The Sea Lion Read online

  OCTOBER 21st, 1807

  The next day, the group of men showed up at the Sugar House on a promontory at the mouth of the Tista River, a stone’s throw from the English garden of Red Manor. It was an elegant, castle-like building, surrounded by small groves of trees and open fields to ensure that it marred neither the elegance of Tank’s imposing home nor the fields of the town. When Willy, the twins, and the prisoner from the fortress arrived at the dock, they were greeted by a two-mast schooner waiting to be loaded, but there was no one in sight. They’ve probably gone inside to escape the chilly autumn weather, Willy thought to himself as he felt a pang of compassion for the prisoner. His name was Fritjof and was a poor craftsman from Berg who’d stolen food from the farm owner, making him one of the so-called ‘honourable’ prisoners. They were divided into two groups: the honourable and the dishonourable. Both classifications resulted in servitude, but the dishonourable prisoners had committed murder and major theft. They were whipped, and their foreheads were branded with the Mark of the Thief. Although Fritjof was an honourable prisoner, he was forced to walk around with chains around his ankles, marking his every move with a jingling sound. There was no point in trying to run away.

  The group stopped by the ship.

  Willy cleared his throat and said, “Hello? Is anybody here?”

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” a quiet voice responded from inside the hell. Creaking footsteps coming echoed nearby, and soon,a head wearing a red cap appeared from behind the bulwarks.

  “Ah, you’re here,” the man said in a guttural but gentle voice. He crossed the gangway to meet them, his wide-legged gait more akin to a waddle than anything else. He was a well-fed man with a large belly and a set of round cheeks. His coat hung loosely on his body, creating a sharp contrast to his vest, the buttons on which looked like they were ready to burst and fly off in every which direction. “Wonderful.”

  Willy extended his hand. “Good morning, and God be with you. I’m Willy Lauer, and these are the dock workers.” He nodded to the men behind him. It wasn’t necessary to introduce the prisoner or the twins further.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, monsieur. Call me Armel,” the elderly sailor said. He had bags under his faded eyes, and his grey hair was poking out from under the red cap. “I’m first mate of the Joséphine. Shall we get to work, monsieur?”

  “Let’s do it. Just tell us what we need to do, and we’ll get started.”

  “The sacks are over here,” Armel said, showing them the warehouse filled with heavy bags of sugar and salt. There were more than they could count and they had to be done loading all of them by the end of the day.

  “Good God,” the twins said in unison. Willy flashed them a crooked smile and nodded knowingly.

  “Good luck,” Willy said. While the twins and Fritjof walked back and forth between the warehouse and the ship, he went on a leisurely stroll with Armel. As they carried the heavy sacks on their shoulders, the twins took turns scowling at Willy. This really was slave labour—at a slave’s wage, no less.

  “So where are you from?” Willy asked his gallant companion.

  “La Rochelle,” he answered with a rather strange accent.

  “La Rochelle, you say. Is that north or south of Trondheim?”

  “South, but it’s not in Norway, monsieur. It’s en France.”

  “Onfrons? Never heard of it.”

  “In France. La Rochelle is a French town with proud traditions and a rich history. There are long stretches of beach and there’s even a beautiful wall surrounding the harbour. It’s a lot warmer and cosier than Norway. That’s where Joséphine and I are from.”

  “Oh? I thought the ship came in from Moss?”

  “That’s right. She lives in Moss now. That’s where the shipowner lives. He bought Joséphine three years ago and I came with her.”

  “Oh, are you that attached to the ship?”

  “Very much so. My father, who taught me to sail when I was a young lad, was first mate aboard Joséphine as well. We crossed the Atlantic on Joséphine to see the east coast of North America and fish for cod off the coast of Newfoundland. That’s where I got Beauty, my first dog. She was a Newfoundland dog with long, black fur. The best working dog a sailor could wish for.”

  “Oh, wow! Is it true? You’ve been to America?”

  “Why, yes. Many times, in fact.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to America. What was it like?”

  “Completely ordinary. It’s just as beautiful as here, and there are plenty of fish... Is it a dream of yours to go there?”

