Читать книгу Great Northern? - Arthur Ransome - Страница 10

THE WHOLE FEELING of the day had changed. This was no longer careless summer sailing. The wall of mist was moving to meet them. John, steering, was watching the compass as if his life depended on keeping the needle steady. Everybody was on the alert, waiting for orders, knowing that there must be no mistakes and that if anything needed doing it would need doing at once. The hatch over the engine room was open. Roger, his eyes sparkling, was standing by, his hands hovering over the controls. The mist rolled over the Sea Bear, and from the cockpit it was hard to see the little flag at the masthead. A clanking of iron told that Nancy and Captain Flint, grey ghosts on the foredeck, were making ready the anchor.

Captain Flint came aft and glanced at the compass.

“Keep her going as she is, John,” he said.

“West and a half north,” said John.

“We want someone at the cross-trees … Dick … no … I forgot your glasses.” (Dick was cleaning his dimmed spectacles.) “Peggy. I may want Susan to lend a hand with the anchor. Nancy’ll be busy from now on. Everybody else, keep your eyes skinned and sing out the moment you see anything. Anything. Don’t wait till you are sure what it is. Sing out if you see anything at all. Roger, stand by to stop her at once and go astern if I shout.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” said Roger.

“Titty. Nip below and bring up that tin of tallow for the lead. Fo’c’sle. Starboard side, top shelf.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.” Titty was gone.

“Chug … chug … chug … chug …”

The Sea Bear moved on in a white world of her own.

“It’s like being a caterpillar inside a cocoon,” thought Dick, hurriedly wiping his spectacles, putting them on and trying to see, not quite sure whether or not the mist was on his spectacles as well as all about him.

Nancy, at the starboard shrouds, a lifeline round her made fast to the rigging, so that she could use both hands without fear of falling overboard, was getting ready to swing the lead. Now, now … The lead dangled three feet or more below her right hand, the big coil of the lead-line, with its marks at every fathom, in her left. She was swinging the lead, fore and aft, in wider and wider swings. She was whirling it over and over, round and again and away … She had let go of it and the lead was flying out ahead of the ship. Nobody aboard could do that as well as she. Dick could see her feeling for it as the ship caught it up, dipping, as if she were fishing with a handline.

“No bottom at twelve fathoms,” she called out.

“Carry on,” called Captain Flint.

Titty came up through the companion instead of through the forehatch because that was closed to give more room for the chain that lay ranged ready to pour out through the fairlead as soon as the anchor was let go. She had a tin in her hand. She crouched by the mast, to be ready with the grease the moment it was wanted. Dick, as so often before, felt that, in this ship-load of experienced sailors, he and Dorothea were no more than passengers. They knew how to sail their little Scarab, but this was the first time they had been to sea. There was nothing for them to do except to keep out of other people’s way and to be ready to obey orders in case anybody should think it worth while to give them any.

Splash. Again the lead fell after Nancy had sent it flying forward. Again she was dipping, dipping. Again she was hauling it in hand over hand.

“No bottom at twelve.”

There was a sudden shrieking of gulls. Captain Flint, who had been glancing at the little chart, looked up from it to watch Nancy, as if he were waiting for the answer to an urgent question.

Splash.

“No bottom at twelve.”

“We must be pretty near in,” said Captain Flint to John. “We ought to be getting the bottom by now.”

Splash.

Nancy, hauling in the line and dipping, turned suddenly to shout, “Twelve fathoms.”

“Arm the lead,” said Captain Flint.

Dick saw Titty scoop something out of the tin with her fingers and poke it into the hole he had often noticed at the bottom of the lead.

“Hurry up,” Captain Flint was saying, low, to himself, not for Nancy or Titty to hear. Anybody could see that they were being as quick as they could.

Splash.

Nancy was hauling in. She was dipping. “Eleven,” she shouted, and went on hauling, coiling as she hauled, grabbed the lead as soon as she could reach it and looked at the bottom of it. “Eleven and soft mud,” she called out.

So that was how it was done, thought Dick. The grease on the bottom of the lead brought up a sample of the bottom to help the skipper who was feeling his way in. He knew now what was the use of those little notes dotted about on the charts … “s” for sand, “m” for mud, “sh” for shell, and so on. This was the first time he had seen them bother about arming the lead. They had often sounded to make sure of the depth when they were making ready to anchor. This time they wanted to know more. They wanted every little bit of knowledge that might help them with this white mist blindfolding their eyes.

INTO THE MIST

Splash.

“Nine and a half … mud and shell …”

“Do we … ?”

“Shut up,” said Captain Flint. “Listen!”

Gulls were squawking somewhere to starboard, high above them.

“Cliff?” muttered Captain Flint.

The chugging of the engine sounded suddenly different, as steps do when they go over a wooden bridge after walking on solid road.

“West,” said Captain Flint to John.

“West it is, Sir,” said John quietly.

“If that’s the north side of the place,” said Captain Flint, we must be clear now of any tide there is across the entrance.”

“He’s very pleased,” Dorothea whispered to Dick.

“Nine fathom … mud and shell.”

A bird flew close by the stern of the ship.

“Guillemot,” said Dick. “At least, I think so.”

“Eh! What’s that?”

“Sorry,” said Dick. “It was only that I saw a bird.” “Something to starboard,” yelled Peggy, high in the mist. “No … It’s gone. I can’t see anything now, but there was something.”

“She may have caught a glimpse of the cliff,” said Captain Flint to John. “We must be pretty near. Sorry. Don’t listen to me.” He grinned at Dick. “You watch your steering.”

“West,” said John.

