CHAPTER XIV
The British fleet lay at Oban; I don’t think any wars-man on any of the vessels would not have changed places with one of us; for to any seaman there is an air of romance and adventure about a whaler. I’d have felt distinctly proud passing down their line in our little vessel whose object and capabilities any bluejacket could guess at—a motor, plus sails and a small but sea-going hull, a business-like gun at bow, a crow’s nest; and going south—that would appeal to their imagination. But alas! at our stern hung a Union Jack made in Norway, that a Boy Scout would jeer at. I am to blame. I’d taken it for granted I could get a Union Jack anywhere, but the Norse idea of a Union Jack I cannot recommend. But the warships politely dipped to us, and the crews crowded round their bows and we could only imagine the smiles at our Jack. We may perhaps still manage to get one of the correct design in the north of Ireland if we call there. In any case, our mistake was accidental and temporary; but each of his Majesty’s ships flew the Cross of St George with the Union Jack device relegated to a mere canton, a deliberate violation of the Treaty of Union, the first article of Treaty which stipulated that the united crosses of both Scotland and England shall be used in all flags both at sea and on land.
We spent the Sunday afternoon as John Knox and the reformer used to spend it. I mean we enjoyed ourselves “out-by.” John Knox, you know, golfed on Sunday afternoons, and ate oysters in a High Street cellar at night! So we sailed, and then dined in the Station Hotel. My wife and my cousin, Urmston, had come north to Oban to avail themselves of the chance of seeing the St Ebba; and with a light, fresh breeze and smooth water we sailed and motored over to Duart and South Morven, and Loch Linnhe, and at night dined on shore as stated. The engine had worked perfectly; Urmston, a born mechanic and sailor, was delighted with the whole turn-out, so it was rather a jolly dinner and there were many yarns.
One of the subjects that came up was that of wives at sea. “Ach, vifes at sea’s no good,” said Henriksen emphatically, and I was rather surprised, as I know Norwegian captains often take their wives to sea, but Henriksen has been, as a boy and mate, a looker-on, and has seen trouble come from it.
“No, no,” he continued, “alvays bad veather and trouble ven veemen’s on board. I tell you vonce a veeman come on board—I laff! We vas in a barque and the captain’s vife she owned it—she vas very reech, and had tree sheeps. She vas married tree times—the captain tell me dis, he vas her tird husband.” Henriksen was serving his time on this barque as all Norsemen do, on sailing-ships before the mast. At Boulogne they lay one night alongside the slip, and all but he had gone on shore to the cafés. He being youngest had to do watchman, and brewed himself coffee in the galley and then dozed, possibly slept for “five minutes or maybe two hours,” he said. “I do not know, and ven I vakes up I looks out and dere is a light in cabin so I goes quiet and looks down the skylight and der vas a great veemen! with luggage on de floor beside her.”
Down to the cabin went Henriksen and addressed her. “Who is you, vat you come here for without leave?” To which she replied: “I am the captain’s wife.” But the boy would not be bluffed. “That is not true,” he cried, “go away at once, you’se bad veemen, you comes here to steal, be off wid you before I gets the crew or the captain comes.”
And she looked round her and rose and reached to a young woman’s photo on the wall and held it to Henriksen and he gazed and saw the truth; this elderly spacious person still preserved some faint resemblance to the buxom girl in the faded photograph. So Henriksen made his bow—you know how the Norse bow, straight from the hips, and apologised and asked forgiveness, which she very graciously extended to him, saying: “You very good boy, you look after ship well.” So he chatted away pleasantly, and got her coffee and food and retired again to the galley, and when he was sound asleep again, the captain came from the town, jumped down on deck and came growling to the galley: “Hillo, you’re a nice watchman! asleep in the galley, when you should be on deck.” “Well, captain,” said the boy, “I work all day hard, and all night I vatch and den comes your vife and I cooks for her long times, what you expect?”
“My wife,” whispered the captain anxiously. “Evan, here’s something for you, put that in your pocket and keep it, and promise not to say a word about my coming aboard.”
Henriksen promised, and the captain turned and stole away along the dark quay.