Chapter I, in which the author introduces the reader to the hero, and in which there is nothing extraordinary

Navigation at our nautical school was taught by Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel.

“Navigation,” he said in the first lesson, “is a science that teaches us to choose the safest and most profitable sea routes, plot these routes on maps and navigate ships along them ... Navigation,” he added at last, “is not an exact science. In order to fully master it, personal experience of prolonged practical navigation is necessary ...

This unremarkable introduction was the cause of fierce disputes for us and all the students of the school were divided into two camps. Some believed, and not without reason, that Vrungel was nothing more than an old sea wolf at rest. He knew navigation brilliantly, taught interestingly, with a twinkle, and apparently he had enough experience. It seemed that Khristofor Bonifatievich had indeed surfed all the seas and oceans.

But people, as you know, are different. Some are gullible beyond measure, others, on the contrary, are prone to criticism and doubt. There were those among us who claimed that our professor, unlike other navigators, never went to sea himself.

To prove this absurd assertion, they cited the appearance of Christopher Bonifatievich. And his appearance really somehow did not fit with our idea of ​​\u200b\u200ba brave sailor.

Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel walked in a gray sweatshirt, belted with an embroidered belt, combed his hair smoothly from the back of his head to his forehead, wore pince-nez on a black lace without a rim, shaved cleanly, was obese and short, his voice was restrained and pleasant, often smiled, rubbed his hands, sniffed tobacco and in all his appearance he looked more like a retired pharmacist than a sea captain.

And so, in order to resolve the dispute, we somehow asked Vrungel to tell us about his past campaigns.

- Well, what are you! Now is not the time,” he objected with a smile, and instead of another lecture, he arranged an extraordinary navigation test.

When, after the call, he came out with a pack of notebooks under his arm, our disputes ceased. Since then, no one has doubted that, unlike other navigators, Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel gained his experience at home, without embarking on a long voyage.

So we would have remained with this erroneous opinion if I had not been lucky enough to hear from Vrungel himself a story about a round-the-world trip full of dangers and adventures very soon, but quite unexpectedly.

It came out by accident. That time, after the control, Khristofor Bonifatievich disappeared. Three days later we learned that on the way home he lost his galoshes in the tram, got his feet wet, caught a cold and went to bed. And the time was hot: spring, tests, exams ... We needed notebooks every day ... And so, as the head of the course, they sent me to Vrungel's apartment.

I went. Easily found an apartment, knocked. And then, while I was standing in front of the door, Vrungel appeared to me quite clearly, lined with pillows and wrapped in blankets, from under which a nose reddened from a cold sticks out.

I knocked again, louder. Nobody answered me. Then I pressed the doorknob, opened the door and ... was dumbfounded by surprise.

Instead of a modest retired pharmacist at the table, deep in reading some ancient book, sat a formidable captain in full dress uniform, with gold stripes on his sleeves. He gnawed ferociously at a huge smoky pipe, there was no mention of pince-nez, and his gray, disheveled hair stuck out in tufts in all directions. Even the nose, although it really turned red, became somehow more solid with Vrungel and expressed determination and courage with all its movements.

On the table in front of Vrungel, in a special rack, stood a model of a yacht with high masts, with snow-white sails, decorated with multi-colored flags. There was a sextant nearby. A carelessly thrown bundle of cards half covered a dried shark fin. On the floor, instead of a carpet, a walrus skin with a head and with fangs was spread, in the corner lay an Admiralty anchor with two bows of a rusty chain, a curved sword hung on the wall, and next to it was a harpoon-killer. There was something else, but I did not have time to consider.

The door creaked. Vrungel raised his head, closed the book with a small dagger, got up and, staggering like in a storm, stepped towards me.

- Very nice to meet you. Sea captain Vrungel Khristofor Bonifatievich,” he said in a thunderous bass, holding out his hand to me. To what do you owe your visit?

I confess, I got a little scared.

“Well, Khristofor Bonifatievich, about notebooks… the guys sent…” I began.

“I'm sorry,” he interrupted me, “I'm sorry, I didn't recognize it. The cursed disease has shattered all memory. Star has become, nothing can be done ... Yes ... so, you say, behind notebooks? - Vrungel asked and, bending down, began to rummage under the table.

Finally, he took out a pack of notebooks and slapped them with his broad, hairy hand, and slapped them so hard that the dust flew in all directions.

“Here, if you please,” he said, preliminary loudly, with taste, sneezing, “everyone is “excellent” ... Yes, sir, “excellent”! Congratulations! With a full knowledge of the science of navigation, you will go to surf the sea under the shadow of a merchant flag ... It is commendable, and, you know, also entertaining. Ah, young man, how many indescribable pictures, how many indelible impressions await you ahead! Tropics, poles, sailing in a great circle…” he added wistfully. - You know, I raved about all this until I swam myself.

- Did you swim? Without thinking, I exclaimed.

- But how! Vrungel was offended. - I something? I swam. I, my friend, swam. He even swam. In some ways, the world's only trip around the world on a two-seater sailing yacht. One hundred and forty thousand miles. Lots of visits, lots of adventures... Of course, times are not the same now. And morals have changed, and the position, - he added, after a pause. - Much, so to speak, appears now in a different light, but still, you know, you look back like this, into the depths of the past, and you have to admit: there was a lot of both amusing and instructive in that campaign. There is something to remember, there is something to tell! .. Yes, you sit down ...

With these words, Khristofor Bonifatievich pushed a whale vertebra towards me. I sat down on it like on a chair, and Vrungel began to talk.

Chapter II, in which Captain Vrungel talks about how his senior assistant Lom studied English, and about some particular cases of the practice of navigation

I sat like this in my kennel, and, you know, I got tired. Decided to shake the old days - and shook. He shook it so much that dust went all over the world! .. Yes, sir. Excuse me, are you in a hurry now? That is great. Then we'll start in order.

At that time, of course, I was younger, but not so much that I was a boy at all. No. And the experience was behind him, and years. Shot, so to speak, a sparrow, in good standing, with a position, and, I will tell you without boasting, on merit. Under such circumstances, I could have commanded the largest steamship. This is also quite interesting. But at that time the largest ship was just at sea, and I was not used to waiting, I spat and decided: I would go on a yacht. It is also, you know, not a joke - to go on a round-the-world voyage on a double sailing vessel.

Well, I began to look for a vessel suitable for the implementation of the plan, and, imagine, I found it. Just what you need. Built just for me.

The yacht, however, required minor repairs, but under my personal supervision they put it in order in no time: they painted it, put new sails, masts, changed the skin, shortened the keel by two feet, extended the sides ... In a word, I had to tinker. But it was not a yacht that came out - a toy! Forty feet on deck. As they say: "The shell is in the power of the sea."

I don't like premature conversations. I put the ship at the bank, covered it with a tarpaulin, and for the time being I started preparing for the trip.

The success of such an enterprise, as you know, largely depends on the personnel of the expedition. Therefore, I was especially careful in choosing my companion - the only helper and comrade in this long and difficult journey. And, I must admit, I was lucky: my senior assistant Lom turned out to be a man of amazing spiritual qualities. Here, judge for yourself: seven-foot-six, voice like a steamboat, extraordinary physical strength, stamina. For all that, excellent knowledge of the matter, amazing modesty - in a word, everything that a first-class sailor needs. But Loma also had a drawback. The only one, but serious: complete ignorance of foreign languages. This, of course, is an important vice, but it did not stop me. I weighed the situation, thought, figured it out and ordered Lom to urgently master the English spoken language. And, you know, Lom took possession. Not without difficulty, but mastered in three weeks.

For this purpose, I chose a special, hitherto unknown method of teaching: I invited two teachers for my senior assistant. At the same time, one taught him from the beginning, from the alphabet, and the other from the end. And, imagine, with the alphabet, Lom didn’t work out, especially with pronunciation. Day and night, my senior assistant Lom learned difficult English letters. And, you know, it wasn't without problems. So one day he was sitting at the table, studying the ninth letter of the English alphabet - "ai".

“Ai… ai… ai…” he repeated in every way, louder and louder.

The neighbor heard, looked in, sees: a healthy kid is sitting, shouting “ay!”. Well, I decided that the poor thing was bad, called an ambulance. We've arrived. They threw a straitjacket on the guy, and with difficulty I got him out of the hospital the next day. However, everything ended happily: exactly three weeks later, my senior assistant Lom reported to me that both teachers had taught him to the middle, and thus the task was completed. On the same day I made an appointment. We were already delayed.

And finally, the long-awaited moment has arrived. Now, perhaps, this event would have passed unnoticed. But at that time such trips were a curiosity. sensation, so to speak. And it is not surprising that in the morning that day crowds of curious crowded the shore. Here, you know, flags, music, general jubilation ... I got into the steering wheel and commanded:

- Raise the sails, give the bow, the rudder to the right!

The sails soared, blossomed like white wings, took the wind, and the yacht, you know, is standing still. We gave up the stern end - it's still worth it. Well, I see that we need to take drastic measures. And just then the tug was passing by. I grabbed the horn, I shout:

- Hey, in tow! End it, damn it!

