It was just as if there were someone sitting next to him beside the
rudder, to whom he was relating his adventures.
Has he ever been on a warship? I whispered.
Never in his life, said Eric.
Our eyes never left him. I can still remember the curious twitching
and working of his features. The eyes themselves were invisible; it
was as though the man were asleep. But his forehead and temples were
forever on the move, as if in mimicry of what he said.
I couldn't utter a sound. Everything was blurred before my eyes, for
it was only then that the full realisation came upon me that the man
at the rudder--the man who held all our lives in his hands--was
half-crazed.
The crew nudged each other and chortled. They'd seen all this
before.
She was running aground--heading straight for the reef,--a total
loss, said Hrolfur, a total loss, I tell you. She was a beautiful
craft, shining black and diced with white along the sides--ten
fighting mouths on either side and a carved figure on her prow. I
think the king would have been sorry to lose her. She was far too
lovely to be ground to pieces there--they were glad when I turned
up.
The crew did their best to smother their laughter.
'Top-sails up,' I shouted.--'Top-sails up, my lad.' The officer, for
all his gold braid, went as pale as death. 'Top-sails up, in the
devil's name.' The blue-jackets on the deck fell over themselves in
fear. Yes, my lad, even though I hadn't a sword dangling by my side,
I said, 'Top-sails up, in the devil's name.' And they obeyed me--
they obeyed me. They didn't dart not to. 'Top-sails up, in the
devil's name.'
Hrolfur raised himself up on the crossbeam, his fists clenched round
the steering-ropes.
Eric was almost bursting with laughter and trying hard not to let it
be heard; but the man at the mast made little attempt to stifle his.
She's made it, said Hrolfur, his face all smiles and nodding his
head.--Out to sea. Straight out to sea. Let her lie down a bit, if
she wants to. It'll do her no harm to ship a drop or two. Let it
'bubble up over her rowlocks,' as we Icelanders say. Even though she
creaks a bit, it's all to the good. Her planks aren't rotten when
they make that noise. All right, we'll sail the bottom out of her--
but forward she'll go--forward, forward she shall go!
Hrolfur let his voice drop and drew out his jet words slowly.
By now we were far out in the fjord. The sea was rising and becoming
more choppy because of tide currents. Good steering became more and more
difficult. Hrolfur seemed to do it instinctively. He never once looked
up and yet seemed to see all around him. He seemed to sense the approach
of those bigger waves which had to be avoided or passed by. The general
direction was never lost, but the boat ran wonderfully smoothly in and
out of the waves--over them, before them and through them, as though she
were possessed with human understanding. Not a single wave fell on her;
they towered high above, advanced on her foaming and raging, but
somehow--at the last moment--she turned aside. She was as sensitive as a
frightened hind, quick to answer the rudder, as supple in her movements
as a willing racehorse. Over her reigned the spirit of Hrolfur.
But Hrolfur himself was no longer there. He was 'on the frigate'. It
was not his own boat he was steering in that hour, but a huge three-
master with a whole cloud of sails above her and ten cannon on
either side--a miracle of the shipwright's craft. The mainstays were
of many-stranded steelwire, the halyards, all clustered together,
struck at the mast and stays; they seemed inextricably tangled, and
yet were in fact all ship-shape, taut and true, like the nerves in a
human body. There was no need to steer her enormous bulk to avoid
the waves or pass them by; it was enough to let her crush them with
all her weight, let her grind them down and push them before her
like drifts of snow. Groaning and creaking she ploughed straight on
through all that came against her, heeling before the wind right
down to her gunwale and leaving behind her a long furrow in the sea.
High above the deck of this magnificent vessel, between two curved
iron pillars, Hrolfur's boat hung like a tiny mussel shell.
Once upon a time this had been a dream of the future. But now that
all hope of its fulfilment had been lost, the dream had long since
become a reality. Hrolfur's adventure 'on the frigate' was a thing
of the past.
For a long time he continued talking to himself, talked of how he
had brought 'the frigate' safely to harbour, and how he had been
awarded a 'gold medal' by the king. We could hear only anppets of
this long rigmarole, but we never lost the drift of it. He spoke
alternately in Danish and Icelandic, in many different tones of
voice, and one could always tell, by the way he spoke, where he was
in 'the frigate': whether he was addressing the crew on the deck, or
the officers on the bridge, and when, his fantastic feat
accomplished, he clinked glasses with them in the cabin on the poop.
The wind had slackened somewhat, but now that we had reached so far
out into the bay the waves were higher; they were the remains of the
huge ocean waves which raged on the high seas, remains which,
despite the adverse wind, made their way far up the fjord.
Hrolfur no longer talked aloud, but he continued to hum quietly to
himself. The crew around me began to doze off, and I think even I
was almost asleep for a time. To tell the truth I wasn't very far
from feeling seasick.
Soon afterwards the man who had been asleep in the space behind the
mast rose to his feet, yawned once or twice, shook himself to
restore his circulation and looked around.
It won't be long now before we get to Mular Creek, he said with his
mouth still wide-open.
I was wide awake at once when I heard this, and raised myself up on
my elbow. The mountain I had seen from the village--which then had
been wrapped in a dark haze--now towered directly above us, rocky
and enormous, with black sea-crags at its feet. The rocks were
drenched with spray from the breakers, and the booming of the sea as
it crashed into the basalt caves resounded like the roar of cannon.
