CHAPTER III 



IT does not surprise me that the Vikings of the olden 

 days used to leave the southern coast of Norway for 

 summer visits to our Highlands and western isles, for 

 the climate in this Southern Norway in August is most 

 relaxing; there is absolutely nothing of that feeling of 

 " atmospheric champagne " that you expect to enjoy in 

 Northern Norway in summer. 



We drive into Tonsberg from Henriksen's farm every 

 morning, and after spending the day in the shipyard, come 

 out again in the evening with our ears deafened with the 

 rattle of steam-hammers on iron bolts, rivets and plates. 

 And at night in the quiet of the country we pore over 

 Admiralty charts of the world, especially those of islands 

 down in the South Atlantic, about which we have special 

 knowledge, where we hope our new whaler will pick up 

 cargoes of whales and of seals. 



Our first Sunday off work, 4th August, came as quite 

 a relief, the quiet of the country was so welcome. We 

 wandered through the fields of Henriksen's farm with his 

 wife and their jolly children, and Rex, the liver-and-white 

 collie, smuggled into Norway from Shetland, then through 

 woods and heather till we came by an ancient road to the 

 summit of a little hill and the remains of a Viking watch- 

 tower, where we lay amongst blaeberries and heather and 

 enjoyed the wide view of sea and islands at the entrance to 

 Christiania Fiord, a pretty place to dream in and plan raids 

 to the Southern Seas. As we rambled homewards through 

 the pine wood that belongs to the farm we selected fir-trees 

 to be cut down later for boat masts, lance shafts and flensing 

 blades. 



By the end of August we realise that our small ship is 

 rapidly approaching completion. What a little while ago 

 was only unkindly iron ribs and plates, with the added 

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