The tug pulled, puffs, lathers the water behind the stern, just does not stand on its hind legs, and the yacht does not move ... What kind of parable?

Suddenly something thumped, the yacht tilted, I lost consciousness for a moment, and when I woke up, I looked - the configuration of the coast changed dramatically, the crowds dispersed, the water is teeming with hats, an ice cream booth is floating right there, a young man with a movie camera is sitting on top of it and turns the handle.

And under the board we have a whole green island. I looked - and understood everything: the carpenters overlooked, put a fresh forest. And, imagine, over the summer the yacht has taken root and grown with all its side. And I was still wondering: where did such beautiful bushes on the shore come from? Yes. And the yacht is built firmly, the tug is good, the rope is strong. As they pulled, half the shore was carried away along with the bushes. No wonder, you know, fresh wood is not recommended for use in shipbuilding ... An unpleasant story, to be sure, but, fortunately, everything ended happily, without casualties.

The delay was not part of my plans, of course, but nothing can be done about it. This, as they say, "force majeure" - an unforeseen circumstance. I had to anchor and clear the sides. And then, you know, it’s inconvenient: you won’t meet fishermen - the fish will laugh. It is not suitable to swim with his estate.

My senior assistant Lom and I have been busy with this work all day. They suffered, I confess, pretty much, got wet, froze ... And now the night has descended over the sea, the stars have poured out in the sky, on the ships they beat the midnight flask. I let Lom sleep, and I myself remained on watch. I stand, reflecting on the difficulties and delights of the upcoming campaign. And so, you know, I was daydreaming, I did not notice how the night passed.

And in the morning a terrible surprise awaited me: I not only lost a day of progress with this accident - I lost the name of the ship!

Maybe you think that the name does not play a role? Wrong, young man! A name is to a ship what a family name is to a person. Yes, it’s not far to go for an example: Vrungel, let’s say, is a sonorous, beautiful surname. And if I were some kind of Zabodai-Bodailo, or if I had a student - Gopher ... How could I count on the respect and trust that I enjoy now? Just imagine: sea captain Gopher... Ridiculous, sir!

So is the ship. Call the ship "Hercules" or "Bogatyr" - the ice will part before it, and try to call your ship "Trough" - it will float like a trough, and will certainly capsize somewhere in the calmest weather.

That's why I went through and weighed dozens of names before deciding on the one that my beautiful yacht was supposed to wear. I named the yacht "Victory". What a glorious name for a glorious ship! Here is a name that is not ashamed to carry across all the oceans! I ordered cast copper letters and fixed them myself on the stern section. Polished to a shine, they burned with fire. For half a mile you could read: "Victory."

And on that ill-fated day, in the morning, I stand alone on the deck. The sea is calm, the port has not yet woken up, after a sleepless night it is getting sleepy ... Suddenly I see: a hard-working port boat is puffing, coming right up to me and - bang a pack of newspapers on deck! Ambition, of course, is a vice to a certain extent. But we are all people, all people, as they say, and everyone is pleased when they write about him in the newspaper. Yes, sir. And so I open the newspaper. Reading:

“Yesterday’s accident at the start of a round-the-world trip justified the original name that Captain Vrungel gave to his ship in the best possible way ...”

I was a little embarrassed, but, to be honest, I did not really understand what the conversation was about. I grab another newspaper, a third ... Then in one of them a photograph catches my eye: in the left corner is me, in the right is my senior assistant Lom, and in the middle is our beautiful yacht and the signature: “Captain Vrungel and the yacht" Trouble "on which he sets off ... "

Then I understood everything. I rushed to the stern and looked. So it is: knocked down two letters - "P" and "O".

Scandal! Irreparable scandal! But nothing can be done now: newspapermen have long tongues. Nobody knows Vrungel, the captain of Pobeda, but the whole world has already learned about my Trouble.

But it didn't take long to grieve. A breeze blew from the shore, the sails stirred, I woke Lom and began to raise the anchor.

And while we were walking along the sea channel, as luck would have it, they shouted to us from all the ships:

- Hey, on the "Trouble", happy sailing!

It was a pity for a beautiful name, but nothing can be done. So they went to the "Trouble".

They went out to sea. I have not yet recovered from my disappointment. And yet I must say: good at sea! No wonder, you know, even the ancient Greeks used to say that the sea washes away all adversity from the human soul.

Let's go. Silence, only the waves rustle along the sides, the mast creaks, and the shore leaves, melts astern. The weather is getting fresher, white squirrels have gone on the waves, petrels have flown in from somewhere, the breeze has become stronger. It works, the real sea, salty wind whistles in gear. So the last lighthouse was left behind, the coast was gone, only the sea around; wherever you look, the sea is everywhere.

I set a course, handed over the command to Lom, stood for another minute on deck and went downstairs to the cabin to take an hour or two nap before the watch. It is not for nothing that we, sailors, say: "You will always have time not to get enough sleep."

He went downstairs, drank a glass of rum at bedtime, lay down on the bed and fell asleep like a log.

And two hours later, vigorous and fresh, I go up on deck. I looked around, looked ahead ... and my eyes darkened.

At first glance - nothing, of course, special: the same sea is all around, the same seagulls, and Lom is in perfect order, holding the helm, but ahead, right in front of the nose of the "Trouble", - barely noticeable, like a gray thread, a strip rises above the horizon coast.

Do you know what it means when the shore is supposed to be thirty miles to your left, and it is right on your bow? This is a complete scandal. Ugliness. Shame and shame on you! I was shocked, outraged and scared. What to do? Believe me, I decided to put the ship on a reverse course and return to the pier in disgrace before it was too late. And then after all, with such an assistant to swim, you will drive in so that you won’t get out, especially at night.

I was about to give the appropriate command, I already took the air into my chest so that it would come out more impressive, but then, fortunately, everything was explained. Loma stuck out his nose. My first assistant turned his nose to the left all the time, greedily sucked in air, and he himself was drawn to the same place.

Well, then I understood everything: in my cabin, on the port side, there was an uncorked bottle of fine rum. And Lom has a rare nose for alcohol, and, of course, he was drawn to the bottle. This happens.

And if so, then the matter is fixable. In some way, a special case of the practice of ship navigation. There are cases that are not foreseen by science. I did not even think about it, went down to the cabin and quietly transferred the bottle to starboard. Lom's nose stretched like a compass for a magnet, the ship obediently rolled in the same direction, and two hours later the "Trouble" lay on its previous course. Then I put the bottle in front, at the mast, and Crowbar no longer strayed from the course. He led the "Trouble" as if by a thread, and only once particularly greedily breathed in and asked.

Adventures of Captain Vrungel

Navigation at our nautical school was taught by Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel.

“Navigation,” he said in the first lesson, “is a science that teaches us to choose the safest and most profitable sea routes, plot these routes on maps and navigate ships along them ... Navigation,” he added at last, “is not an exact science. In order to fully master it, personal experience of prolonged practical navigation is necessary ...

This unremarkable introduction was the cause of fierce disputes for us and all the students of the school were divided into two camps. Some believed, and not without reason, that Vrungel was nothing more than an old sea wolf at rest. He knew navigation brilliantly, taught interestingly, with a twinkle, and apparently he had enough experience. It seemed that Khristofor Bonifatievich had indeed surfed all the seas and oceans.

But people, as you know, are different. Some are gullible beyond measure, others, on the contrary, are prone to criticism and doubt. There were those among us who claimed that our professor, unlike other navigators, never went to sea himself.

To prove this absurd assertion, they cited the appearance of Christopher Bonifatievich. And his appearance really somehow did not fit with our idea of ​​\u200b\u200ba brave sailor.

Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel walked in a gray sweatshirt, belted with an embroidered belt, combed his hair smoothly from the back of his head to his forehead, wore pince-nez on a black lace without a rim, shaved cleanly, was obese and short, his voice was restrained and pleasant, often smiled, rubbed his hands, sniffed tobacco and in all his appearance he looked more like a retired pharmacist than a sea captain.

And so, in order to resolve the dispute, we somehow asked Vrungel to tell us about his past campaigns.

- Well, what are you! Now is not the time,” he objected with a smile, and instead of another lecture, he arranged an extraordinary navigation test.

When, after the call, he came out with a pack of notebooks under his arm, our disputes ceased. Since then, no one has doubted that, unlike other navigators, Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel gained his experience at home, without embarking on a long voyage.

So we would have remained with this erroneous opinion if I had not been lucky enough to hear from Vrungel himself a story about a round-the-world trip full of dangers and adventures very soon, but quite unexpectedly.

It came out by accident. That time, after the control, Khristofor Bonifatievich disappeared. Three days later we learned that on the way home he lost his galoshes in the tram, got his feet wet, caught a cold and went to bed. And the time was hot: spring, tests, exams ... We needed notebooks every day ... And so, as the head of the course, they sent me to Vrungel's apartment.

I went. Easily found an apartment, knocked. And then, while I was standing in front of the door, Vrungel appeared to me quite clearly, lined with pillows and wrapped in blankets, from under which a nose reddened from a cold sticks out.