There'll be no landing in the creek today, Hrolfur, the man said and
yawned again. The breakers are too heavy.
Hrolfur pretended he hadn't heard.
Everybody aboard was awake now and watching the shore; and I think
he was not the only one amongst us to shudder at the thought of
landing.
On the mountain in front of us it was as though a panel was slowly
moved to one side: the valleys of Muladalir opened up before us.
Soon we glimpsed the roofs of the farms up on the hill-side. The
beach itself was covered with rocks.
The boat turned into the inlet. It was quieter there than outside,
and the sea was just a little another.
Loosen the foresail, Hrolfur ordered. It was Eric who obeyed and
held on to the sheet Hrolfur himself untied the mainsail, whilst at
the same time keeping hold of the sheet. I imagined Hrolfur must be
thinking it safer to have the sails loose as it was likely to be
gusty in the inlet.
Are you going to sail in? said the man who'd been asleep. His voice
came through a nose filled with snuff.
Shut up, said Hrolfur savagely.
The man took the hint and asked no more questions. No one asked a
question, though every moment now was one of suspense.
We all gazed in silence at the cliffs, which were lathered in white
foam.
One wave after another passed under the boat. They lifted her high
up, as if to show us the surf. As the boat sank slowly down into the
trough of the wave, the surf disappeared and with it much of the
shore. The wave had shut it out.
I was surprised how little the boat moved, but an explanation of the
mystery was soon forthcoming: the boat and all she carried were
still subject to Hrolfur's will.
He let the wind out of the mainsail and, by careful manipulation of
the rudder, kept the boat wonderfully still. He was standing up now
in front of the crossbeam and staring fixedly out in front of the
boat. He was no longer talking to himself, he was no longer 'on the
frigate', but in his own boat; he knew well how much depended on
him.
After waiting for a while, watching his opportunity, Hrolfur
suddenly let her go at full speed once more.
Now the moment had come--a moment I shall never forget--nor probably
any of us who were in the boat with him. It was not fear that
gripped us but something more like excitement before a battle. Yet,
if the choice had been mine, we should have turned back from the
creek that day.
Hrolfur stood at the rudder, immovable, his eyes shifting from side
to side, now under the sail, now past it. He chewed vigorously on
his quid of tobacco and spat. There was much less sign now of the
twitchings round his eyes than there'd been earlier in the day, and
his very calmness had a soothing effect on us all.
As we approached the creek, a huge wave rose up behind us. Hrolfur
glanced at it with the corner of his eye. He spat and bared his
teeth. The wave rose and rose, and it reached us just at the mouth
of the creek, its overhanging peak so sharp as to be almost
transparent. It seemed to be making straight for the boat.
As I watched, I felt the boat plummet down, as if the sea was
snatched from under her; it was the undertow--the wave was drawing
the waters back beneath it. By the gunwale the blue-green sea
frothed white as it poured back from the skerries near the entrance
to the creek.
The boat almost stood on end; it was as if the sea was boiling
around us--boiling until the very seaweed on the rocks was turned to
broth.
Suddenly an ice-cold lash, as of a whip, seemed to strike me in the
face. I staggered forwards under the blow and grasped at one of the
mainstays.
Let go the foresail, shouted Hrolfur.
When I was able to look up, the sails were flapping idly over the
gunwale. The boat floated gently into the creek, thwart-deep in
water.
We all felt fine.
It's true, I could feel the cold sea water dripping down my bare
back, underneath my shirt, but I didn't mind. All that had happened
to me was but a kiss, given me in token of farewell by the youngest
daughter of the goddess of the waves.
The boat floated slowly in on the unaccustomed calm of the waters
and stopped at the landing-place.
Standing there watching were two men from the farm.
I thought as much, it had to be old Hrolfur, one of them called out
as we landed. It's no ordinary man's job to get into the creek on a
day like this.
Hrolfur's face was wreathed in smiles: he made no answer, but
slipping off the rudder in case it should touch bottom he laid it
down across the stern.
We were given a royal welcome by the fanners from Mular, and all
that I needed to further me on my journey was readily available and
willingly granted. Nowhere does Iceland's hospitality flourish so
well as in her outlying stations and in the remotest of her valleys,
where travellers are few.
We all got out of the boat and pulled her clear of the waves. Every
one of us was only too glad to get the opportunity of stretching his
legs after sitting cramped up on the hard boards for nearly four
hours.
I walked up to where old Hrolfur stood apart, on the low, flat
rocks, thanked him for the trip and asked him what it cost.
Cost? he said, scarce looking at me. What does it cost? Just a
minute now, my lad,--just a minute.
He answered me with the complete lack of formality one accords an
old friend, though we had met for the first time that day. His whole
face was scowling now, as he answered me brusquely--indeed, almost
curtly; and yet there was something attractive about him, something
that aroused both trust and respect and which made it impossible for
me to resent his familiarity.
How much the trip costs? Just a minute now.
It seemed that his thoughts were elsewhere. He unloosened the brace
of his overalls, reached down into the pocket of his patched
garments beneath and, drawing out a fine length of chewing tobacco,
took a bite. Then, breaking off a smallish length, he dropped it
into the crown of his seaman's hat. Finally, slowly and very
deliberately, he refastened the top of his overalls.