Wilson came up shortly, after that with mugs of scalding coffee. After we'd drunk it the remaining three hours of the watch dragged. Once we sighted the navigation lights of a drifter. The rest of the time the boat was plunging through a void of utter darkness. Sleep weighed on our eyes. It was a constant fight to keep awake. At four in the morning we called the starboard watch. A faint grey light percolating the low cloud and the tumbled outline of the waves marching up behind us was just visible.
That was to be our last full day at sea. The wind lessened and the sea dropped. Daylight revealed no real damage aloft and we piled on sail again. By midday a watery sun came out and I was able to obtain a fix. This confirmed our position — about 30 miles due west of the Norwegian port of Stavanger. I altered course to north eleven east.
All that day Dahler kept to his cabin. Jill reported that he was in a state of nervous exhaustion and suffering from seasickness and lack of food. I went to see him just after the midday meal. The cabin smelt stale and airless. Dahler was lying with his eyes closed. His face looked grey under the dirty stubble except for a livid bruise on his cheek and the red line of his cut lip. I thought he was asleep, but as I turned to go he opened his eyes. 'When will we be in — Norway?' he asked.
'Dawn Tommorow,' I replied.
'Dawn Tommorow,' he replied slowly. The way he said it made me realise what it meant to him. He hadn't seen his country for a long time. And when he had last been there it had been as a prisoner, a slave labourer working for the Germans over 4,000 feet up in the mountains. And he had left it as a fugitive. I thought of the awful trip he must have had down the railway to Bergen hidden in a crate that was supposed to contain German aero engines. Then the trip out to the island and then the final journey by M.T.B. And now he was going back for the first time. And he was threatened with arrest. I suddenly felt sorry for him.
'There's a chance we may sight a steamer off Bergen, bound for Britain,' I said. 'If so, shall we signal it to take you on board?'
He sat up suddenly. 'No,' he said violently. 'No. I'm not afraid. I'm a Norwegian. Neither Jorgensen — nor anyone else — will stop me from going back to my country.' His eyes had a wild look. 'Where are you making for?' he asked.
'Fjaerland,' I said.
He nodded and sank back. 'Good! I must find Farnell. If I can find Farnell — he knows the truth, you see. There were records. The resistance people kept records of what went on between the Germans and suspected Norwegian civilians.'
I couldn't remind him that Farnell was dead. In his overwrought state it would have done no good. He had closed his eyes again and I went out, closing the door gently behind me.