I knocked again, louder. Nobody answered me. Then I pressed the doorknob, opened the door and ... was dumbfounded by surprise.

Instead of a modest retired pharmacist at the table, deep in reading some ancient book, sat a formidable captain in full dress uniform, with gold stripes on his sleeves. He gnawed ferociously at a huge smoky pipe, there was no mention of pince-nez, and his gray, disheveled hair stuck out in tufts in all directions. Even the nose, although it really turned red, became somehow more solid with Vrungel and expressed determination and courage with all its movements.

On the table in front of Vrungel, in a special rack, stood a model of a yacht with high masts, with snow-white sails, decorated with multi-colored flags. There was a sextant nearby. A carelessly thrown bundle of cards half covered a dried shark fin. On the floor, instead of a carpet, a walrus skin with a head and with fangs was spread, in the corner lay an Admiralty anchor with two bows of a rusty chain, a curved sword hung on the wall, and next to it was a harpoon-killer. There was something else, but I did not have time to consider.

The door creaked. Vrungel raised his head, closed the book with a small dagger, got up and, staggering like in a storm, stepped towards me.

- Very nice to meet you. Sea captain Vrungel Khristofor Bonifatievich,” he said in a thunderous bass, holding out his hand to me. To what do you owe your visit?

Chapter I, in which the author introduces the reader to the hero, and in which there is nothing extraordinary

Navigation at our nautical school was taught by Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel.

“Navigation,” he said in the first lesson, “is a science that teaches us to choose the safest and most profitable sea routes, lay these routes on maps and navigate ships along them ... Navigation,” he added at last, “is not an exact science. In order to fully master it, personal experience of prolonged practical navigation is necessary ...

This unremarkable introduction was the cause of fierce disputes for us and all the students of the school were divided into two camps. Some believed, and not without reason, that Vrungel was nothing more than an old sea wolf at rest. He knew navigation brilliantly, taught interestingly, with a twinkle, and apparently he had enough experience. It seemed that Khristofor Bonifatievich had indeed surfed all the seas and oceans.

But people, as you know, are different. Some are gullible beyond measure, others, on the contrary, are prone to criticism and doubt. There were those among us who claimed that our professor, unlike other navigators, never went to sea himself.

To prove this absurd assertion, they cited the appearance of Christopher Bonifatievich. And his appearance really somehow did not fit with our idea of ​​\u200b\u200ba brave sailor.

Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel walked in a gray sweatshirt, belted with an embroidered belt, combed his hair smoothly from the back of his head to his forehead, wore pince-nez on a black lace without a rim, shaved cleanly, was obese and short, his voice was restrained and pleasant, often smiled, rubbed his hands, sniffed tobacco and in all his appearance he looked more like a retired pharmacist than a sea captain.

And so, in order to resolve the dispute, we somehow asked Vrungel to tell us about his past campaigns.

- Well, what are you! Now is not the time,” he objected with a smile, and instead of another lecture, he arranged an extraordinary navigation test.

When, after the call, he came out with a pack of notebooks under his arm, our disputes ceased. Since then, no one has doubted that, unlike other navigators, Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel gained his experience at home, without embarking on a long voyage.

So we would have remained with this erroneous opinion if I had not been lucky enough to hear from Vrungel himself a story about a round-the-world trip full of dangers and adventures very soon, but quite unexpectedly.

It came out by accident. That time, after the control, Khristofor Bonifatievich disappeared. Three days later we learned that on the way home he lost his galoshes in the tram, got his feet wet, caught a cold and went to bed. And the time was hot: spring, tests, exams ... We needed notebooks every day ... And so, as the head of the course, they sent me to Vrungel's apartment.

I went. Easily found an apartment, knocked. And then, while I was standing in front of the door, Vrungel appeared to me quite clearly, lined with pillows and wrapped in blankets, from under which a nose reddened from a cold sticks out.

I knocked again, louder. Nobody answered me. Then I pressed the doorknob, opened the door and ... was dumbfounded by surprise.

Instead of a modest retired pharmacist at the table, deep in reading some ancient book, sat a formidable captain in full dress uniform, with gold stripes on his sleeves. He gnawed ferociously at a huge smoky pipe, there was no mention of pince-nez, and his gray, disheveled hair stuck out in tufts in all directions. Even the nose, although it really turned red, became somehow more solid with Vrungel and expressed determination and courage with all its movements.

On the table in front of Vrungel, in a special rack, stood a model of a yacht with high masts, with snow-white sails, decorated with multi-colored flags.

Chapter I, in which the author introduces the reader to the hero, and in which there is nothing extraordinary

Navigation at our nautical school was taught by Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel.
“Navigation,” he said in the first lesson, “is a science that teaches us to choose the safest and most profitable sea routes, plot these routes on maps and navigate ships along them ... Navigation,” he added at last, “is not an exact science. In order to fully master it, personal experience of prolonged practical navigation is necessary ...
This unremarkable introduction was the cause of fierce disputes for us and all the students of the school were divided into two camps. Some believed, and not without reason, that Vrungel was nothing more than an old sea wolf at rest. He knew navigation brilliantly, taught interestingly, with a twinkle, and apparently he had enough experience. It seemed that Khristofor Bonifatievich had indeed surfed all the seas and oceans.
But people, as you know, are different. Some are gullible beyond measure, others, on the contrary, are prone to criticism and doubt. There were those among us who claimed that our professor, unlike other navigators, never went to sea himself.
To prove this absurd assertion, they cited the appearance of Christopher Bonifatievich. And his appearance really somehow did not fit with our idea of ​​\u200b\u200ba brave sailor.
Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel walked in a gray sweatshirt, belted with an embroidered belt, combed his hair smoothly from the back of his head to his forehead, wore pince-nez on a black lace without a rim, shaved cleanly, was obese and short, his voice was restrained and pleasant, often smiled, rubbed his hands, sniffed tobacco and in all his appearance he looked more like a retired pharmacist than a sea captain.
And so, in order to resolve the dispute, we somehow asked Vrungel to tell us about his past campaigns.
- Well, what are you! Now is not the time,” he objected with a smile, and instead of another lecture, he arranged an extraordinary navigation test.
When, after the call, he came out with a pack of notebooks under his arm, our disputes ceased. Since then, no one has doubted that, unlike other navigators, Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel gained his experience at home, without embarking on a long voyage.
So we would have remained with this erroneous opinion if I had not been lucky enough to hear from Vrungel himself a story about a round-the-world trip full of dangers and adventures very soon, but quite unexpectedly.
It came out by accident. That time, after the control, Khristofor Bonifatievich disappeared. Three days later we learned that on the way home he lost his galoshes in the tram, got his feet wet, caught a cold and went to bed. And the time was hot: spring, tests, exams ... We needed notebooks every day ... And so, as the head of the course, they sent me to Vrungel's apartment.
I went. Easily found an apartment, knocked. And then, while I was standing in front of the door, Vrungel appeared to me quite clearly, lined with pillows and wrapped in blankets, from under which a nose reddened from a cold sticks out.
I knocked again, louder. Nobody answered me. Then I pressed the doorknob, opened the door and ... was dumbfounded by surprise.
Instead of a modest retired pharmacist at the table, deep in reading some ancient book, sat a formidable captain in full dress uniform, with gold stripes on his sleeves. He gnawed ferociously at a huge smoky pipe, there was no mention of pince-nez, and his gray, disheveled hair stuck out in tufts in all directions. Even the nose, although it really turned red, became somehow more solid with Vrungel and expressed determination and courage with all its movements.
On the table in front of Vrungel, in a special rack, stood a model of a yacht with high masts, with snow-white sails, decorated with multi-colored flags. There was a sextant nearby. A carelessly thrown bundle of cards half covered a dried shark fin. On the floor, instead of a carpet, a walrus skin with a head and with fangs was spread, in the corner lay an Admiralty anchor with two bows of a rusty chain, a curved sword hung on the wall, and next to it was a harpoon-killer. There was something else, but I did not have time to consider.
The door creaked. Vrungel raised his head, closed the book with a small dagger, got up and, staggering like in a storm, stepped towards me.

- Very nice to meet you. Sea captain Vrungel Khristofor Bonifatievich,” he said in a thunderous bass, holding out his hand to me. To what do you owe your visit?
I confess, I got a little scared.
“Well, Khristofor Bonifatievich, about notebooks… the guys sent…” I began.
“I'm sorry,” he interrupted me, “I'm sorry, I didn't recognize it. The cursed disease has shattered all memory. Star has become, nothing can be done ... Yes ... so, you say, behind notebooks? - Vrungel asked and, bending down, began to rummage under the table.
Finally, he took out a pack of notebooks and slapped them with his broad, hairy hand, and slapped them so hard that the dust flew in all directions.
“Here, if you please,” he said, preliminary loudly, with taste, sneezing, “everyone is “excellent” ... Yes, sir, “excellent”! Congratulations! With a full knowledge of the science of navigation, you will go to surf the sea under the shadow of a merchant flag ... It is commendable, and, you know, also entertaining. Ah, young man, how many indescribable pictures, how many indelible impressions await you ahead! Tropics, poles, sailing in a great circle…” he added wistfully. - You know, I raved about all this until I swam myself.
- Did you swim? Without thinking, I exclaimed.
- But how! Vrungel was offended. - I something? I swam. I, my friend, swam. He even swam. In some ways, the world's only trip around the world on a two-seater sailing yacht. One hundred and forty thousand miles. Lots of visits, lots of adventures... Of course, times are not the same now. And morals have changed, and the position, - he added, after a pause. - Much, so to speak, appears now in a different light, but still, you know, you look back like this, into the depths of the past, and you have to admit: there was a lot of both amusing and instructive in that campaign. There is something to remember, there is something to tell! ... Yes, you sit down ...
With these words, Khristofor Bonifatievich pushed a whale vertebra towards me. I sat down on it like on a chair, and Vrungel began to talk.

