CHAPTER FOUR about the ways of Scandinavian peoples, the city of Hamburg and the use of squirrels for propulsion purposes   So we came back to Norway to the town of Stavanger. The sailors living in that town proved to be splendid people and gave us a warm welcome.    Lom and I were accommodated in the town's best hotel, the yacht was given a coat of the most expensive paint. They did not even forget the squirrels, making out the necessary papers to establish them as freight, and then they came to inquire what food the dear animals preferred. How could I know? I've never bred squirrels in my life. I asked Lom and he said, "I think they eat nuts and pine-cones."    And what do you think? I know Norwegian quite well, but these two words just slipped my mind. I strained my memory, they sort of teased me from round the comer, but I could not remember the words, hard as I tried.    So I sent Lom with the Norwegians to the nearest grocery store. "See if you can find anything suitable there," I told him.    He came back and reported that all was well and he had found both nuts and cones. I was a little surprised that they sold pine-cones in a shop, but you come across all kinds of queer things in a foreign country. Perhaps they buy them to heat samovars, I thought, or to adorn Christmas trees.    In the evening I came to inspect the painting of the Rage and decided to see how the squirrels were faring in the hold. And what do I see! Lom has made a mistake, but what a fortunate mistake. The squirrels looked as pleased as Punch, scooping nut nougat out of tins. A big nut was painted on the tins.    And instead of pine-cones arrived crates of pineapples. Judging by the name they are related to pines, and they do look like cones though they are a lot bigger. They have a nice smell too. Lom had seen them in the shop, pointed them out, and that was that.    They took us to theatres and museums and showed us all sorts of local sights. Among other things they showed us a live horse. It was a great rarity in Norway, for they mostly drove in cars or walked on foot. They did their ploughing with tractors and had no need for horses. They had sold the younger ones and the older lived out their days in zoos, where they ate hay and dreamed of races.    And if a horse was taken for a walk, big crowds gathered, marvelling, shouting and interfering with the traffic. It was like taking a giraffe for a walk in Moscow.    Well, for us Russians a horse is nothing new, so I decided to treat the Norwegians to a stunt. I took hold of the horse's withers, hopped on and spurred it with my heels.    The Norwegians were bowled over. The next day all the newspapers carried a photograph of me astride the horse. The horse galloped along, its tail flung out, and I was riding it without a saddle, the coat unbuttoned, the cap askew and the legs dangling.    Later I realised it was not much of a photograph and not worthy of a sailor, but in the heat of the moment I was even pleased with it.    And so were the Norwegians.    I must say that altogether Norway is a very nice country. The people are amiable and easy-going. I ha4 been to Norway before, of course, and I remember a conversation I had there with a stationmaster. I was to have a long wait for the train and wanted to get rid of my luggage, for you can't go sightseeing with two heavy suitcases. I looked for a baggage room but did not find any, so I went to the stationmaster and asked him what he advised me to do with my suitcases.    "Excuse me," he said in dismay, "we don't have any special premises, but don't let it worry you. Just leave your cases anywhere, here if you like - they won't be in anyone's way." That's how things used to be. They are very different now. A friend of mine recently came from Norway. And can you imagine it - his suitcase was stolen right from the compartment. The ways and mores have changed a lot. You know the Germans occupied Norway during the war and established their New Order there. And today all kinds of enlighteners come to Norway to raise the way of life to their own level. So the people have grown slicker and more artful. They now understand that one should never miss a chance.    But during my visit with the Rage they were still keeping to their old ways. Not all, to be sure. There were some who were quite up-to-day, who have tasted of the tree of knowledge, so to speak. I mean owners of big shops, factories and various establishments. These kept their eyes peeled. I had a first hand experience of such sharp practices. There was a firm there which manufactured telephones, radio sets and such like. They got wind of my tooth and became alarmed.    Just imagine-if people used their teeth to receive radio messages, no one would need their wireless sets and the firm would sustain great losses. So they decided to buy my invention, and my tooth too. They began negotiations in good faith, sending me a letter with the offer to buy my tooth. But I decided against it. After all the tooth was quite serviceable still, I could bite and chew with it, and as to the hollow- it was nobody's business. I have a friend who actually likes toothache. "Of course it hurts terribly sometimes," he says, "but how lovely you feel when the pain leaves off."    So I replied that the tooth was not for sale.    Do you think they rested content with it? Nothing of the kind! They decided to steal my tooth. I was followed about by some suspicious characters who kept peering into my mouth and holding whispered conferences. I began to feel uneasy. It wouldn't be so bad if they just took the tooth, but what if they took the head along to make quite sure?    So I decided to cut and run. I sent a radio message to my port of departure as regards the squirrels and took a precautionary measure against those who had designs on my tooth. This consisted of an oaken board, its one end fitted under the gate of the bonded warehouse and the other under the door of our galley, and I gave Lom orders to take on a load of ballast. The Rage sank up to the bulwarks, the board became arched like a spring and barely held under the door.    Before going to bed I examined the trap, found it was in good working order and went to sleep easy at heart. I did not even post Lom to keep watch, deciding that it was quite unnecessary. Well, sure enough, they came towards morning. I heard stealthy steps, the creak of the door, and then a thunderous bang as the board was released and straightened up.    I went out to look. Indeed, my catapult had worked splendidly. There was a radio station on the shore, and the scoundrels had been tossed to the top of its mast and were dangling there by their pants and yelling their heads off.    