  “I have other dreams I want to accomplish first.”

  “What’s first, then? Women?”

  “Becoming captain of a privateer vessel.”

  “That could very well be your first and last dream, monsieur. Trust me, it’s a dangerous job. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “I know that, but it’s worth it. Perhaps you could teach me?”

  “To become a privateer? Not even close, but I could teach you to become first mate.”

  “Right, that’s what I meant. I’ve heard that you’re going to Kristiansand. Is that true?”

  “That’s true. What of it?”

  “Perhaps the twins and I could help out on board?”

  “I’m afraid we can’t afford that. Sorry.”

  “We won’t charge you. It won’t cost you a thing. All we ask is board and lodging. We’ll unload the goods in Kristiansand, and I’ll even guard the ship the entire way.”

  “Ah monsieur, that’s not for me to decide. It’ll be the captain’s decision.”

  SVINESUND

  OCTOBER 22nd, 1807

  The cold, snowy weather made everything feel grey and miserable. Anyone with an excuse to be inside was already below deck, including the twins who were exhausted after yesterday’s work at the Sugar House. It had taken them 14 hours to finish loading the sacks of salt and sugar, and now the pair of them were sleeping like babies. They’ve earned it, Willy thought. It felt like he was destined to take care of them, like it was a task bestowed upon him by God Himself. He came from almost the same background as the twins. The two of them were the sons of a crofter, a poor farmer who rented land from a farm owner and paid for the rental with labour. Six days a week, they worked hard on the owner’s land, and on Sundays they worked on their own. The Lord might have declared it the day of rest in celebration of having created the earth and the universe, but there was no rest for the crofter if he wanted to survive. More often than not, the land was ungenerous, and there were many mouths to feed. It was no wonder that crofters tended to give their farms strange names, such as Pain, Need, Labour, Starvation, Hell, and so on. Others had a more self-deprecating approach and called their farms things like Paradise, Silverville, Braveburg, or the Chalet of Cheers. The limited arable land on Lauer meant that Willy and his father had no farm owner ruling over them; they were part of the lucky few who could rest on Sundays and live off what the sea gave them.

  Soon, however, they would support themselves by becoming privateers on the southern coast. With any luck, they would be able to support their families at home, at least occasionally. They would live the good life and they would eat until they were full. They might even eat meat every day rather than just once a week.

  Willy was on the bow of the Joséphine as it made its way down the picturesque Ringdals Fjord—the slim stretch between Fredrikshald and the Single Fjord—with cliffs to port and starboard alike. Sweden was on one side, Norway on the other.

  Suddenly, they encountered a boat. Willy leaned forwards. The rowboat looked familiar, as did the people inside her. It was Raja and her family, including the scoundrel, Maxim. Damn him!

  Willy shouted and waved in their direction, but none of them saw him. The schooner was sailing full speed ahead, creating wave after wave at the bow. They passed the Romanovas in the blink of an eye.

  “God, she’s beautiful,” Willy sighed, suddenly overwhelmed with melancholy. Per
haps I’ve made a mistake, he thought. Perhaps I should’ve stayed a little while longer.

  LANGESUND

  OCTOBER 23rd, 1807

  The British patrolled the north coast to keep the blockade in place. On October 23rd, the British brig, The Pelican, ventured all the way into the Langesund Fjord, but the wind died down and the ship drifted along. That was when the Norwegian Lieutenant Bille attacked with his three gun sloops and two gun yawls. They were small vessels that were easy to manoeuvre. The long, slender shape of the open ships without decks was reminiscent of the Viking longboats, and they sailed along with the help of sails and oars. Each gunboat could fit a crew of more than 60 men, and as the vessels didn’t reach deep into the water, they could easily hide behind islets, lying in wait for the large, British ships. Most of the boats had a cannon at the front as well as at the back. The windless day gave the Norwegian gunboats the advantage they needed to approach their enemies diagonally, eliminating the risk of being struck on broadside. The crew turned their boats and aimed for the enemy ship. It was shaping up to be a disastrous day for the British crew onboard The Pelican, but then the wind picked back up and sent The Pelican flying.