Chapter II, in which Captain Vrungel talks about how his senior assistant Lom studied English, and about some particular cases of the practice of navigation

I sat like this in my kennel, and, you know, I got tired. Decided to shake the old days - and shook. It shook so much that dust went all over the world! ... Yes, sir. Excuse me, are you in a hurry now? That is great. Then we'll start in order.
At that time, of course, I was younger, but not so much that I was a boy at all. No. And the experience was behind him, and years. Shot, so to speak, a sparrow, in good standing, with a position, and, I will tell you without boasting, on merit. Under such circumstances, I could have commanded the largest steamship. This is also quite interesting. But at that time the largest ship was just at sea, and I was not used to waiting, I spat and decided: I would go on a yacht. It is also, you know, not a joke - to go on a round-the-world voyage on a double sailing vessel.
Well, I began to look for a vessel suitable for the implementation of the plan, and, imagine, I found it. Just what you need. Built just for me.
The yacht, however, required minor repairs, but under my personal supervision they put it in order in no time: they painted it, put new sails, masts, changed the skin, shortened the keel by two feet, extended the sides ... In a word, I had to tinker. But it was not a yacht that came out - a toy! Forty feet on deck. As they say: "The shell is in the power of the sea."
I don't like premature conversations. I put the ship at the bank, covered it with a tarpaulin, and for the time being I started preparing for the trip.
The success of such an enterprise, as you know, largely depends on the personnel of the expedition. Therefore, I was especially careful in choosing my companion - the only helper and comrade in this long and difficult journey. And, I must admit, I was lucky: my senior assistant Lom turned out to be a man of amazing spiritual qualities. Here, judge for yourself: seven-foot-six, voice like a steamboat, extraordinary physical strength, stamina. For all that, excellent knowledge of the matter, amazing modesty - in a word, everything that a first-class sailor needs. But Loma also had a drawback. The only one, but serious: complete ignorance of foreign languages. This, of course, is an important vice, but it did not stop me. I weighed the situation, thought, figured it out and ordered Lom to urgently master the English spoken language. And, you know, Lom took possession. Not without difficulty, but mastered in three weeks.
For this purpose, I chose a special, hitherto unknown method of teaching: I invited two teachers for my senior assistant. At the same time, one taught him from the beginning, from the alphabet, and the other from the end. And, imagine, with the alphabet, Lom didn’t work out, especially with pronunciation. Day and night, my senior assistant Lom learned difficult English letters. And, you know, it wasn't without problems. So one day he was sitting at the table, studying the ninth letter of the English alphabet - "ai".
“Ai… ai… ai…” he repeated in every way, louder and louder.
The neighbor heard, looked in, sees: a healthy kid is sitting, shouting “ay!”. Well, I decided that the poor thing was bad, called an ambulance. We've arrived. They threw a straitjacket on the guy, and with difficulty I got him out of the hospital the next day. However, everything ended happily: exactly three weeks later, my senior assistant Lom reported to me that both teachers had taught him to the middle, and thus the task was completed. On the same day I made an appointment. We were already delayed.
And finally, the long-awaited moment has arrived. Now, perhaps, this event would have passed unnoticed. But at that time such trips were a curiosity. sensation, so to speak. And it is not surprising that in the morning that day crowds of curious crowded the shore. Here, you know, flags, music, general jubilation ... I got into the steering wheel and commanded:
- Raise the sails, give the bow, the rudder to the right!
The sails soared, blossomed like white wings, took the wind, and the yacht, you know, is standing still. We gave up the stern end - it's still worth it. Well, I see that we need to take drastic measures. And just then the tug was passing by. I grabbed the horn, I shout:
- Hey, in tow! End it, damn it!
The tug pulled, puffs, lathers the water behind the stern, just does not stand on its hind legs, and the yacht does not move ... What kind of parable?
Suddenly something thumped, the yacht tilted, I lost consciousness for a moment, and when I woke up, I looked - the configuration of the coast changed dramatically, the crowds dispersed, the water is teeming with hats, an ice cream booth is floating right there, a young man with a movie camera is sitting on top of it and turns the handle.
And under the board we have a whole green island. I looked - and understood everything: the carpenters overlooked, put a fresh forest. And, imagine, over the summer the yacht has taken root and grown with all its side. And I was still wondering: where did such beautiful bushes on the shore come from? Yes. And the yacht is built firmly, the tug is good, the rope is strong. As they pulled, half the shore was carried away along with the bushes. No wonder, you know, fresh wood is not recommended for use in shipbuilding ... An unpleasant story, to be sure, but, fortunately, everything ended happily, without casualties.
The delay was not part of my plans, of course, but nothing can be done about it. This, as they say, "force majeure" - an unforeseen circumstance. I had to anchor and clear the sides. And then, you know, it’s inconvenient: you won’t meet fishermen - the fish will laugh. It is not suitable to swim with his estate.
My senior assistant Lom and I have been busy with this work all day. They suffered, I confess, pretty much, got wet, froze ... And now the night has descended over the sea, the stars have poured out in the sky, on the ships they beat the midnight flask. I let Lom sleep, and I myself remained on watch. I stand, reflecting on the difficulties and delights of the upcoming campaign. And so, you know, I was daydreaming, I did not notice how the night passed.
And in the morning a terrible surprise awaited me: I not only lost a day of progress with this accident - I lost the name of the ship!
Maybe you think that the name does not play a role? Wrong, young man! A name is to a ship what a family name is to a person. Yes, it’s not far to go for an example: Vrungel, let’s say, is a sonorous, beautiful surname. And if I were some kind of Zabodai-Bodailo, or if I had a student - Gopher ... How could I count on the respect and trust that I enjoy now? Just imagine: sea captain Gopher... Ridiculous, sir!
So is the ship. Call the ship "Hercules" or "Bogatyr" - the ice will part before it, and try to call your ship "Trough" - it will float like a trough, and will certainly capsize somewhere in the calmest weather.
That's why I went through and weighed dozens of names before deciding on the one that my beautiful yacht was supposed to wear. I named the yacht "Victory". What a glorious name for a glorious ship! Here is a name that is not ashamed to carry across all the oceans! I ordered cast copper letters and fixed them myself on the stern section. Polished to a shine, they burned with fire. For half a mile you could read: "Victory."
And on that ill-fated day, in the morning, I stand alone on the deck. The sea is calm, the port has not yet woken up, after a sleepless night it is getting sleepy ... Suddenly I see: a hard-working port boat is puffing, coming right up to me and - bang a pack of newspapers on deck! Ambition, of course, is a vice to a certain extent. But we are all people, all people, as they say, and everyone is pleased when they write about him in the newspaper. Yes, sir. And so I open the newspaper. Reading:
“Yesterday’s accident at the start of a round-the-world trip justified the original name that Captain Vrungel gave to his ship in the best possible way ...”
I was a little embarrassed, but, to be honest, I did not really understand what the conversation was about. I grab another newspaper, a third ... Then in one of them a photograph catches my eye: in the left corner is me, in the right is my senior assistant Lom, and in the middle is our beautiful yacht and the signature: “Captain Vrungel and the yacht" Trouble "on which he sets off ... "
Then I understood everything. I rushed to the stern and looked. So it is: knocked down two letters - "P" and "O".
Scandal! Irreparable scandal! But nothing can be done now: newspapermen have long tongues. Nobody knows Vrungel, the captain of Pobeda, but the whole world has already learned about my Trouble.
But it didn't take long to grieve. A breeze blew from the shore, the sails stirred, I woke Lom and began to raise the anchor.
And while we were walking along the sea channel, as luck would have it, they shouted to us from all the ships:
- Hey, on the "Trouble", happy sailing!
It was a pity for a beautiful name, but nothing can be done. So they went to the "Trouble".

