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

Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel taught navigation at our nautical school.

“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 finally, “is not an exact science.” In order to fully master it, you need personal experience of long-term practical sailing...

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 in retirement. He knew navigation brilliantly, taught interestingly, with a spark, and he apparently had enough experience. It seemed that Christopher Bonifatievich had indeed plowed all the seas and oceans.

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

As proof of this absurd assertion, they cited the appearance of Christopher Bonifatievich. And his appearance really somehow did not fit with our idea of ​​a brave sailor.

Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel wore 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 clean, was corpulent and short, had a restrained and pleasant voice, often smiled, rubbed his hands, sniffed tobacco and with his whole appearance he looked more like a retired pharmacist than a sea captain.

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

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

When, after the call, he came out with a stack of notebooks under his arm, our arguments stopped. Since then, no one has doubted that, unlike other navigators, Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel acquired his experience at home, without embarking on long voyages.

So we would have remained with this erroneous opinion if I had very soon, but quite unexpectedly, been lucky enough to hear from Vrungel himself a story about a trip around the world, full of dangers and adventures.

It happened by accident. That time, after the test, Khristofor Bonifatievich disappeared. Three days later we learned that on the way home he lost his galoshes on 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, I was sent to Vrungel’s apartment.

I went. I found the apartment without difficulty and knocked. And then, while I was standing in front of the door, I quite clearly imagined Vrungel, surrounded by pillows and wrapped in blankets, from under which his nose, red from a cold, protruded.

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

On the table in front of Vrungel, in a special stand, 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 unusual

Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel taught navigation at our nautical school.
“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 finally, “is not an exact science.” In order to fully master it, you need personal experience of long-term practical sailing...
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 in retirement. He knew navigation brilliantly, taught interestingly, with a spark, and he apparently had enough experience. It seemed that Christopher Bonifatievich had indeed plowed all the seas and oceans.
But people, as you know, are different. Some are gullible beyond all measure, others, on the contrary, are prone to criticism and doubt. There were also those among us who claimed that our professor, unlike other navigators, himself never went to sea.
As proof of this absurd assertion, they cited the appearance of Christopher Bonifatievich. And his appearance really somehow did not fit with our idea of ​​a brave sailor.
Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel wore 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 clean, was corpulent and short, had a restrained and pleasant voice, often smiled, rubbed his hands, sniffed tobacco and with his whole appearance he looked more like a retired pharmacist than a sea captain.
And so, in order to resolve the dispute, we once asked Vrungel to tell us about his past campaigns.
- Well, what are you talking about! Now is not the time,” he objected with a smile and, instead of another lecture, gave an extraordinary test on navigation.
When, after the call, he came out with a stack of notebooks under his arm, our arguments stopped. Since then, no one has doubted that, unlike other navigators, Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel acquired his experience at home, without embarking on long voyages.
So we would have remained with this erroneous opinion if I had very soon, but quite unexpectedly, been lucky enough to hear from Vrungel himself a story about a trip around the world, full of dangers and adventures.
It happened by accident. That time, after the test, Khristofor Bonifatievich disappeared. Three days later we learned that on the way home he lost his galoshes on 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, I was sent to Vrungel’s apartment.
I went. I found the apartment without difficulty and knocked. And then, while I was standing in front of the door, I quite clearly imagined Vrungel, surrounded by pillows and wrapped in blankets, from under which his nose, red from a cold, protruded.
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, a formidable captain in full dress uniform, with gold stripes on his sleeves, sat at the table, deep in reading some ancient book. He was fiercely gnawing on a huge smoky pipe, there was no mention of pince-nez, and his gray, disheveled hair stuck out in clumps in all directions. Even Vrungel’s nose, although it really turned red, became somehow more solid and with all its movements expressed determination and courage.

