scurry away like mackerel from a shark.
It's a different story with ports. There are many things there to marvel at. Each has a face of its own, so to speak.
So sailors like me, inquisitive of mind and unencumbered by commercial interests, try to vary the voyage by calling at as many ports as possible so as to see as many countries as they can. And in this respect a small yacht offers you priceless advantages.
There you stand, bending over a map, which tells you that you are passing a country you've never visited before. How do people live there? One feels one must take at least a peek at them. Well, why not? Go and take all the peeks you want! Left helm!-and the entrance lighthouse soon appears on the horizon. That's how it is.
There we were, running with the wind, swallowing mile after mile. Before you could say "Jack Robinson" the straits of Kattegat and Skagerrak were behind us. I was pleased with my yacht. It was immensely seaworthy. On the fifth day, when the fog lifted, we sighted the shores of Norway. We could have sailed past, but why hurry? I commanded:
"Helm astarboard!" My first mate put the wheel hard over, and three hours later the chain of our anchor clanged in a beautiful secluded fjord.
Have you ever seen a fjord, young man? You haven't? You have missed a great deal!
A fjord is a long inlet or bay, as winding as a chicken's track, with sheer rock face on both sides, creviced, moss-grown and formidably tall. The silence is complete. It's beautiful beyond description.
"Well, Lom," I said, "what do you say to going ashore for a look-see?"
"Aye, aye, sir!" Lom bellowed thunderously, flushing a swarm of birds off the rocks, while the echo repeated thirty-two times (I counted) "Eyesore ... eyesore, eyesore..."
Now I would not call that much of a greeting to a pretty yacht like ours. Generally, the locality, as we found out to our grief, was rather treacherous, for all that it was fabulously beautiful.
Well then, I secured the wheel and went down to my cabin to change. Lom came down as well. When I was almost ready and was lacing my shoes, I suddenly felt the boat pitching forward. I dashed out on deck in a panic and a sad picture presented itself to my gaze: the bows were dipping in the water, while the stern was rising up into the air.
I realised I had made a serious mistake having failed to take into account the specifics of the bottom and, the main thing, forgetting all about the tide. Now the anchor was holding the bow down fast, while the stern was being pushed up by the rising water. Nor could we give the anchor some slack, for the bow was deep in the water and we could not reach the windlass unless we dived.
Barely had we battened down the door of the cabin, than the Rage assumed a vertical position, something like an angler's float. Well, what can you do against the elements? We spent the next five hours perched on the stern, like chickens on their roost. How d'you like that?
In the evening, having learned my lesson, I guided the yacht into a narrow fjord and moored her to the shore. This, I thought, should safeguard us against unpleasant surprises.
Well, we ate a late supper, cleaned up, set out the lights in accordance with regulations and went to bed with an easy heart. And in the morning, before the dawn broke properly, I was awakened by Lom:
"First mate reporting: full calm, the barometer shows clear, the temperature outside is twelve degrees Centigrade, the sounding has proved impossible due to the absence of water."
Sleep-befuddled, I did not at once tumble to the meaning of his words and asked:"What d'you mean 'due to the absence of water'? What has happened to it?"
"Retreated with the ebb," Lom reported. "The yacht is stuck between two rocks and is in condition of stable equilibrium."
Up I went and saw the fjord had dished out a new surprise, only now, instead of the full tide we had to deal with the low tide. What I had taken for a fjord proved to be merely a gorge which filled up at high tide. Towards morning the water retreated and we found ourselves in a kind of dry dock. Beneath the keel was a chasm some forty feet deep, so we'd better sit tight and bide our time.
But it went against my grain to waste time and opportunity. I tossed a storm ladder overboard and went down it, taking along an axe, plane and brush with paints. I planed the sides where the planking had sprung up shoots and covered them with a new coat of paint. And when water began to rise, Lom cast a line overboard and caught a few fish for dinner. So you see, one can put to good account the most untoward circumstances if he uses his brains.
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So since I had intended to take a walk on the shore, walk I would at all costs. As soon as the Rage was again afloat, I piloted it to a new position, quite safe from the tide, cast anchor, giving it a lot of slack, and we went for our amble ashore.
We picked our way between the rocks and the further we went the richer was the wild life. Squirrels were leaping in the trees, birds were singing lustily, and there was such primordial peace you expected a bear to walk out into a glade every moment. Underfoot there were all sorts of berries.