They went out to sea. I have not yet recovered from my disappointment. And yet I must say: good at sea! No wonder, you know, even the ancient Greeks used to say that the sea washes away all adversity from the human soul.
Let's go. Silence, only the waves rustle along the sides, the mast creaks, and the shore leaves, melts astern. The weather is getting fresher, white squirrels have gone on the waves, petrels have flown in from somewhere, the breeze has become stronger. It works, the real sea, salty wind whistles in gear. So the last lighthouse was left behind, the coast was gone, only the sea around; wherever you look, the sea is everywhere.
I set a course, handed over the command to Lom, stood for another minute on deck and went downstairs to the cabin to take an hour or two nap before the watch. It is not for nothing that we, sailors, say: "You will always have time not to get enough sleep."
He went downstairs, drank a glass of rum at bedtime, lay down on the bed and fell asleep like a log.
And two hours later, vigorous and fresh, I go up on deck. I looked around, looked ahead ... and my eyes darkened.
At first glance - nothing, of course, special: the same sea is all around, the same seagulls, and Lom is in perfect order, holding the helm, but ahead, right in front of the nose of the "Trouble", - barely noticeable, like a gray thread, a strip rises above the horizon coast.
Do you know what it means when the shore is supposed to be thirty miles to your left, and it is right on your bow? This is a complete scandal. Ugliness. Shame and shame on you! I was shocked, outraged and scared. What to do? Believe me, I decided to put the ship on a reverse course and return to the pier in disgrace before it was too late. And then after all, with such an assistant to swim, you will drive in so that you won’t get out, especially at night.
I was about to give the appropriate command, I already took the air into my chest so that it would come out more impressive, but then, fortunately, everything was explained. Loma stuck out his nose. My first assistant turned his nose to the left all the time, greedily sucked in air, and he himself was drawn to the same place.
Well, then I understood everything: in my cabin, on the port side, there was an uncorked bottle of fine rum. And Lom has a rare nose for alcohol, and, of course, he was drawn to the bottle. This happens.
And if so, then the matter is fixable. In some way, a special case of the practice of ship navigation. There are cases that are not foreseen by science. I did not even think about it, went down to the cabin and quietly transferred the bottle to starboard. Lom's nose stretched like a compass for a magnet, the ship obediently rolled in the same direction, and two hours later the "Trouble" lay on its previous course. Then I put the bottle in front, at the mast, and Crowbar no longer strayed from the course. He led the "Trouble" as if by a thread, and only once particularly greedily breathed in and asked:

- And what, Khristofor Bonifatievich, should we add sails?
It was a smart offer. I agreed. "Trouble" was going well before, but then it flew like an arrow.
And so our journey began.

Chapter III. About how technique and resourcefulness can make up for a lack of courage, and about how in swimming you need to use all circumstances, up to personal indisposition

Long-distance voyage ... What words! You think, young man, listen to the music of these words.
Further... distance... vast expanse... space. Is not it?
What about "swimming"? Swimming is a striving forward, movement, in other words.
So, so: movement in space.
Here, you know, it smells like astronomy. You feel in some way a star, a planet, a satellite, at worst.
That is why people like me or, say, my namesake Columbus, are drawn to a long voyage, to the open ocean, to glorious exploits at sea.
And yet this is not the main force that makes us leave our native shores.
And if you want to know, I'll tell you a secret and explain what's the matter.
The pleasures of long-distance navigation are invaluable, what can I say. But there is a greater pleasure: to tell in a circle of close friends and casual acquaintances about the wonderful and extraordinary phenomena that you witness on a long voyage, to tell about those situations, sometimes funny, sometimes tragic, in which the perverse fate of a navigator puts you every now and then.
But at sea, on the big ocean road, what can you meet? Water and wind mainly.
What can you experience? Storms, calm, wanderings in the fogs, forced downtime on the shallows ... There are, of course, various extraordinary incidents on the high seas, and there were many of them on our trip, but basically you can’t tell much about water, wind, fogs and shallows.
Tell something, let's say, it would be possible. There is something to tell: there are, for example, tornadoes, typhoons, pearly shallows - you never know what! All this is amazingly interesting. Well, there are fish there, ships, octopuses - you can also talk about this. But the trouble is: so much has been said about this that you will not have time to open your mouth - all your listeners will immediately scatter like carp from a shark.
Another thing is the visits, new shores, so to speak. There, you know, there is something to see, there is something to be surprised. Yes, sir. No wonder they say: "What a city, then a burrow."
That is why a sailor like me, inquisitive and not bound by commercial interests, tries in every possible way to diversify his voyage by visiting foreign countries. And in this regard, sailing on a small yacht offers countless benefits.
But how, you know! You stood up, for example, on watch, bent over the map. Here is your course, on the right is a certain kingdom, on the left is a certain state, as in a fairy tale. But people live there too. How do they live? It's interesting to see at least one eye! Interesting? If you please, be curious, who does not order you? Rudder on board ... and now the entrance beacon is on the horizon! That's it!
Yes, sir. We walked with a fair wind, the fog lay over the sea, and the "Trouble" silently, like a ghost, mile after mile swallowed space. Before we had time to look back, the Sound, Kattegat, Skagerrak passed ... I could not get enough of the sailing performance of the yacht. And on the fifth day, at dawn, the fog cleared, and on our starboard side the coast of Norway opened up.
You could pass by, but what's the hurry? I commanded:
- Right aboard!
My first mate Lom put the rudder hard to starboard, and three hours later our anchor chain rumbled through the beautiful and quiet fjord.
Have you been to the fjords, young man? In vain! Be sure to visit just in case.
Fjords, or skerries, in other words, are, you know, such narrow bays and coves, tangled like a chicken trail, and all around rocks, pitted with cracks, overgrown with moss, high and impregnable. There is solemn calm and unbreakable silence in the air. Beauty extraordinary!
“Well, Lom,” I suggested, “shouldn’t we go for a walk before dinner?”
- Have a walk before dinner! - barked Lom, so much so that the birds rose from the rocks in a cloud, and the echo (I counted) repeated thirty-two times: "Trouble ... trouble ... trouble ..."
The rocks, as it were, welcomed the arrival of our ship. Although, of course, in a foreign manner, the emphasis is not there, but still, you know, pleasant and surprising. However, to tell the truth, there is nothing special to be amazed at. There is an amazing echo in the fiords ... Is there one echo! There, my friend, fabulous places and fabulous incidents happen. You listen to what happened next.
I fixed the steering wheel and went to change into the cabin. The crowbar also went down. And now, you know, I'm already quite ready, lacing up my shoes - suddenly I feel: the ship has received a sharp tilt towards the bow. Alarmed, I fly out onto the deck like a bullet, and a sad picture appears to my eyes: the bow of the yacht is completely in the water and continues to sink rapidly, while the stern, on the contrary, rises up.
I realized that it was my own fault: I didn’t take into account the peculiarities of the soil, and most importantly, the tide missed. The anchor is hooked, holds like a glove, and the water props up. And the chain is impossible to ease: the whole nose is in the water, go dive to the windlass. Where there!
As soon as we had time to close up the entrance to the cabin tightly, the Trouble took a completely vertical position, like a fishing float. Well, I had to come to terms with the elements. It's nothing you can do. Saved on the stern. So they stayed there until the evening, when the water began to subside. Like this.
And in the evening, wiser with experience, I brought the ship into a narrow strait and moored to the shore. So, I think it would be better.
Yes, sir. They cooked a modest supper, cleaned up, lit the fires, as expected, and went to bed, confident that the history of the anchor would not repeat itself. And in the morning, a little light, Lom wakes me up and reports:
- Allow me to report, captain: complete calm, the barometer shows clearly, the outside air temperature is twelve degrees Celsius, it was not possible to measure the depth and temperature of the water due to the lack of it.
I woke up not immediately and understood what he was talking about.
- That is, how is it behind the "absence"? I ask. - Where did she go?
“Gone with the tide,” Lom reports. - The ship is wedged between the rocks and is in a state of stable equilibrium.
I went out, I see - the same song but in a new way. That tide beguiled us, now the ebb is joking. What I took for a strait turned out to be a gorge. By morning the water had receded, and we stood on solid ground, as if in a dry dock. Under the keel there is a forty-foot abyss, there is no way to get out. Where to get out there! One thing remains - to sit, wait for the weather, the tide, or rather.