On the table in front of Vrungel, in a special stand, stood a model of a yacht with high masts, with snow-white sails, decorated with multi-colored flags. A sextant lay nearby. A carelessly thrown bundle of cards half covered a dried shark fin. On the floor, instead of a carpet, lay a walrus skin with a head and tusks, 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 St. John's wort harpoon. There was something else, but I didn’t have time to see it.
The door creaked. Vrungel raised his head, placed a small dagger in the book, stood up and, staggering as if in a storm, stepped towards me.
- Very nice to meet you. Sea captain Vrungel Khristofor Bonifatievich,” he said in a thunderous bass, extending his hand to me. - To what do I owe your visit?
I must admit, I was a little scared.
“Well, Khristofor Bonifatievich, about the notebooks... the guys sent them...” I began.
“It’s my fault,” he interrupted me, “it’s my fault, I didn’t recognize it.” The damn disease took away all my memory. I’ve become old, nothing can be done... Yes... so, you say, behind notebooks? - Vrungel asked again and, bending down, began to rummage under the table.
Finally, he took out a stack of notebooks and slammed his wide, hairy hand on them, slamming them so hard that dust flew in all directions.
“Here, if you please,” he said, after sneezing loudly, tastefully, “everyone is “excellent”... Yes, sir, “excellent”! Congratulations! With full knowledge of the science of navigation, you will go to plow the sea under the shadow of a merchant flag... It’s commendable, and, you know, it’s also entertaining. Ah, young man, how many indescribable pictures, how many indelible impressions await you ahead! Tropics, poles, swimming in a great circle... - he added dreamily. - You know, I was delirious about all this until I swam myself.
- Did you swim? - Without thinking, I exclaimed.
- But of course! - Vrungel was offended. - Me? I swam. I, my friend, swam. I even swam a lot. 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 situation has changed,” he added after a pause. - Much, so to speak, now appears 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 interesting and instructive things on that campaign. There is something to remember, there is something to tell!.. Yes, sit down...
With these words, Khristofor Bonifatievich pushed a whale vertebra towards me. I sat down on it like 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 navigation practice

I sat like this in my kennel, and, you know, I got tired of it. I decided to shake the old days - and shook them. He shook it so hard that dust spread all over the world!.. Yes, sir. Excuse me, are you in a hurry now? That is great. Then let's start in order.
At that time, of course, I was younger, but not like a boy at all. No. And I had years of experience behind me. A shot, so to speak, sparrow, in good standing, with a position, and, I tell you without bragging, according to his merits. Under such circumstances I could have been given command of the largest steamer. This is also quite interesting. But at that time the largest ship was just sailing, and I was not used to waiting, so I gave up and decided: I’ll go on a yacht. It’s also no joke, you know, to go on a circumnavigation of the world on a two-seater sailing boat.
Well, I began to look for a vessel suitable for carrying out my plan, and, just imagine, I found it. Just what you need. They built it just for me.
The yacht, however, required minor repairs, but under my personal supervision it was put in order in no time: it was painted, new sails and masts were installed, the skin was changed, the keel was shortened by two feet, the sides were added... In a word, I had to tinker. But what came out was not a yacht - a toy! Forty feet on deck. As they say: “The shell is at the mercy of the sea.”
I don't like premature conversations. He parked the ship near the shore, covered it with a tarpaulin, and while he was busy preparing for the trip.

The success of such an enterprise, as you know, largely depends on the personnel of the expedition. Therefore, I especially carefully chose my companion - my only assistant and comrade on 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: height seven feet six inches, voice like a steamboat, extraordinary physical strength, endurance. With all this, excellent knowledge of the matter, amazing modesty - in a word, everything that a first-class sailor requires. But Lom also had a drawback. The only one, but serious: complete ignorance of foreign languages. This is, of course, an important vice, but it did not stop me. I weighed the situation, thought, figured, and ordered Lom to urgently master spoken English. And, you know, Crowbar took possession. Not without difficulties, but mastered it 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, Lom’s alphabet didn’t work out well, especially with pronunciation. My senior assistant Lom spent days and nights learning difficult English letters. And, you know, there were some troubles. So one day he was sitting at the table, studying the ninth letter of the English alphabet - “ai”.
“Ay... ah... ah...” he repeated in every way, louder and louder.
The neighbor heard, looked in, saw: a healthy kid sitting, shouting “ouch!” Well, I decided that the poor guy was feeling bad and called an ambulance. We've arrived. They put a straitjacket on the guy, and with difficulty I rescued him from the hospital the next day. However, everything ended well: exactly three weeks later, my senior assistant Lom reported to me that both teachers had finished teaching him to the middle, and thus the task was completed. I scheduled departure that same day. We were already delayed.
And now, finally, the long-awaited moment has arrived. Now, perhaps, this event would have passed unnoticed. But at that time such trips were a novelty. A sensation, so to speak. And it’s no wonder that in the morning that day crowds of curious people clogged the shore. Here, you know, flags, music, general rejoicing... I took the helm and commanded:
- Raise the sails, give the bow, turn the rudder to starboard!
The sails rose, spread out like white wings, took on the wind, and the yacht, you know, stood still. We gave away the stern end - it’s still standing. Well, I see that drastic measures need to be taken. And just then the tugboat was passing by. I grabbed the bullhorn and shouted:
- Hey, in tow! Accept the end, damn it!