  The day before, Willy had passed that very spot on his way southwest...

  KRISTIANSAND

  OCTOBER 23RD, 1807

  The crew onboard the Joséphine battled heavy rainfall and strong winds as they manoeuvred into the Kristiansand archipelago. The schooner rocked from side to side in the deep swells. With Willy at the wheel and the experienced, weathered First Mate Armel at his side, they managed to keep steady. The two had become close friends, and Armel had taught Willy everything he knew about captaining a large ship. The twins had received some training of their own, and they now had their work cut out for them in the forms of adjusting the sails and tuning the rig.

  Willy grabbed the megaphone and roared instructions out to the crew. “Steady as she goes! Lower the mainsail!”

  “Très bien!” Armel praised. “Stay on course. We’re almost there, my friend. You should have been in Kristiansand with me a couple of weeks ago. That would’ve been an experience you’d never forget.”

  “Yeah? What happened?”

  “We had just finished unloading the ship and were about to set out from the harbour, but we were stopped before we could get anywhere. We were informed that the English were coming and advised to seek shelter. People sprinted away to hide in whatever basements they could find, while my crew and I sought cover at Christiansholm Fortress in a bay near the town. It was pure mayhem up there, with civilians running around like headless chickens. The soldiers were busy loading cannons and preparing whatever ammunition they could find. I helped a young mother and her two children to safety in one of the bombproof rooms.”

  “British ships? Right here?” Willy asked. For whatever reason, the monumental news had completely escaped him.

  “Oh, yeah. A little bird had told them that the Dano-Norwegian line ship that had escaped the fleet raid in Copenhagen, the Prince Christian Frederik, was docked in Kristiansand. It’s a powerful ship equipped with 70 cannons and the British weren’t about to let it escape a second time.”

  “So, what happened? Did they appear out of thin air?”

  “No, not at all. Robert Stopford, the commander of the English line ship HMS Spencer, had sent a letter to County Governor Nicolai Emanuel de Thygeson, threatening to open fire on Kristiansand if the ship was not handed over immediately.”

  “And how did Thygeson respond?”

  “‘Go ahead and open fire,’ he wrote back. ‘We’ll blow you to smithereens.’ But you see, the threat was directed at three large, British warships decked out with cannons and possibly some of those dreaded skyrockets.”

  “No wonder people were panicked. Choosing to go up against those ships sounds like pure madness to me. Didn’t Thygeson know what happened in Copenhagen?”

  “Of course, he did—and still, he challenged the English. He refused to surrender.”

  “And Commander Stopford delivered on his threat?”

  “Oh, yes. I watched the three ships as they ventured into this very fjord, and the sight sent a shiver down my spine. ‘All hell is about to break loose,’ I thought. It was all over before I knew it. The British were met with three gun sloops and two gun yawls. Stopford fired twice from broadside and retreated. Not long after, we heard a loud thud out in the archipelago.”

  “One of the ships exploded?” Willy theorised that one of the ships had been set aflame and that the fire had spread to the gunpowder chamber. A logical conclusion.

  “No. In retaliation, the scorned Commander Stopford had struck Fredriksholm Fortress a little further out.”

  “Oh, Lord! Did we lose a lot of men?”

  “No, the fortress was unmanned.”

  “Right.”

  “Stopford decided to take his anger out on the structure. He blew it up, but it ended up costing him dearly.”

  “Of course, he must have wasted a lot of gunpowder doing that. That is, assuming he used his own gunpowder.”

  “Oh, yeah. The barrels of gunpowder were in position and the fuses were lit. The English sought cover and waited. Commander Stopford grew impatient and sent four of his own men out to check if the fuses were still burning.”

  “I take it they were?”

  “Mon Dieu!” Armel made the sign of the cross. “That they were.”

  FREDRIKSHALD

  OCTOBER 23RD, 1807

  “Would you look at that,” the fisherman said to the fishmonger, as he delivered the catch of the day. He nodded towards the crowd of people in the town square.