But I'm not used to wasting time. He examined the yacht from all sides, threw a storm ladder overboard, took an ax, a planer, a brush. Flush trimmed the sides in those places where the branches remained, painted over. And when the water turned to profit, Lom threw a fishing rod from the stern and caught fish in his ear. So, you see, even such an unpleasant circumstance, if taken wisely, can be turned to the benefit of the cause, so to speak.
After all these events, prudence prompted to leave this treacherous fjord. Who knows what other surprises he is preparing? But I am, as you know, a courageous, persistent, even somewhat stubborn person, if you like, and I am not used to giving up on decisions made.
So it was at that time: I decided to walk - that means to walk. And as soon as the "Trouble" got on the water, I transferred her to a new, safe place. Etched the chain more authentic, and we set off.
We walk between the rocks along the path, and the further we go, the more amazing the surrounding nature. There are squirrels on the trees, some birds: “chirp-chirp”, and underfoot the dry branches crackle, and it seems: now a bear will come out and roar ... There are also berries, strawberries. You know, I have never seen such strawberries anywhere. Large, walnut! Well, we got carried away, went deep into the forest, completely forgot about lunch, and when we realized it, we look - it's too late. The sun is already down and it's chilly. And where to go is unknown. Around the forest. Everywhere you look, there are berries, berries, only berries...
We went down to the fiord, we see - not that fiord. And it's already night time. There was nothing to do, they lit a fire, the night somehow passed, and in the morning they climbed the mountain. Maybe, we think, from there, from above, we will see "Trouble".
We climb the mountain, it is not easy with my complexion, but we climb, we are supported by strawberries. Suddenly we hear a noise from behind. Either the wind, or the waterfall, something is crackling louder, and it seems to smell of smoke.
I turned around, I looked - it is: fire! Surrounds us from all sides, follows us like a wall. Here, you know, not up to berries.
The squirrels have abandoned their nests, jumping from branch to branch, all the way up the slope. The birds are up and screaming. Noise, panic...
I'm not used to running from danger, but here, there's nothing to do, you have to save yourself. And in full swing for the squirrels, to the top of the cliff - there is nowhere else.
They got out, caught their breath, looked around. The situation, I will tell you, is hopeless: on three sides there is fire, on the fourth - a steep rock ... I looked down - high, even took my breath away. The picture, in general, is bleak, and the only gratifying spot on this gloomy horizon is our "Trouble"-beauty. It stands just below us, sways a little on the wave and, like a finger, beckons to the deck.
And the fire is getting closer. Protein circle is visible and invisible. Emboldened. Others, you know, had their tails burnt in the fire, so those are especially brave, impudent, it’s easier to say: they climb right at us, push, press, and look, they will be pushed into the fire. That's how to make fires!
Scrap in despair. Squirrels are also in despair. Frankly, it’s not sweet for me either, but I don’t show it, I’m getting stronger - the captain should not succumb to despondency. But how!
Suddenly I look - one squirrel took aim, fluffed its tail and jumped right on the "Trouble", on the deck. Behind her, another, a third, and, I look, - like peas, fell down. In five minutes, it was clear on the rock.
Are we worse than squirrels, or what? I decided to jump too. Well, we'll take a dip as a last resort. Think how important it is! It is even useful before breakfast - to swim. And I have this: it's decided - it means it's done.
- Senior assistant, for squirrels - full speed ahead! I commanded.
Lom took a step, already raised his leg over the abyss, but suddenly twisted like a cat and back.
- I can’t, - he says, - Khristofor Bonifatevich, thank you! I won't jump, I'd rather burn...
And I see: a person will really burn, but he will not jump. A natural fear of heights, a kind of illness ... Well, what can you do! Don't leave poor Loma!
Another would be confused in my place, but I'm not like that. I found a way out.
I had binoculars with me. Excellent marine binoculars with a twelvefold approximation. I ordered Lom to put the binoculars over his eyes, led him to the edge of the cliff and asked in a stern voice:
- Chief officer, how many squirrels do you have on deck?
The crowbar began to count:
One, two, three, four, five...
- Leave it! I shouted. - Without an account to accept, drive into the hold!
Here the sense of duty prevailed over the consciousness of danger, and the binoculars, no matter what you say, helped: they brought the deck closer. Scrap calmly stepped into the abyss ...

I looked after - only the spray rose like a column. A minute later, my first assistant, Lom, had already climbed on board and began to drive the squirrels.
Then I followed the same path. But, you know, it’s easier for me: I’m an experienced person, I can do it without binoculars.
And you, young man, take this lesson into account, it will come in handy if necessary: ​​if you are going, for example, to jump with a parachute, be sure to take binoculars, even if they are inferior, some kind of no, but still, you know, somehow easier, not so high.
Well, he jumped. Resurfaced. I also climbed onto the deck. I wanted to help Lom, but he is a smart guy, he managed it alone. I didn’t have time to catch my breath, and he had already slammed the hatch, stood in front and reported:
- Accepted without counting a full load of squirrels alive! What orders will follow?
Here, you know, you will think about what orders.
For the first time, it’s clear to raise anchor, set sail, and get away from this burning mountain in good health. Well, to hell with this fiord. There is nothing more to see here, and besides, it became hot ... So I had no doubts on this issue. But what to do with proteins? Here, you know, the situation is worse. The devil knows what to do with them? Well, they drove it into the hold just in time, otherwise, you know, the worthless little animals got hungry and began to gnaw on the tackle. A little more - and put all the rigging.
Well, of course, you could skin the squirrels and hand them over at any port. The fur is valuable, solid. Not without profit it would be possible to carry out the operation. But this is somehow not good; they saved us, in any case showed the way to salvation, and we are the last skins from them! It's not in my rules. On the other hand, carrying this whole company around the world with you is also not a pleasant pleasure. After all, it means to feed, drink, care. But what about - this is the law: you accepted passengers - create conditions. Here, you know, there will be no trouble.
Well, I decided this: we'll figure it out at home. And we, the sailors, where is the house? In the sea. Makarov, Admiral, remember how he said: “At sea means at home.” That's how I am. Okay, I think, let's go to sea, and then we'll think. As a last resort, we will ask for instructions at the port of departure. Yes, sir.
Here we go. Let's go. We meet with fishermen, with steamboats. Fine! And in the evening the breeze got stronger, a real storm began - ten points. The sea is raging. How it will lift our "Trouble", how it will throw it down! ... Gears groan, the mast creaks. The squirrels in the hold swayed out of habit, and I rejoice: my “Trouble” is doing well, passing the storm exam with five plus. And Lom is a hero: he put on a southwest coat, stands like a glove at the helm and holds the helm with a firm hand. Well, I stood still, looked, admired the raging elements and went to my cabin. I sat down at the table, turned on the receiver, put on my headphones and listened to what was happening on the air.
This wonderful thing is radio. You press the button, turn the knob - and there you go, everything is at your service: music, tomorrow's weather, the latest news. Others, you know, are sick about football - so, too, if you please: “Blow! Another kick! ... And the goalkeeper takes the ball out of the net ... ”In a word, it’s not for me to tell you: radio is a great thing! But at that time I somehow failed. I caught Moscow, tuned in, I hear: “Ivan ... Roman ... Konstantin ... Ulyana ... Tatyana ... Semyon ... Kirill ...” - it’s like you came to visit and get to know each other. Don't listen directly. And I also had a tooth with a hollow, something ached ... it must have been after bathing - it hurt so much, even cry.
Well, I decided to lie down and rest. I almost took off my headphones, suddenly I hear: no way, SOS? He listened: "T-T-T ... Ta, Ta, Ta, T-T-T ..." So it is: a distress signal. The ship is dying, and here somewhere, close. I froze, catching every sound, I want to know in more detail: where? What? At this time, a wave rolled up, and so succumbed to the "Trouble" that she, poor thing, completely lay on board. The squirrels howled. But that would be nothing. Here it turned out much worse: the receiver jumped off the table, broke, you know, bang on the bulkhead and shattered into pieces. And I see: you will not collect. The transmission, of course, was cut off like a knife. And such a heavy feeling: next to someone in distress, but where, who is unknown.
We must go to the rescue, but where to go - who knows? And the tooth ached even worse.
And just imagine: he rescued me! Without thinking twice, I grab the end of the antenna - and right in the tooth, in the hollow. The pain was hellish, sparks fell from the eyes, but the reception improved again. Music, however, is not audible, but to me, I confess, there is no need for music here. What kind of music is there! And Morse code, on the other hand, is better than you can imagine: a dot - it pricks imperceptibly, like a pin, and a dash - just who is screwing the screw there. And no amplifier is needed, and no adjustment is needed - a sick tooth with a hollow already has a high sensitivity. It is difficult to endure, of course, but what can you do: in such a situation, you have to sacrifice yourself.

And, believe me, he accepted the entire transfer to the end on the tooth.
Recorded, analyzed, translated. It turns out that almost next to us, a Norwegian sailing ship had an accident: it ran aground on the Doggerbank, got a hole, and is about to go to the bottom.
There is no time to think, we must go to the rescue. I forgot about the toothache and took charge of the rescue myself. I went up on deck and stood at the helm.
Let's go. The night is all around, the cold sea, the waves are whipping, the wind is whistling...
Well, about half an hour passed, found the Norwegians, illuminated with rockets. I see it's rubbish. Close, side by side, if you don’t stand, it will break. Their boats were all blown away, and dragging people at the ends in such weather is also risky: you will drown, what good.
Came in from one side, came in from the other - nothing comes out. And the storm blew up even more than before. As a wave rolls on this ship, it is not visible at all. It rolls over the deck, only the masts are sticking out... Stop, I think this is to our advantage.
I decided to take a chance. He went into the wind, turned the tack and, together with the wave in full sail, jibed at full speed.
The calculation here was the simplest: at the "Trouble" the draft is small, and the waves are like mountains. Let's stay on the crest - just slip over the deck.
Well, you know, the Norwegians are already desperate, and I'm right there. I stand at the helm, I rule so as not to catch on the masts, and Lom catches the victims right by the scruff of the neck, two at a time. Eight times they went through like this and pulled out everyone - sixteen people, led by the captain.
The captain was a little offended: he was the last to leave the ship, and Lom, in a hurry and in the dark, did not make out, picked him up first. It turned out ugly, of course, but nothing, it happens ... And as soon as they took off the last pair, I look - the ninth shaft is rolling. He flew in, hooted - only chips flew from the unfortunate ship.
The Norwegians have taken off their hats and are trembling on the deck. Well, and we looked ... Then we turned around, lay down on the course and went at full speed back to Norway.
There is crowdedness on the deck - you won’t turn around, but the Norwegians are okay, they are even happy. Yes, and it’s understandable: of course, it’s both crowded and cold, but everything is better than swimming in such weather.
Yes ... He helped out, saved the Norwegians. Here's "Trouble" for you! For whom is trouble, for whom it is a miraculous, so to speak, deliverance from death.
And all resourcefulness! On a long voyage, young man, if you want to be a good captain, never lose an opportunity, use everything for the good of the cause, even personal indisposition, if the opportunity arises. That's it!