Andrey Sergeevich Nekrasov

The Adventures of Captain Vrungel

Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel taught navigation at our nautical school.

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 finally, is not an exact science. In order to fully master it, you need personal experience of long-term practical sailing...

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 in retirement. He knew navigation brilliantly, taught interestingly, with a spark, and he apparently had enough experience. It seemed that Christopher Bonifatievich had indeed plowed all the seas and oceans.

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

As proof of this absurd assertion, they cited the appearance of Christopher Bonifatievich. And his appearance really somehow did not fit with our idea of ​​a brave sailor.

Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel wore 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 clean, was corpulent and short, had a restrained and pleasant voice, often smiled, rubbed his hands, sniffed tobacco and with his whole appearance he looked more like a retired pharmacist than a sea captain.

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

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

When, after the call, he came out with a stack of notebooks under his arm, our arguments stopped. Since then, no one has doubted that, unlike other navigators, Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel acquired his experience at home, without embarking on long voyages.

So we would have remained with this erroneous opinion if I had very soon, but quite unexpectedly, been lucky enough to hear from Vrungel himself a story about a trip around the world, full of dangers and adventures.

It happened by accident. That time, after the test, Khristofor Bonifatievich disappeared. Three days later we learned that on the way home he lost his galoshes on 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, I was sent to Vrungel’s apartment.

I went. I found the apartment without difficulty and knocked. And then, while I was standing in front of the door, I quite clearly imagined Vrungel, surrounded by pillows and wrapped in blankets, from under which his nose, red from a cold, protruded.

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

On the table in front of Vrungel, in a special stand, stood a model of a yacht with high masts, with snow-white sails, decorated with multi-colored flags. A sextant lay nearby. A carelessly thrown bundle of cards half covered a dried shark fin. On the floor, instead of a carpet, lay a walrus skin with a head and tusks, 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 St. John's wort harpoon. There was something else, but I didn’t have time to see it.

The door creaked. Vrungel raised his head, placed a small dagger in the book, stood up and, staggering as if in a storm, stepped towards me.

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

I must admit, I was a little scared.

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

“It’s my fault,” he interrupted me, “it’s my fault, I didn’t recognize it.” The damn disease took away all my memory. I’ve become old, nothing can be done... Yes... so, you say, behind notebooks? - Vrungel asked again and, bending down, began to rummage under the table.

Finally, he took out a stack of notebooks and slammed his wide, hairy hand on them, slamming them so hard that dust flew in all directions.

“Here, if you please,” he said, after sneezing loudly, tastefully, “everyone is “excellent”... Yes, sir, “excellent”! Congratulations! With full knowledge of the science of navigation, you will go to plow the sea under the shadow of a merchant flag... It’s commendable, and, you know, it’s also entertaining. Ah, young man, how many indescribable pictures, how many indelible impressions await you ahead! Tropics, poles, swimming in a great circle... - he added dreamily. - You know, I was delirious about all this until I swam myself.

Have you ever swum? - Without thinking, I exclaimed.

But of course! - Vrungel was offended. - Me? I swam. I, my friend, swam. I even swam a lot. 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 situation has changed,” he added after a pause. - Much, so to speak, now appears 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 interesting and instructive things on that campaign. There is something to remember, there is something to tell!... Yes, sit down...

With these words, Khristofor Bonifatievich pushed a whale vertebra towards me. I sat down on it like 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 navigation practice

I sat like this in my kennel, and, you know, I got tired of it. I decided to shake the old days - and shook them. He shook it so hard that dust spread all over the world!... Yes, sir. Excuse me, are you in a hurry now? That is great. Then let's start in order.

At that time, of course, I was younger, but not like a boy at all. No. And I had years of experience behind me. A shot, so to speak, sparrow, in good standing, with a position, and, I tell you without bragging, according to his merits. Under such circumstances I could have been given command of the largest steamer. This is also quite interesting. But at that time the largest ship was just sailing, and I was not used to waiting, so I gave up and decided: I’ll go on a yacht. It’s also no joke, you know, to go on a circumnavigation of the world on a two-seater sailing boat.

Well, I began to look for a vessel suitable for carrying out my plan, and, just imagine, I found it. Just what you need. They built it just for me.

