288 FOLLOW THE WHALE 



to the engine-room housing from which it directly protruded. Her 

 bows were far too high, knife-sharp but widely flared, and they were 

 cut off abruptly above by an ugly, triangular steel platform upon 

 which reposed a grim-looking, stubby gun. Her rail swept down al- 

 most to the water line amidships and then just seemed to peter out 

 aft, while an enormous mass of metallic confusion rose from within 

 above her bulwarks, as if there were just too much to be decently 

 contained within her belly. She had an aggravated and aggravating 

 appearance from all angles, and she did not seem to have been born 

 of the sea. Rather, she had the air of some piece of mining ma- 

 chinery temporarily set afloat, and loathing every moment of the 

 experience as only an inanimate machine can loathe a task for which 

 it was not specifically designed. The Boy set off with leaden feet 

 down the rocky path from the headland towards his humble home. 

 It lay only a mile below, and gentle blue smoke arose from its gray 

 slate roof. 



An hour later the Boy was viewing the same scene, but from a 

 very different angle. His home was still a mile away, but now he 

 looked up at it, for he was hanging over the cold steel bulwarks of 

 the Vikna. His father, having signed a dirty official form stating 

 that the Boy might ship for the summer season as a junior deck- 

 hand apprentice, although he was not yet twelve years old, had de- 

 parted shorewards in his tubby dinghy, and the Boy was left to wait 

 for further instructions on deck, his small carpetbag at his feet. 

 Three others had been signed on with him, but they were men — one 

 an engineer, the other two such old seamen that they could almost 

 have been described as ancient mariners. As they all spoke Norsk, 

 they had immediately gone below with the mate, and the Boy was 

 left alone in the late northern dusk. Suddenly the deck began to 

 shudder. 



Normally, any ship up-anchors before turning over her engines, 

 but everything was done differently on the Vikna. Not till she was 

 going full speed astern did a weathered old engineer amble from be- 

 low and attack the anchor winch. Jerking back a lever that caused a 

 jet of white-hot steam to spurt across the deck, he set the squat ma- 

 chine to work and the chain started to come thumping in through 

 the hawsepipe. Almost immediately the Vikna began to move back- 

 wards towards the mouth of the sound. The whole procedure was 