Chapter IV. On the morals of the Scandinavian peoples, on the incorrect pronunciation of certain geographical names and on the use of squirrels in maritime affairs

We came back to Norway, to the city of Stavanger. These sailors turned out to be noble people and received us magnificently.
Loma and I were placed in the best hotel, the yacht was painted with the most expensive paint at our own expense. Why is there a yacht - the squirrels haven’t forgotten them either: they wrote out documents for them, registered them as cargo, and then they come and ask:
- What do you want to feed your lovely animals?
And what to feed them? I don’t understand anything in this matter, I have never bred a protein. I asked Lom, he says:
“I won’t say exactly, but, I remember, nuts and pine cones.
And now, imagine what an accident: I am fluent in Norwegian, but I forgot these two words. They roll on my tongue, but I can't remember. How baffled. Thought, thought, how to be? Well, he came up with: he sent Lom along with the Norwegians to a grocery store.
“Look,” I say, “maybe you will find something suitable.”
He went. Then he returned, reported that everything was in order: he found, they say, both nuts and cones. I must admit that I was somewhat surprised that they were selling cones in the shop, but, you know, that doesn’t happen in a foreign country! Maybe, I think, for samovars or, there, to decorate Christmas trees, you never know what for?
And in the evening I come to the "Trouble" - to see how the coloring is going, looked into the hold to the squirrels - and what do you think! Lom made a mistake, but how well he made a mistake!
I look - my squirrels are sitting, as if on a name day, and they are eating walnut halva on both cheeks. Halva in jars, and on each, on the lid, a walnut is drawn. And it’s even better with cones: instead of cones, they brought pineapples. Well, indeed, who does not know, can easily be confused. Pineapples, however, are larger in size, otherwise similar, and the smell is the same. Crowbar there, in the shop, as he saw, poked his finger back and forth - and that's how it happened.
Well, they began to take us to theaters, to museums, to show us various sights. They showed, by the way, a live horse. This is a rarity for them. They go there in cars, even more walk. At that time they plowed on their own, by hand, so they didn’t need horses. Some of the younger ones were taken away, the older ones were so dead, and those who remained, they stand in zoos, chew hay and dream.
And if they take the horse out for a walk, a crowd immediately gathers, everyone is watching, shouting, disrupting traffic. It doesn't matter how a giraffe would walk down the street with us, so, too, I think the foreman would not know which light to turn on at the traffic light.
Well, the horse is not a novelty for us. I even decided to surprise the Norwegians: I grabbed her by the withers, jumped up, and spurred her on with my heels.

The Norwegians gasped, and the next morning all the newspapers published an article about my courage and a photograph: a horse gallops and I am on it. Without a saddle, the tunic is unbuttoned, fluttering in the wind, the cap is knocked off, the legs are dangling, and the horse has a tail with a pipe ...
After that I realized: an unimportant photograph, unworthy of a sailor, but then in the heat of the moment I did not pay attention and was also pleased.
And the Norwegians were happy.
In general, I must say, this country is pleasant. And the people there are good, such, you know, quiet people, friendly, good-natured.
I have been there, in Norway, more than once, of course, and have been before, and from a young age, I remember, such a case happened to me.
We landed at one port, and from there my path lay by rail.
Well, I'm coming to the station. The train is coming soon. Walking with suitcases, frankly, is difficult and inconvenient.
I found the head of the station, I ask:
- Where is your luggage room?
And the boss, such a nice old man, spread his hands.
“Sorry,” he says, “we don’t provide a special room for storing hand luggage. But that’s okay, you, - he says, - don’t be shy, leave your suitcases here, they won’t bother anyone, I assure you ...
That's it. And recently my friend from there arrived. Imagine, on the train, a suitcase was taken from his compartment. But what can I say: a lot has changed in manners and manners. Well, you know: the Germans visited there during the war - they established a new order. And now various educators are visiting the country, raising the way of life to the proper height. And, of course, the people wiped themselves, became more agile. Now even there they understand that where it lies badly. Culture!
Well, at that time they lived there in the old fashioned way. They lived quietly. But not all. Even then there were people in Norway, so to speak, advanced, who ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Here, for example, the owners of large stores, establishments, factories. Even then they understood where something was bad.
And this also affected me in the most, so to speak, direct way. There is one firm there - it produces telephones, radios ... So, these manufacturers got wind of my tooth and got worried. Yes, and it's understandable: after all, if everyone starts to take it to the tooth, no one will buy receivers. What a damage! This is where you get worried. Well, they decided without thinking twice to take possession of my invention, and my tooth at the same time. First, you know, it's a good thing they sent a business letter with an offer to sell my defective tooth. And I reasoned, I think: “Why on earth?” The tooth is still nothing, you can bite, but what about the hollow, so that, excuse me, is my business. I have one friend here, so he even loves when his teeth hurt.
“Of course,” he says, “when they hurt, it’s really painful and unpleasant, but when they pass, it’s painfully good!”
Yes. Well, I replied that I did not sell the tooth, and that's it ...
So, you think they've calmed down? No matter how! They decided to steal my tooth. Some scoundrels appeared, treading on my heels, looking into my mouth, whispering ... Well, I felt uncomfortable: it’s good, like one tooth, so be it, but how, for fidelity, will they take it completely, with my head? Where will I go swimming without my head?
So I decided to get away from sin. He asked the port of departure for instructions on the issue of squirrels, and himself, in order to protect himself from intruders, took special measures: he took an oak gangway, thrust one end under the warehouse gate, the other under the cockpit door and ordered Lom to load the "Trouble" with ballast.
The yacht sank to the bulwark, the gangway bent like a spring, with only one edge held under the door. Before going to bed, I examined, checked the readiness of this structure and calmly went to bed. I didn’t even put up a watch: there’s no need. And so, you know, in the morning they came. I hear cautious steps, the door creaking, then suddenly - bang! - the gangway jumped out from under the door, unbent ...
I go out - and I see: my catapult worked, and how! There was a radio station on the shore, so these scoundrels were thrown to the very top, to the mast. They got caught in their pants there, hanging and yelling at the whole city.
How they were filmed, I can’t tell you - I didn’t see it.
Just then, a response came from the port with an order to hand over the squirrels to Hamburg. There was the famous Gardenenbeck zoo there, so he bought up various animals.
I have already had occasion to report to you about some of the advantages of sports swimming. In sports swimming, you are your own boss: wherever you want, you go there. And if you got in touch with the cargo, then it’s all the same like a cab driver: the reins in your hands, and you’re taking it where they tell you to.
Take, for example, Hamburg. Would I have gone there on my own accord! What didn't I see there? Shutsmanov, or what? Well, again, you know, sailing becomes more complicated, all sorts of commercial correspondence appears, considerations for the safety of cargo, customs formalities, especially in Hamburg ... The people there, unlike the Norwegians, are grated, impolite - and look, they will rip off like sticky.
By the way, you know, I just don’t understand why we firmly pronounce it like this: “Hamburg”? This is wrong, the local residents call their city "Hamburg". It sounds softer, and most importantly, more true.
Yes, but once ordered, you must obey. He brought the "Trouble" to Hamburg, put it against the wall, dressed himself cleaner and went to look for Gadenbeck. I'm coming to the zoo. There, you know, there are elephants, and tigers, and a crocodile, and a marabou bird, and this same squirrel is hanging right there in a cage. Yes, what a squirrel, not my couple! My idlers sit in the hold, gorge themselves on halva, and this one has a turntable, and it is there all the time, like a clockwork, like a squirrel in a wheel, it jumps and spins. Take a look!
Well, I found Gadenbeck himself, introduced myself and explained that I had a full load of squirrels on board, live, at a reasonable price.
Gadenbeck looked at the ceiling, folded his hands on his stomach, twiddled his fingers.
“Squirrels,” he says, “are these with tails and ears?” How, I know. So do you have whites? Well, I'll take it. Only, you know, we are very strict with smuggling. Are their documents in order?
Then I gratefully remembered the Norwegians and laid out the documents on the table. Gadenbeck took out his glasses, took a handkerchief, slowly began to wipe the glasses. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a chameleon. He jumped on the table, stuck out his tongue, licked off the paper and was gone. I follow him. Yes, where is it!