  “What, where? Who?”

  “The thieves. The ones who stole the priest’s silver.”

  “Oh, right, those scoundrels. Now, I see them.”

  Raja and her family had been brought in for questioning and searched thoroughly once again, but this time, Maxim didn’t have any of the stolen goods on his person. The silver had been confiscated by the Strömstad sheriff, who had kept Maxim in his custody for a couple of days. The Swedish sheriff eventually had been forced to release him, partly because the seal on the silver was that of a jeweller in Christiania and partly because nobody in Sweden had reported the silver missing. But this time, the family had been caught in Norway, where they were wanted suspects, and the authorities requested new witnesses to step forward. His Majesty’s Bailiff Christian Jeppesen, the man who had interrogated Willy Lauer, was sent for. He was still in Fredrikstad, which was an hour’s ride away if the messenger went at full speed.

  THE PROUD COCK

  OCTOBER 23RD, 1807

  “Cheers, fellas—à votre santé.” First Mate Armel raised his stein and nodded to Willy and the twins. The beer sprayed in every which direction as they banged their mugs together. The group had plenty to celebrate. For starters, they had done some formidable dock work, carrying tonnes of heavy sacks from the schooner to the horse-drawn carriages on the pier. Secondly, they could finally start looking for a privateer-vessel crew to join, which was exciting news all on its own. But where would they begin their search? Who would they have to speak to? In any case, the Proud Cock seemed like a good starting point. If nothing else, it was a place to drink beer and get to know people. The beer flowed freely and smoke from innumerable clay pipes filled the room like a heavy fog at this sailor’s establishment. It was filled to the brim with loud-mouthed people milling about from table to table, their voices reverberating off the barrel-vaulted ceiling of the inn’s cellar.

  For Armel, this was shaping up to be one of those nights out on the town that he wouldn’t remember in great detail the next morning. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the process of waking up to a pounding headache, a dry mouth, a selection of new bruises on his body, and tears in his clothes. Usually, an inability to remember where he put his coat or his hat (or both) and significantly depleted funds in his pocketbook - if he could even find his pocketbook in the first place – were to be expected, as well. But h
e counted himself lucky, so long as he hadn’t racked up more debt. More than once, he’d woken behind bars with a start to find himself bloody and bruised after a drunken brawl that had resulted in broken inventory. That was usually followed by demands for reparations.

  Armel was the life and soul of the party and he was far from stingy. He bought Willy and the twins one beer after another, and everyone was having a grand, old time.

  It didn’t take Odd long to grow tipsy, and in his newfound stupor, the otherwise shy fellow unearthed new levels of courage. There was something he’d been wondering, and now that alcohol was in his bloodstream, he wasn’t scared to ask.

  “Tell me something, Armel. Are you married?”

  “Married? Me? You bet I’m married!”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Joséphine, of course!

  “Ah, Joséphine. Obviously.”

  “Because of the ship! Good one,” Willy laughed. The beer had given him the courage to speak his mind as well. His timidity meant that he wasn’t particularly experienced when it came to women either.

  “Have you never been married?” Willy asked. “For real, I mean.”

  “Oh, no, it’s been a while since I gave up on that dream. Women are bothersome. They’re nothing but trouble and mindless chatter.”

  Willy’s laugh drowned in a hiccough. “The Joséphine is enough for you, huh?”

  Armel leaned forwards and pulled him closer, as if he was about to share a well-kept secret prompting the twins to lean in as well. In a low voice, and with a breath that made Willy’s eyes water, he said, “The best woman a man could ask for, dear friends. Joséphine lets me take her wherever I want to go and she never complains. What more could I possibly want? La femme parfaite!”

  He ended his declaration of love with a gulp of beer. He swallowed the liquid, burped, and patted himself on his drum of a stomach.

  That made Jens burst into laughter. “You and your ship. Sounds like a lonely life, if you ask me.”

  Armel observed Jens for a moment before continuing with a crooked smile.

  “Hmm, I thought as much. You’re preoccupied with the thought of women, young man. Just reach out and grab them.”