water that for some reason had hitherto been missed. Off the top of his head he could not remember it being mentioned as a good place for herring fishing in old documents describing the best fishing grounds around the Sandsänkan lighthouse.
The snow was falling even more heavily. He felt disappointed. The sea had tricked him.
He shouted to Welander, instructing him to stop work for the day. The thoroughly soaked ratings came to life. One of them yawned noisily as he took hold of his oar. A lump of yellowish-green snot was trickling down his upper lip. Tobiasson-Svartman stood up abruptly and hit the sailor in the face with the chart pouch. It was a hard blow, and blood appeared immediately on the rating's lip.
It all happened so quickly that nobody had time to react.
Weakness, Tobiasson-Svartman thought. Now I have made myself vulnerable. I lost control.
The ratings carried on rowing. He sat with his eyes fixed on Halsskär. Nobody spoke.
Over dinner, which consisted of roast beef, potatoes and pickled gherkin, he told Lieutenant Jakobsson about the invisible cliff wall.
'What are the implications?' Jakobsson asked.
'I shall be able to relocate the navigable channel closer to the mainland, but it will not be as wide as I had hoped.'
'So it hasn't been a complete failure?'
'No.'
He went on to speak of the other incident.
'I gave a rating a good dressing-down today. It was necessary. He wasn't rowing as he should have been. I hit him with the chart pouch.'
Needless to say, Jakobsson knew about it already. He smiled.
'Naturally, the crew has to be punished if they don't obey orders or fail to carry out their work properly. I must ask you, though, from curiosity purely, what are you doing when you are not "rowing as you should be"?'
'He was lazy.'
Jakobsson nodded slowly, and eyed him quizzically.
'I didn't think a shipping lane could be such a personal matter,' he said. 'I can understand that a ship might be. I have seen old captains and bosuns weep when their ship has been towed away to the breaker's yard. But a navigable channel?'
Tobiasson-Svartman thought he ought to respond to that. But he could not think of anything to say.
CHAPTER 42
He finished his meal and left the mess. When he came out on deck he stopped to gaze in the direction of Halsskär, which was invisible in the dark. He tried to imagine what Sara Fredrika's husband looked like, and wondered if there were any children in the grey cottage.
A slight breeze had got up from the south. He could feel that the mercury had risen above freezing point.
It had stopped snowing.
He sat down at the table in his cabin and tried to deal with his disappointment. He had made a mistake, he had assumed that he would triumph. He had been convinced that he could change an arc into an almost straight line on the sea chart, give naval vessels more protection, and above all enable them to approach land or head out to sea at faster speeds. Although he knew from experience that a navigable channel was like an invisible obstacle course, he had allowed himself to approach the mission with too much confidence.
The sea had not tricked him. It was he who had failed to show sufficient respect. He had committed a grave sin: he had guessed.
* * *
The paraffin lamp started smoking. As he adjusted the flame a memory came to him. His father had once lapsed into one of his most furious rages when Lars arrived late at the dinner table because he had guessed the time and got it wrong. With a bellow his father had boxed his ears and sent him to bed without food.
To be late was to desecrate other people's time. Guessing could be an amusing game, but was never permissible in connection with dinner or other serious matters.
Such as being responsible for checking the depth of secret naval channels.
He wrote up the notes he had made during the day and worked out a plan for how they would continue their work. They would be forced to retreat about 150 metres. When they came to the
The snow was falling even more heavily. He felt disappointed. The sea had tricked him.
He shouted to Welander, instructing him to stop work for the day. The thoroughly soaked ratings came to life. One of them yawned noisily as he took hold of his oar. A lump of yellowish-green snot was trickling down his upper lip. Tobiasson-Svartman stood up abruptly and hit the sailor in the face with the chart pouch. It was a hard blow, and blood appeared immediately on the rating's lip.
It all happened so quickly that nobody had time to react.
Weakness, Tobiasson-Svartman thought. Now I have made myself vulnerable. I lost control.
The ratings carried on rowing. He sat with his eyes fixed on Halsskär. Nobody spoke.
Over dinner, which consisted of roast beef, potatoes and pickled gherkin, he told Lieutenant Jakobsson about the invisible cliff wall.
'What are the implications?' Jakobsson asked.
'I shall be able to relocate the navigable channel closer to the mainland, but it will not be as wide as I had hoped.'
'So it hasn't been a complete failure?'
'No.'
He went on to speak of the other incident.
'I gave a rating a good dressing-down today. It was necessary. He wasn't rowing as he should have been. I hit him with the chart pouch.'
Needless to say, Jakobsson knew about it already. He smiled.
'Naturally, the crew has to be punished if they don't obey orders or fail to carry out their work properly. I must ask you, though, from curiosity purely, what are you doing when you are not "rowing as you should be"?'
'He was lazy.'
Jakobsson nodded slowly, and eyed him quizzically.
'I didn't think a shipping lane could be such a personal matter,' he said. 'I can understand that a ship might be. I have seen old captains and bosuns weep when their ship has been towed away to the breaker's yard. But a navigable channel?'
Tobiasson-Svartman thought he ought to respond to that. But he could not think of anything to say.
CHAPTER 42
He finished his meal and left the mess. When he came out on deck he stopped to gaze in the direction of Halsskär, which was invisible in the dark. He tried to imagine what Sara Fredrika's husband looked like, and wondered if there were any children in the grey cottage.
A slight breeze had got up from the south. He could feel that the mercury had risen above freezing point.
It had stopped snowing.
He sat down at the table in his cabin and tried to deal with his disappointment. He had made a mistake, he had assumed that he would triumph. He had been convinced that he could change an arc into an almost straight line on the sea chart, give naval vessels more protection, and above all enable them to approach land or head out to sea at faster speeds. Although he knew from experience that a navigable channel was like an invisible obstacle course, he had allowed himself to approach the mission with too much confidence.
The sea had not tricked him. It was he who had failed to show sufficient respect. He had committed a grave sin: he had guessed.
* * *
The paraffin lamp started smoking. As he adjusted the flame a memory came to him. His father had once lapsed into one of his most furious rages when Lars arrived late at the dinner table because he had guessed the time and got it wrong. With a bellow his father had boxed his ears and sent him to bed without food.
To be late was to desecrate other people's time. Guessing could be an amusing game, but was never permissible in connection with dinner or other serious matters.
Such as being responsible for checking the depth of secret naval channels.
He wrote up the notes he had made during the day and worked out a plan for how they would continue their work. They would be forced to retreat about 150 metres. When they came to the
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