But Gadenbeck folded his glasses and spread his hands.
“Without documents,” he says, “I can’t. I'd love to, but I can't. We are very strict about this.
I got upset and started arguing. Well, I see, there is nothing to do, left. I go to the pier, I look - something is wrong on the "Trouble". A crowd of onlookers is all around, there are Schutzmen, customs officers, port officials on board ... They press on Lom, and he stands in the middle and somehow scolds.
I pushed my way through, calmed them down and found out what was the matter. And the case took the most unexpected and unpleasant turn. Gadenbeck, it turns out, has already called the customs, and they picked up the article, accused me of illegally importing livestock and threatened to take away the ship along with the cargo ...
And I have nothing to argue: indeed, the documents are lost, I did not receive a special permit to import squirrels. If the truth is told, who will believe? There is no evidence, and silence is even worse.
In a word, I see: it's rubbish.
“Oh, - I think, - no matter what! You are so, and I am so!”
I pulled down my tunic, straightened up to my full height and declared to the most important official:
- Your demands, gentlemen officials, are unfounded, since the international maritime laws expressly provide for a clause according to which the indispensable accessories of the vessel, such as: anchors, boats, unloading and life-saving appliances, communications equipment, signaling devices, fuel and running machines in an amount necessary for safe navigation, are not subject to any port dues and are not subject to special registration.
“I completely agree with you,” he replies, “but do not refuse to explain, Captain, to which category of these objects do you attribute your animals?”
I was at a dead end, but, I see, it's too late to retreat.
- To the last, mister official: to the category of running machines, - I answered and turned on my heels.
The officials were at first taken aback, then they whispered among themselves, and again the chief stepped forward.
“We,” he says, “will willingly renounce our legal claims if you can prove that the cattle on board your ship really serves as your running machine.
You understand that it is not easy to prove such a thing. Where is there to prove - time would be delayed!
“You see,” I say, “the critical parts of the engine are on the shore, under repair, and tomorrow, if you please, I will present you with evidence.
Well, they're gone. But right there, next to the "Trouble", I see, they put a police boat under steam so that I would not run away under the guise.
And, you see, I hid in the cabin, remembered that squirrel that Gadenbeck had, took paper, a compass, a ruler and began to draw.
An hour later, together with Lom, we went to the blacksmith and ordered him two wheels, like a steamer, and a third, like a mill. Only at the mill there are steps outside, but we made it inside and stretched the net on both sides. The blacksmith was quick, quick-witted. Did everything on time.

End of free trial.

1

Table of contents

• Chapter II, in which Captain Vrungel talks about how his senior assistant Lom studied English, and about some particular cases of the practice of navigation
• Chapter III. About how technique and resourcefulness can make up for a lack of courage, and about how in swimming you need to use all circumstances, up to personal indisposition
• Chapter IV. On the morals of the Scandinavian peoples, on the incorrect pronunciation of certain geographical names and on the use of squirrels in maritime affairs
• Chapter V. Of Herrings and Maps
• Chapter VI, which begins with a misunderstanding and ends with an unexpected dip
• Chapter VII. About the methods of astronomical determinations, about military cunning and two meanings of the word "pharaoh"
• Chapter VIII, in which Fuchs receives his well-deserved retribution, then counts crocodiles, and finally shows exceptional ability in the field of agronomy
• Chapter IX. About old customs and polar ice
• Chapter X, in which the reader is introduced to Admiral Kusaki, and the crew of the "Trouble" to the pangs of hunger
• Chapter XI, in which Vrungel parted with his ship and with his chief assistant
• Chapter XII, in which Vrungel and Fuchs give a small concert and then rush to Brazil
• Chapter XIII, in which Vrungel deftly cracks down on a boa constrictor and sews himself a new tunic
• Chapter XIV, at the beginning of which Vrungel becomes a victim of treachery, and at the end again falls into the "Trouble"
• Chapter XV, in which Admiral Kusaki tries to enter the "Trouble" as a sailor
• Chapter XVI. About the savages
• Chapter XVII - In which Lom again leaves the ship
• Chapter XVIII. The saddest one, because "Trouble" perishes in it, this time irrevocably
• Chapter XIX, at the end of which Lom unexpectedly appears and sings to himself
• Chapter XXI, in which Admiral Kusaki himself helps Vrungel get out of a very difficult situation
• Chapter XXII, an additional, without which some reader could do without
• The reasoning of the sea captain Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel about marine terminology
• EXPLANATORY MARINE DICTIONARY FOR STUPID LAND READERS Compiled by H.B. Vrungel

Chapter I, in which the author introduces the reader to the hero, and in which there is nothing extraordinary

Navigation at our nautical school was taught by Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel.

Navigation, - he said at the first lesson, - is a science that teaches us to choose the safest and most profitable sea routes, lay these routes on maps and drive ships along them ... Navigation, - he added at last, - is not an exact science. In order to fully master it, personal experience of prolonged practical navigation is necessary ...

This unremarkable introduction was the cause of fierce disputes for us and all the students of the school were divided into two camps. Some believed, and not without reason, that Vrungel was nothing more than an old sea wolf at rest. He knew navigation brilliantly, taught interestingly, with a twinkle, and apparently he had enough experience. It seemed that Khristofor Bonifatievich had indeed surfed all the seas and oceans.

But people, as you know, are different. Some are gullible beyond measure, others, on the contrary, are prone to criticism and doubt. There were those among us who claimed that our professor, unlike other navigators, never went to sea himself.

To prove this absurd assertion, they cited the appearance of Christopher Bonifatievich. And his appearance really somehow did not fit with our idea of ​​\u200b\u200ba brave sailor.

Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel walked in a gray sweatshirt, belted with an embroidered belt, combed his hair smoothly from the back of his head to his forehead, wore pince-nez on a black lace without a rim, shaved cleanly, was obese and short, his voice was restrained and pleasant, often smiled, rubbed his hands, sniffed tobacco and in all his appearance he looked more like a retired pharmacist than a sea captain.

And so, in order to resolve the dispute, we somehow asked Vrungel to tell us about his past campaigns.

Well, what are you! Now is not the time, - he objected with a smile, and instead of the next lecture, he arranged an extraordinary control on navigation.

When, after the call, he came out with a pack of notebooks under his arm, our disputes ceased. Since then, no one has doubted that, unlike other navigators, Khristofor Bonifatievich Vrungel gained his experience at home, without embarking on a long voyage.

So we would have remained with this erroneous opinion if I had not been lucky enough to hear from Vrungel himself a story about a round-the-world trip full of dangers and adventures very soon, but quite unexpectedly.

It came out by accident. That time, after the control, Khristofor Bonifatievich disappeared. Three days later we learned that on the way home he lost his galoshes in the tram, got his feet wet, caught a cold and went to bed. And the time was hot: spring, tests, exams ... We needed notebooks every day ... And so, as the head of the course, they sent me to Vrungel's apartment.

I went. Easily found an apartment, knocked. And then, while I was standing in front of the door, Vrungel appeared to me quite clearly, lined with pillows and wrapped in blankets, from under which a nose reddened from a cold sticks out.

I knocked again, louder. Nobody answered me. Then I pressed the doorknob, opened the door and ... was dumbfounded by surprise.

Instead of a modest retired pharmacist at the table, deep in reading some ancient book, sat a formidable captain in full dress uniform, with gold stripes on his sleeves. He gnawed ferociously at a huge smoky pipe, there was no mention of pince-nez, and his gray, disheveled hair stuck out in tufts in all directions. Even the nose, although it really turned red, became somehow more solid with Vrungel and expressed determination and courage with all its movements.

On the table in front of Vrungel, in a special rack, stood a model of a yacht with high masts, with snow-white sails, decorated with multi-colored flags. There was a sextant nearby. A carelessly thrown bundle of cards half covered a dried shark fin. Instead of a carpet, a walrus skin with a head and with fangs was spread on the floor, an Admiralty anchor with two bows of a rusty chain was lying in the corner, a curved sword hung on the wall, and next to it was a harpoon-killer. There was something else, but I did not have time to consider.

The door creaked. Vrungel raised his head, closed the book with a small dagger, got up and, staggering like in a storm, stepped towards me.

Very nice to meet you. Sea captain Vrungel Khristofor Bonifatievich, - he said in a thunderous bass, holding out his hand to me. To what do you owe your visit?

I confess, I got a little scared.

Why, Khristofor Bonifatievich, about notebooks ... the guys sent ... - I began.

Guilty, - he interrupted me, - Guilty, I did not recognize. The cursed disease has shattered all memory. Star has become, nothing can be done ... Yes ... so, you say, behind notebooks? - asked Vrungel and, bending down, began to rummage under the table.

Finally, he took out a pack of notebooks and slapped them with his broad, hairy hand, and slapped them so hard that the dust flew in all directions.

Here, if you please, - he said, preliminary loudly, with taste, sneezing, - everyone is “excellent” ... Yes, sir, “excellent”! Congratulations! With a full knowledge of the science of navigation, you will go to surf the sea under the shadow of a merchant flag ... It is commendable, and, you know, also entertaining. Ah, young man, how many indescribable pictures, how many indelible impressions await you ahead! Tropics, poles, sailing along the arc of a great circle ... - he added dreamily. - You know, I raved about all this until I swam myself.

Did you swim? Without thinking, I exclaimed.