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

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 navigation practice
• Chapter III. About how technology and resourcefulness can compensate for the lack of courage, and how in swimming one must use all circumstances, even personal illness
• Chapter IV. About the customs of the Scandinavian peoples, about the incorrect pronunciation of some geographical names and about the use of squirrels in maritime affairs
• Chapter V. About herrings and cards
• Chapter VI, which begins with a misunderstanding and ends with an unexpected bath
• Chapter VII. On the methods of astronomical determinations, on military cunning and the 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 meets Admiral Kusaki, and the crew of the "Trouble" with the pangs of hunger
• Chapter XI, in which Vrungel parts with his ship and his senior mate
• Chapter XII, in which Vrungel and Fuchs give a small concert and then hurry to Brazil
• Chapter XIII, in which Vrungel deftly deals with a boa constrictor and sews himself a new jacket
• Chapter XIV, at the beginning of which Vrungel becomes a victim of treachery, and at the end he again ends up in “Trouble”
• Chapter XV, in which Admiral Kusaki tries to join the Trouble as a sailor
• Chapter XVI. About savages
• Chapter XVII, in which Lom leaves the ship again
• Chapter XVIII. The saddest one, because in it “Trouble” dies, this time irrevocably
• Chapter XIX, at the end of which Crowbar suddenly appears and sings to himself
• Chapter XXI, in which Admiral Kusaki himself helps Vrungel to get out of a very difficult situation
• Chapter XXII, additional, which some readers could do without
• Discussion of sea captain Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel on maritime terminology
• EXPLANATORY MARINE DICTIONARY FOR CONTACTED LAND READERS Compiled by Kh.B. Vrungel

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

Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel taught navigation at our nautical school.

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 finally, is not an exact science. In order to fully master it, you need personal experience of long-term practical sailing...

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 in retirement. He knew navigation brilliantly, taught interestingly, with a spark, and he apparently had enough experience. It seemed that Christopher Bonifatievich had indeed plowed all the seas and oceans.

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

As proof of this absurd assertion, they cited the appearance of Christopher Bonifatievich. And his appearance really somehow did not fit with our idea of ​​a brave sailor.

Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel wore 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 clean, was corpulent and short, had a restrained and pleasant voice, often smiled, rubbed his hands, sniffed tobacco and with his whole appearance he looked more like a retired pharmacist than a sea captain.

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

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

When, after the call, he came out with a stack of notebooks under his arm, our arguments stopped. Since then, no one has doubted that, unlike other navigators, Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel acquired his experience at home, without embarking on long voyages.

So we would have remained with this erroneous opinion if I had very soon, but quite unexpectedly, been lucky enough to hear from Vrungel himself a story about a trip around the world, full of dangers and adventures.

It happened by accident. That time, after the test, Khristofor Bonifatievich disappeared. Three days later we learned that on the way home he lost his galoshes on 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, I was sent to Vrungel’s apartment.

I went. I found the apartment without difficulty and knocked. And then, while I was standing in front of the door, I quite clearly imagined Vrungel, surrounded by pillows and wrapped in blankets, from under which his nose, red from a cold, protruded.

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

On the table in front of Vrungel, in a special stand, stood a model of a yacht with high masts, with snow-white sails, decorated with multi-colored flags. A sextant lay nearby. A carelessly thrown bundle of cards half covered a dried shark fin. On the floor, instead of a carpet, lay a walrus skin with a head and tusks, 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 St. John's wort harpoon. There was something else, but I didn’t have time to see it.

The door creaked. Vrungel raised his head, placed a small dagger in the book, stood up and, staggering as if in a storm, stepped towards me.

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

I must admit, I was a little scared.

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

“It’s my fault,” he interrupted me, “it’s my fault, I didn’t recognize it.” The damn disease took away all my memory. I’ve become old, nothing can be done... Yes... so, you say, behind notebooks? - Vrungel asked again and, bending down, began to rummage under the table.

Finally, he took out a stack of notebooks and slammed his wide, hairy hand on them, slamming them so hard that dust flew in all directions.

“Here, if you please,” he said, after sneezing loudly, tastefully, “everyone is “excellent”... Yes, sir, “excellent”! Congratulations! With full knowledge of the science of navigation, you will go to plow the sea under the shadow of a merchant flag... It’s commendable, and, you know, it’s also entertaining. Ah, young man, how many indescribable pictures, how many indelible impressions await you ahead! Tropics, poles, swimming in a great circle... - he added dreamily. - You know, I was delirious about all this until I swam myself.

Have you ever swum? - Without thinking, I exclaimed.

Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel taught navigation at our nautical school.

“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 finally, “is not an exact science.” In order to fully master it, you need personal experience of long-term practical sailing...

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 in retirement. He knew navigation brilliantly, taught interestingly, with a spark, and he apparently had enough experience. It seemed that Christopher Bonifatievich had indeed plowed all the seas and oceans.