I did not watch the rescuing operation for I received a reply from my port which instructed me to deliver the squirrels to Hamburg, to the famous zoo kept by Habenbeck, the man who bought all kinds of animals.    I have already told you about the advantages of a free cruise. You are your own master and sail wherever the fancy takes you. But if you become encumbered with a cargo you are no better than a cabby-you drive where you are told.    Take this Hamburg place. Would I ever have gone there of my own free will? What could possibly attract me there? Their nasty policemen? There is no end of formalities involved - bills of lading, commercial correspondence, customs clearing and what not, especially if you find yourself in Hamburg.    The people there, unlike the Norwegians, are smart alecs, they'll strip you clean before you know where you are.    Well, orders are orders. I brought my Rage to Hamburg, berthed her, put my Sunday uniform on and went in search of Habenbeck. I came to the zoo. There were all sorts of animals there, elephants, and tigers, and crocodiles, and marabous. There was a squirrel as well, in a cage. And it was a lively squirrel too, a cut above my lazybones sitting in the hold and stuffing themselves with nougat and pineapples. This one had a wheel attached to its cage and it ran in it with never a break. It was a nice sight indeed.    I found Habenbeck and explained to him that I had a load of live squirrels which I was prepared to sell at a reasonable price.    Habenbeck looked at the ceiling, crossed his hands on his belly and twirled his fingers.    "Squirrels?" he said. "You mean beasts with tails and tufted ears. Yes, I know. So you have a load of squirrels? Very well, I'll take them. Only we have strict regulations against smuggling. Have you got a certificate?"    At this point I thought gratefully of my Norwegian friends and produced the certificate. Habenbeck took out his glasses and started wiping them with a handkerchief. And suddenly, out of nowhere appeared a chameleon. He jumped down on his desk, whipped out his long tongue, swiped the paper and was gone. I rushed in pursuit but I had not a hope.    Habenbeck put his spectacles back in their case and shrugged his shoulders.    "I can't buy them without a paper attesting to their legal status," he said. "The regulations are very strict." I told him his own chameleon was to blame. But there was no moving him. So I had to go. When I came to the wharf, I saw something untoward was happening on the Rage. There was a crowd of onlookers on the shore, and on board the yacht I could see policemen, customs people and port officials.    It appeared Habenbeck had already tipped off the customs, they found a rule pertaining to illegal import of cattle and were out to confiscate my yacht together with its cargo.    They had me trapped. Indeed, I had no papers for my squirrels, and no official permission to import them. The story of the chameleon would cut no ice here and what else could I say? Things looked dim indeed. But at this point an idea crossed my mind.    "Very well," I said to myself, "if you throw your rules at me, I can pay you back in kind."    I pulled myself up to my full height and declared to the official in charge:    "Your demands, mein Herr, are absolutely invalid. The international sea regulations provide that indispensable equipment of a vessel, such as anchors, lifeboats, loading and life-saving appliances, signalling installations, fuel, and propulsion machines necessary for safe navigation are not subject to any port duties and need no special documentation."    "Quite right," he replied, "but will you tell us, Herr Captain, to which of the above-mentioned categories do you assign your animals?"    I had nothing to lose.    "The last, Herr Official," I announced. "Propulsion machines."    The officials were taken aback and began to confer in whispers. Then the one in charge stepped forward again.    "We would waive our lawful claims, Herr Captain, if you prove to us that the cattle on board your vessel is really used for purposes of propulsion."    There was no way of proving it, of course, but what I was after was gaining time.    "You see," I said, "the principal parts of the engine are now being repaired on shore. You will have your proof tomorrow if you must."    Well, they left, but not before posting a police launch, its engine chugging, beside the Rage, lest we slip away while they wait for the demonstration. Meantime I was busy in my cabin, designing a machine on the lines suggested by the squirrel I had seen in Habenbeck's zoo.    An hour later Lom and I went ashore, found a smithy and ordered three wheels, two with paddles, like a river-boat's, and the third like a water-mill's, only with planks inside and wire netting on both sides. The smith was a smart chap and he had it all ready in no time.    The next morning we brought our "engine" on board the Rage, placed the paddle-wheels overboard on both sides, and the water-mill wheel in the middle, joined the three with a single shaft and let the squirrels in between the wire netting.    The animals went crazy, what with fresh air and sunshine after their long confinement in the hold, and they raced like mad along the steps inside the wheel. The contraption spun furiously and the Rage, without sails, worked up such a speed that the policemen barely managed to keep up with us in their launch.    They were staring at us from all ships through spy-glasses and telescopes, crowds of people were cheering on the shore, while the Rage skimmed the waves like a dolphin. Then we turned about and returned to our berth. That same official came along in his car, very sore. He knew he had been tricked, but there was nothing he could do about it.    Towards evening Habenbeck himself drove up in his car. He came on board, had a look round, crossed his hands on his belly and twirled his fingers.    "So these are the squirrels, Captain Wrungel?" he said, '"Yes, I remember. How much do you want for them?"    "It's not the question of price," I answered. "The certificate is lost, as you ought to know."    "Oh, never mind the certificate," he said. "This is easily arranged. Just tell me the price."    Well, I named quite a stiff price; he winced, but did not try to haggle. He drew the cheque there and then, collected the squirrels together with the wheels and asked me in parting:    "What do they eat?"    "Nougat and pineapples," I replied, glad to see the last of him. I had no use for this character, Habenbeck, and for all of Hamburg, for that matter.