But he had his reasons.

“What reasons?”

August intimated that much was going on behind the scenes for him at the moment. He’d spent all his ready cash on skins, and he couldn’t really pay the modest rent.

The man was bewildered. “But you have money to buy the boat?”

“Indeed I have,” answered August. “I don’t want you to pass it on, but it’s rather a large banknote I have. Several large notes, if it comes to that. I can’t pay the rent for the boat before I’ve changed them.”

Karolus, rather crestfallen: “Well then, you can pay for the hire when you’ve changed your notes at the fair.”

This they agreed. And the two partners, August and Edevart, loaded their skins, took on provisions, and sailed for Stokmarknes. Actually, they were too small a crew for such a large boat, but it was fine weather and a summer’s day, so they didn’t worry.

All went well until they were nearly across Vestfjord. There was a fair wind and the sun shone night and day at that time of year; they took turns at the helm while the other leaned back on the bales of skins and dozed. While August was on watch, he sang and talked English to himself. When Edevart woke and looked up, August swore with pleasure and boasted that the trip was going splendidly, and that, in fact, if they wanted, they could nicely carry on right across the Atlantic!

August had rather watery blue eyes; and, all in all, he didn’t have all that much about him, God knows. He gave the impression of being competent in certain things—of the head or of the hands. Indeed; but he didn’t seem particularly inventive. But now he felt happy. It was sheer delight to sail easily along like this. And he’d be making money, too!

They had set course too far north. They saw Hindø in the distance. Here the wind freshened as night fell, but there was no sea running as yet. August was at the helm. What was this—the wind rising? He was not used to these square-rigged vessels and he became seasick. Strangely it also began to hail. A blizzard arose, the sun was extinguished; he looked back at the darkening sky. They reached a stretch of open sea; the weather turned rough, a hailstorm. August woke Edevart, screaming at him. Edevart leaped up.

“What are you doing with the steering?” he shouted.

“I want to turn around,” August answered, sick and afraid.

Edevart said: “Are you crazy? You can’t turn in this wind.”

“I didn’t know,” said August, cowed.

“Slacken sail!” commanded Edevart. He managed to lower the sail and took in a couple of reefs at once.

No, a square rig was no real ship. August could not stand upright in such a boat, only sit. He had to keep down. If need be, he could kneel. But here the sailor lad was scared to death.

“God Almighty, how will all this end?” he whimpered.

“Hard over again!” Edevart ordered.

This was done.