We Die Alone: A WWII Epic of Escape and Endurance (4 page)

So Eskeland set off, as soon as it was dark, in Brattholm's motor
dinghy. He took the ship's engineer with him to look after the motor,
and another man who had been added to the crew as an extra hand
because he knew the district. They steered out of the bay and followed the shore of Ribbenesoy to the eastward, through the sound
which separates it from the south side of the island. They saw the
shop and a few buildings near it, and a wooden jetty, silhouetted
against the afterglow in the western sky. There was a light in the shop,
and another on board a boat which was lying, with its engine running, a few yards off the end of the jetty.

As they approached the jetty, they passed close to the boat. It was
a small fishing craft with two or three men on board. It would have
seemed strange to pass it without a word, and besides, a small local
fishing craft was one of the things they wanted. So they hailed it and
told the men the story they had prepared: that they had engine trouble and wanted a lift to Tromso to get some spare parts.

The men were sympathetic, and only mildly inquisitive, as fishermen would naturally be. They talked all round the subject, in the
infinitely leisurely manner of people who live on islands. They asked
what make of engine it was, and what horse-power, and what spare
parts were needed. They recommended a dealer in Tromso, and suggested ringing him up in the morning and getting him to send the
parts out in the mail-boat, which would probably be as quick as
going to fetch them, and certainly cheaper. They asked what the herring fishing was like, and where the Brattholm was bound for.

Everyone who lives under false pretences gets used to receiving
perfectly useless advice with patience and cunning. Eskeland and the
engineer, in the unrealistic conversation across the dark water,
answered the questions carefully one by one, until a chance came for
them to put the one question in which they were interested.

"I suppose you couldn't take us into Tromso?"

This started a long explanation about how they were waiting
there for a man to bring them some bait which they had paid for
already, so that they could not afford to miss him, and they said all
over again that they could not see any sense in going all the way to
Tromso for spares when there was a telephone up in the shop. But
they told Eskeland that if he was really set on wasting money by
going there, the shopkeeper had a boat and might take him in.

Eskeland thanked them and left them, understanding perhaps
that to a man who lives in the outer islands Tromso is a very distant
city, and a journey there is not a thing to be undertaken lightly. At
least, he had learned that the shop at the head of the jetty was really
the one he wanted.

The shopkeeper was in bed when they got to the house; but when
they knocked he came downstairs in his underclothes and took them
to the kitchen. They apologised for coming so late, and told the same
story again. But with him, they only told it as a means of introduction,
to make conversation till he felt at ease with them and they could tell
him the true reason for their visit. While they were talking, they slipped
in questions about the Germans. No, he said when they asked him, the
Germans had really been no trouble out there on the islands. They had
never been ashore. He saw their convoys passing in the channel south
of Ribbenesoy, and they had been out laying minefields. And of course
they sent out notices which had to be stuck up everywhere: "Contact
with the enemy is punished by death." There was one downstairs in the
shop. He had heard stories about how they behaved in Tromso, but as
for himself, he had never had anything to do with them.

Carefully feeling his way, Eskeland began to broach the subject of
his cargo, and his need to go to Tromso. The shopkeeper was willing
to take one or two men to town in his boat. Eskeland offered to pay
him a substantial sum of money for his help. It was the size of this
sum which first impressed on the shopkeeper that he was being asked
to do more than hire out a boat. He looked puzzled; and then,
because it would be unjust to involve a man in what they were doing
without giving him an idea of the risks he was running, and because
the man had such an excellent reputation, Eskeland told him that
they had come from England.

At this, his expression changed. At first he was incredulous. One
of them gave him a cigarette, and he took it and lit it; and the English
tobacco seemed to convince him that what they said was true. Then,
to their surprise, they saw that he was frightened.

He began to make excuses. He couldn't leave the shop. It wasn't
fair to leave his wife alone in the house these days. There were the
animals to attend to. Fuel for the boat was difficult to come by.

Slowly and reluctantly, they had to admit to themselves that it was
useless to try to persuade him. An unwilling nervous helper would be a danger and a liability. Yet they could not understand how a man
who had been so highly recommended could be so cowardly in practice. The vast majority of Norwegians, as everybody knew, would
have been delighted by a chance to do something against the
Germans. They puzzled over his behaviour, and told him they were
disappointed in him.

"But why did you come to me?" he asked, plaintively. "What made
you think I'd do a thing like that?"

They told him they had heard he was a patriot; and then the truth
came out, too late, and they saw the mistake which they had made.
The man told them he had only been running the shop for a few
months. Its previous owner had died. His name was the same, so
there had been no need to change the name of the business.

There was nothing left to do then except to impress on him as
clearly as they could that he must never tell anyone what they had
told him. He promised this willingly, glad to see that they had
accepted his refusal. In his relief, he even recommended two other
men who he thought would give them the help they needed. Their
names were Jenberg Kristiansen and Sedolf Andreasson. They were
both fishermen, and they lived on the north shore of the island,
beyond Toftefjord. He felt sure they would be willing.

Eskeland and his two companions left him then, with a final warning that he must never mention what he had heard that night.

They went back to their dinghy, annoyed and slightly uneasy.
There was no reason to think that the shopkeeper was hostile, or that
he would do anything active to harm them. Not one man in a thousand would go out of his way to help the Germans. But many
Norwegians of the simpler sort were prone to gossip, and any man
whose own safety was not at stake was potentially the nucleus of a
rumour. It was a pity, but the risk, so far as they could see, was small,
and without entirely recasting their own plans there was nothing
much they could do about it. It was sheer bad luck that the one man
they had selected from the lists in London should have died, and even worse luck that another man with the same name should have
taken his house and business. But it could not be helped. At least, he
had given them new contacts.