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

As proof of this absurd assertion, they cited the appearance of Christopher Bonifatievich. And his appearance really somehow did not fit with our idea of ​​a brave sailor.

Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel wore 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 clean, was corpulent and short, had a restrained and pleasant voice, often smiled, rubbed his hands, sniffed tobacco and with his whole appearance he looked more like a retired pharmacist than a sea captain.

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

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

When, after the call, he came out with a stack of notebooks under his arm, our arguments stopped. Since then, no one has doubted that, unlike other navigators, Christopher Bonifatievich Vrungel acquired his experience at home, without embarking on long voyages.

So we would have remained with this erroneous opinion if I had very soon, but quite unexpectedly, been lucky enough to hear from Vrungel himself a story about a trip around the world, full of dangers and adventures.

It happened by accident. That time, after the test, Khristofor Bonifatievich disappeared. Three days later we learned that on the way home he lost his galoshes on 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, I was sent to Vrungel’s apartment.

I went. I found the apartment without difficulty and knocked. And then, while I was standing in front of the door, I quite clearly imagined Vrungel, surrounded by pillows and wrapped in blankets, from under which his nose, red from a cold, protruded.

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

On the table in front of Vrungel, in a special stand, stood a model of a yacht with high masts, with snow-white sails, decorated with multi-colored flags. A sextant lay nearby. A carelessly thrown bundle of cards half covered a dried shark fin. On the floor, instead of a carpet, lay a walrus skin with a head and tusks, 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 St. John's wort harpoon. There was something else, but I didn’t have time to see it.

The door creaked. Vrungel raised his head, placed a small dagger in the book, stood up and, staggering as if in a storm, stepped towards me.

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

I must admit, I was a little scared.

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

“It’s my fault,” he interrupted me, “it’s my fault, I didn’t recognize it.” The damn disease took away all my memory. I’ve become old, 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 stack of notebooks and slammed his wide, hairy hand on them, slamming them so hard that dust flew in all directions.

“Here, if you please,” he said, after sneezing loudly, tastefully, “everyone is “excellent”... Yes, sir, “excellent”! Congratulations! With full knowledge of the science of navigation, you will go to plow the sea under the shadow of a merchant flag... It’s commendable, and, you know, it’s 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 dreamily. – You know, I was delirious about all this until I swam myself.

- Did you swim? – without thinking, I exclaimed.

- But of course! - Vrungel was offended. - Me? I swam. I, my friend, swam. I even swam a lot. 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 situation,” he added after a pause. - Much, so to speak, now appears 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 interesting and instructive things on that campaign. There is something to remember, there is something to tell!.. Yes, sit down...

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

I sat like this in my kennel, and, you know, I got tired of it. I decided to shake the old days - and shook them. He shook it so hard that dust spread all over the world!.. Yes, sir. Excuse me, are you in a hurry now? That is great. Then let's start in order.

At that time, of course, I was younger, but not like a boy at all. No. And I had years of experience behind me. A shot, so to speak, sparrow, in good standing, with a position, and, I tell you without bragging, according to his merits. Under such circumstances I could have been given command of the largest steamer. This is also quite interesting. But at that time the largest ship was just sailing, and I was not used to waiting, so I gave up and decided: I’ll go on a yacht. It’s also no joke, you know, to sail around the world on a two-seater sailing boat.

Well, I began to look for a vessel suitable for carrying out my plan, and, just imagine, I found it. Just what you need. They built it just for me.

The yacht, however, required minor repairs, but under my personal supervision it was put in order in no time: it was painted, new sails and masts were installed, the skin was changed, the keel was shortened by two feet, the sides were added... In a word, I had to tinker. But what came out was not a yacht – it was a toy! Forty feet on deck. As they say: “The shell is at the mercy of the sea.”

I don't like premature conversations. He parked the ship near the shore, covered it with a tarpaulin, and while he was busy preparing for the trip.

The success of such an enterprise, as you know, largely depends on the personnel of the expedition. Therefore, I especially carefully chose my companion - my only assistant and comrade on 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: height seven feet six inches, voice like a steamboat, extraordinary physical strength, endurance. With all this, excellent knowledge of the matter, amazing modesty - in a word, everything that a first-class sailor requires. But Lom also had a drawback. The only one, but serious: complete ignorance of foreign languages. This is, of course, an important vice, but it did not stop me. I weighed the situation, thought, figured, and ordered Lom to urgently master spoken English. And, you know, Crowbar took possession. Not without difficulties, but mastered it in three weeks.