Never in my life had I seen wild strawberries of such size, as big as a hazel-nut! We went deeper and deeper into the forest, gobbling up the strawberries and quite forgetting about lunch, and we only came to our senses when the sun began to dip westwards and it became cool. There was forest all around us, and strawberries without end. I chose a direction by the slant of the ground, hoping to reach our fjord, and we did get to a fjord, but a wrong one. Well, we built a fire and spent the night beside it. In the morning we climbed a nearby hill in the hope of sighting the Rage from the elevation. Climbing a hill does not come easy to a man of my build, but up we went puffing and restoring the expended strength with strawberries. Suddenly we heard a kind of noise coming from behind us, like a wind rustling in the trees or a distant waterfall. Then we smelled smoke.
I looked round and saw that indeed the forest was on fire. It rose in a wall behind us, and all living things were fleeing from it. The squirrels were making up the hill, leaping from branch to branch, birds were screaming overhead. It was proper panic.
It is not my rule to flee danger, but this was a case when salvation lay in flight. So I sprang up and ran after the squirrels to the top of the rock-there was no other way of escape left. Well, we reached the top, regained our breath and looked around. The position, let me tell you, was grim. On three sides we were surrounded by fire, and on the fourth was a sheer drop. I looked down and my breath caught. Goodness, you'd be smashed to smithereens. The only glad spot in this black picture was our Rage, swaying down below, right beneath us, and beckoning to us with her mast as with a forefinger.
The fire, meantime, pressed on. There were hordes of squirrels around us. Some had their tails singed, and they were particularly fearless, cheeky, I would say, climbing our backs and all but pushing us into the fire. That's what comes of building campfires in the forest!
Lom was desperate. So were the squirrels. To be frank I was at my wits' end too, but I did not let on. The captain must show an example of courage after all.
Suddenly I saw a squirrel scan the distance to the yacht and leap down, its tail flaring out. It landed safely on deck and was immediately followed by another, then a third, and then they went down as thick as hail. Within five minutes the rock was clean of squirrels.
Well, why, can't we do the same? I decided I would jump too. The worst thing that could happen was that we should have a dip in cold water. So what? A swim before breakfast is good for the appetite. Well, there was no time to be lost.
"First mate, follow the squirrels-full steam ahead!" I commanded.
Lom stepped forward, raised a leg ... and suddenly twisted his body like a cat and backed away. "I can't, Captain," he said, "do what you like to me, but I won't jump. I prefer being cooked." I could see he would really be cooked rather than jump. It's a kind of disease with some people, the fear of heights. Surely I could not leave poor Lom behind to be burnt to a cinder. I racked my brains and sure enough I thought of a way.
I had a telescope with me, an excellent sea twelve-power telescope.
So I ordered Lom to put it to his eyes, led him up to the edge of the rock and asked him sternly, "How many squirrels have you got on deck, first mate?"
Lom began counting them: "One, two, three, four, five..." "Never mind counting them," I commanded. "Receive the freight uncounted and drive them into the hold!"
The habit to obey commands prevailed, especially since the telescope reduced the distance to the deck. Lom jumped.
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You might do well to leam this lesson, young man. If you have an occasion to jump from a great height, say with a parachute, take a telescope along, any sort, even opera glasses will do. You'll find jumping easier when the earth does not seem so far away.
Well, so I jumped. I surfaced, climbed aboard and before I had a chance to regain my breath, Lom had slammed down the hatch and reported to me:
"Full load of live squirrels taken on! What are the orders?"
Indeed, what were my orders? It was quite a puzzle, let me tell you.
Well, the thing to do, of course, was to set sail, weigh anchor and put as much distance as possible between us and the burning mountain. I had had enough of that fjord. There was nothing else to see and it was getting too hot for my liking.
That much was clear. But what was I to do with the squirrels? A good thing we had them under lock and key. The blasted beasts were hungry and had already started gnawing at the ropes. Had we left them to their own devices, we would have had to renew our entire tackle. Of course we could have them skinned and sell the pelts in the nearest port. The fur is very good and valuable, you know. We could make a good profit too. But it did not seem fair: after all the squirrels saved us, or at least showed the way of escape. We were under obligation to them and repay them with skinning seemed a mean thing to do. I would not have it.
On the other hand, to ship the merry crowd all round the world seemed rather pointless and cumbersome too. They had to be fed and tended after all. Such is the law of the sea - if you take on passengers, you must provide decent conditions for them.