They set off back towards Toftefjord, to tell the rest of the party
what had happened. On the way, they were overtaken by the fishingboat which had been lying off the jetty of the shop. Its crew had got
their bait and were on their way to the fishing-grounds. The took the
dinghy in tow; but just before they came to the mouth of Toftefjord
the skipper shouted that they had forgotten a rope, some part of their
fishing gear, and that they had to go back to the shop to fetch it. He
cast the dinghy off. Eskeland went on into Toftefjord, and saw the
fishing-boat turn round and steam away.

What happened when the skipper and crew of the fishing-boat
got back to the shop will never exactly be known. The shopkeeper
had gone back to bed, but they called him out again, and this time his
wife joined them to hear what was going on. He said he was feeling
sick and giddy. He thought it was due to the cigarettes the strangers
had given him. His brother was one of the crew, and he and the skipper plied him with questions about the strange boat and the three
unknown men. Before very long, the shopkeeper had told them
everything.

It was probably during this conversation that a new and appalling
fear struck him. Was it possible that the three men were German
agents sent to test him? He had heard people say that the Germans
sent men about in the islands, dressed in civilian clothes, to do that
very thing: to say that they came from England, and then to report
anyone who offered to help them. What was more likely than that
they should pick on him, a merchant, a man with a certain standing
in the community, and one who had only recently set up in business?
He was thankful, now he came to think of it, that he had refused to
help them. And yet, had he been careful enough? He racked his
brains to remember exactly what he had said about Germans. He felt
sure he had been indiscreet. There had been something about mine fields. That was probably secret. Of course, he said to the others, the
only way to make sure of his position, the only safe thing to do, was
to report what the men had told him. Supposing they were German
agents, it would not be enough only to have refused to help them.
They would be waiting now to see if he reported them. If he didn't,
they would get him anyhow.

The three men discussed this dilemma for an hour. The shopkeeper's wife listened in distress at his agitation. His brother was in
favour of doing nothing. It would be a bad business, he admitted, if
the men were Germans; but on the other hand, if he reported them
and it turned out that they had really come from England, it would
be far worse. The trouble was, it was impossible to be sure; but on the
whole, he thought it was right to take the chance.

With this decision, after a long confusing argument, the skipper
and the shopkeeper's brother left for the fishing again. The shopkeeper himself went back to bed, still feeling sick and dizzy. He could
not sleep. He knew what it meant to be disloyal to the Germans, or
rather, to be caught at it: the concentration camp for himself and
perhaps for his wife as well; the end of the little business he had
begun to build up; the end of his safety was so easy. There was the
telephone downstairs in the shop. And yet, if they were really
Norwegians, and had really come from England, and the neighbours
got to know he had told the Germans, he knew very well what they
would say, and he knew very well what his customers would do.
Those men had sounded like Norwegians: not local men, but they
spoke Norwegian perfectly. But of course there might be Norwegian
Nazis, for all he knew, who would do a job like that for the Germans.
And was it possible to come in a fishing-boat in March all the way
from England? That sounded an unlikely story. Perhaps the best
thing would be to get up and go over to Toftefjord and speak to them
again and see if they could prove it. But then the Germans were too
clever to do anything by halves; they would have their proofs all
ready. How could he tell? How could he possibly find out?

The shopkeeper lay all night, sick with fear and confusion.
Towards the morning, the last of his courage ebbed away. About
seven, he crept down to the shop, and picked up the telephone. He
had thought of a compromise. He asked for a man he knew who had
an official post in the Department of Justice.

In Toftefjord, when Eskeland had told the others about the two
merchants with the same name, they agreed that there was nothing
to be done. The man had promised not to talk, and short of murder
they could not think of any way of making more sure of him than
that. So Eskeland set off again, not very much discouraged, to see the
two fishermen the shopkeeper had recommended.

This time he got the answer he expected. There was no point in
telling these men the story about spare parts, By then, it was about
three o'clock in the morning, and even in the Arctic, where nobody
takes much notice of the time of day, people would not expect to be
woken up at such an hour with any ordinary request. He did not ask
them to go to Tromso either. Most of the first night was already gone,
and the most urgent need was to get the cargo ashore so that
Brattholm could sail again for Shetland.

The two fishermen agreed at once, enthusiastically, to hide it in
some caves which they knew. Eskeland did not tell them the whole
story. He did not mention England, but left them with the impression that he had brought the cargo from the south of Norway, and
that it contained food and equipment for the home forces to use
when the tide began to turn. But the two men did not want to be told
any more about it. If it was anti-German, that seemed to be good
enough for them. They said they would come to Toftefjord at halfpast four on the following afternoon to pilot Brattholm out to their
hiding place, so that everything would be ready for unloading as
soon as it was dark.

It was daylight by the time the dinghy got back to Toftefjord.
Eskeland and then men who were with him were tired, not merely by
being out all night, but by the long hours of careful conversation. When they came aboard, they found that Jan Baalsrud, the only one
of the landing party who had not been either to the shop or the fishermen, had been at work all night checking over their small arms
again. As an instrument maker, Jan loved the mechanism of guns and
always took particular care of them; and like Eskeland, he had been
a little worried about the shopkeeper.

They made breakfast, and talked about the shop again. It was only
two hours' steaming from Tromso, somebody pointed out, for any
kind of warship; so if they had really had the bad luck to hit upon a
Nazi and he had reported them, they would surely have been
attacked by then. Dawn would have been the obvious time for the
Germans to choose. But dawn was past, and Toftefjord was as quiet
and peaceful as before. They agreed in the end that the landing party
should stay on watch till ten o'clock. If nothing had happened by
then, it really would look as if that particular danger was over; and
then the landing party would turn in and leave some of the crew on
watch till the fishermen came at half-past four.