I decided we shall sort it all out at home. And where is the sailor's home? At sea, of course. Admiral Makarov used to say: "At sea means at home." That was my motto too. All right, I decided, let us put out to sea and then think about it. As the last resort I could ask for instructions from our port of departure.
Well, so out we put. We met fishing boats, steamers... Things were just fine. But towards evening the wind reached gale force. The swell was terrific. The Rage would climb the crest of a wave and then pitch down into the trough. The rigging groaned, the mast creaked. The squirrels in the hold were all seasick. But I was happy - the Rage was bearing up splendidly, showing herself to the best advantage in heavy weather.
And Lom was also acquitting himself well. He had donned a sou'wester and stood at the wheel like he was cemented to the deck, his hands firm and sure. Well, I watched him for a while, admired the raging elements, and went down. I sat down at my desk, switched on the wireless, and put on my earphones to hear who was broadcasting what.
It's a marvellous thing, the wireless. You push a button, turn a knob and there you may have whatever your heart desires: music, weather forecast, news, or a football match:
"The centre forward is approaching the goal, a kick-the ball's in the net!..."
Well, you know the kind of thing I mean. But on that occasion I just did not seem to be able to tune in to something decent. Moscow was spelling out something like "A for apple, T for table..." and so on - just a lesson in ABCs. Dull stuff. To make things worse I had developed a bad toothache - I had a tooth with a hollow which I had not got round to filling, and after the swim in the cold sea it became inflamed.
"I'd better lie down and rest," I thought and was on the point of removing the earphones when I caught a SOS signal. I listened: dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dot - that's right, a boat was in distress nearby. I all but stopped breathing, trying to catch the particulars. But at that moment a wave heeled the Rage over. The squirrels wailed in their misery.
The list sent the wireless set crashing against the bulkhead. It was so badly smashed that there wasn't a hope of putting it together again. The signal of course was lost. It made my heart ache to think that people were perishing quite close by and I could do nothing to help them. Where was I to head my Rage! And the tooth ached worse than ever.
And can you imagine it? It was that very tooth that offered a solution. As though struck by lightning, I snatched the end of the aerial and stuck it into my hollow tooth. The pain was dreadful, stars danced before my eyes, but I could receive the Morse signals quite distinctly. The dot was like a tiny prick and the dash was like a screw driven into the tooth. I needed no amplifier and no tuning, for the bad tooth had very high sensitivity. Of course the pain was awful, but one must be prepared to sacrifice oneself in a situation like this.
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Forgetting about my toothache, I ran up on deck and stood at the helm myself.
The night was pitch black, the wind was howling in the rigging, cold waves hurled themselves at our little yacht. Within half an hour we found the schooner and lit the scene with rockets. But how were we to get the people off her? There could be no question of drawing alongside them, their lifeboats had been washed off, and if we tried to pull them across on ropes we might have half the crew drowned.
I tried approaching the schooner from one side, then from another, but there was nothing doing. And the storm had meanwhile gained in strength. Waves rolled over the deck of the schooner. Wait a minute, I thought, it's a possibility.
I decided to risk it.
I bore to windward, turned and went back at full canvas with a big wave. My idea was simple. The Rage had not much of a draught, and the waves were as tall as mountains. If we managed to stay on the crest of the wave, we'd slip right above their deck.
The Norwegians were near to despair, and suddenly on we came, I standing at the wheel to keep clear of their masts, and Lom bending overboard and grabbing the crew by their coat collars, two at a time. I made eight trips above their boat and we hauled out all the sixteen of them, complete with the captain.
Actually the captain was a little sore, because it is the custom at sea that he must leave the boat last, and Lom in his hurry and in the darkness fished him out first. Not according to etiquette at all, but what can you do? No sooner had we rescued the last two than the ninth wave came along. There was a mighty crash and the luckless boat was smashed to smithereens. The Norwegians doffed their caps and stood on deck staring and shivering. Well, we looked on a while, then swung about and went full speed back to Norway.
It was pretty cramped on deck, but the Norwegians did not complain. And no wonder - however uncomfortable they were, it was much better than feeding the fishes.
There we were, with a load of saved shipwreck victims. Rage she might be called, but she was pretty kind to the Norwegians.
And all because of my resourcefulness. If you want to be a good captain, young man, never miss your chance, put everything to good use, even if it is your own ailment.