They were startled next by a noise that had nothing to do with the sea. “Go back. Go back. Go back!” It was the cry of a grouse alighting.

“We jolly well won’t,” said Roger, and earned a grim look from Susan.

Captain Flint gave the chart to Dick. “Hang on to this,” he said, and went forward to join the misty figures on the foredeck.

“Eight fathom,” called Nancy. “Eight fathom … mud.”

“Seven fathom,” said Nancy, looking round to find Captain Flint close beside her.

“Stop her,” called Captain Flint, and the throbbing of the engine quickened for a moment as Roger instantly put it out of gear.

“Hard a starboard!”

“Starboard,” repeated John, putting the tiller over.

“Let go!” called Captain Flint and himself obeyed his own order. There was a heavy splash and then the rattle and roar of the chain pouring out through the fairlead on the stem.

“Finished with engine.”

The throbbing of the engine turned to a cough and ended.

The Sea Bear was at anchor. Looking over the side Dick could see small flecks of foam moving slowly past her as she swung. Looking away from her he could see nothing at all but white mist.

“Have we got in?” Nancy was asking.

“We’re in,” said Captain Flint. “But I wouldn’t like to swear to the exact spot. Lend a hand to get that dinghy over.”

There was a rush to set up the davits and in a few minutes the dinghy was swung out and lowered into the water.

“John in charge of the ship,” said Captain Flint. “Come on, Nancy. Bring the lead. Somebody keep on ringing the bell … all the time. We’re not going far, but it may help us not to lose you.”

He rowed away, with Nancy in the stern coiling the lead-line at her feet. In a few moments the dinghy, with Nancy and the skipper in it, was no longer even a dark blob in the mist. It had gone. Listening for the gentle splash of the oars, the rest of the crew were looking at each other as if to ask what was going to happen next.

“We’re close in shore anyhow,” said John. “Hear that grouse again?”

“And anchored,” said Susan. “Well, it’s much better than being at sea in a fog.”

“We may have to shift again,” said John. “We may be too near in.”

“Is that what they’ve gone to find out?” said Dorothea.

“What about Peggy?” said Susan. “He forgot about her. She isn’t wanted up there now.”

“Come along down, Peggy,” called John.

“BELL!” A shout came at them out of the mist.

“Ting … ting … ting … ting … ting …” came the answer. The shout had met Roger just as he came happily up from the engine room after shutting off the petrol and giving the engine a wipe over with an oily rag.

“He said we were to keep on ringing,” said Titty, and took the rag with which Roger was wiping his fingers and used it to wipe the grease off her own.

“All right,” said Roger, “I will,” and he kept the bell ringing, “Ting … ting … ting … ting …”

“Quiet a minute,” said John, coming aft from the foredeck where he had been making a neat stow of the staysail so that it could be hoisted again at a moment’s notice. “Listen!”

“Seven fathom,” they heard Nancy’s voice away in the mist.

“Ting … ting … ting …”

“And again.” That was Captain Flint.

“Eight fathom.”

Aboard the Sea Bear they listened for the oars, trying to make out where the dinghy was.

“Seven fathom.”

“Where now?” said Titty. “That sounded as if Nancy was close by.”

“Somewhere astern,” said Peggy. “They’ve been moving round that way. Pheeeu! It was clammy up there.”

“Could you see anything?” asked Dorothea.

“Not a thing,” said Peggy. “But I’ve got ears.”

“Good long ones,” said Roger.

“Let me get at that boy,” said Peggy.

“Bearing about west,” said John.

“BELL!”

“Ting … ting …” “Shut up Peggy, I’ve got to keep ringing.” “Ting … ting … ting …”

“Eight fathom.”

“That sounded off the port bow,” said John.

“Ting … ting … ting …”

“Seven fathom.”

“Amidships now,” said John. “Funny how hard it is to tell.”

“There they are,” cried Titty. Dimly, a shadow dinghy had shown for a moment.

“That’s a bit too near,” they heard Captain Flint’s voice. “Half a minute … now, try again.”

“Seven and a half.”

“Ting … ting … ting …”

“John!”

“Sir!” John shouted back into the whiteness.

“Have the kedge ready.”

“Aye, aye, Sir … Come on, Susan,” said John, and ran forward.

“That means we’re all right,” said Titty.

“Does it?” said Dorothea.

“Of course it does,” said Peggy. “He’s going to put the other anchor down. We’re going to stop where we are for the night.

The shadow dinghy showed again, clearer now, and was presently alongside.

“Hop out, Nancy, and give them a hand when they’re paying out the kedge rope.”

“All ready with the kedge,” called John.

Nancy was aboard, very wet with working the lead. Captain Flint brought the dinghy under the bows. John lowered the smaller anchor.

“Not in the boat. Half a minute. Hold it so, while I get it slung from the stern. Good lad. That’s the way. Now, pay out rope and give a shout when you’re nearing the end. It’s made fast isn’t it?”

“Just going to be,” said John.

“Wouldn’t help us much to lose the lot,” said Captain Flint. “I did that once, so I know.”

He pushed off from the Sea Bear’s side, and rowed away into the mist, passing along her side, and then disappearing astern, the grass kedge rope towing after him as John, Nancy and Susan paid it out and made sure that it should run free. Dick and Dorothea from the cockpit watched the rope sliding away like a snake on the top of the water until it vanished like everything else a few yards from the ship.

“Three fathoms to go,” John shouted.

There was a splash far astern, and presently Captain Flint came rowing back, climbed aboard and went forward to make the kedge rope fast to the chain of the main anchor before paying out another two fathoms of that.

“Well and truly moored,” he said as he came aft. “She won’t hurt now.”

“What’s the shore like?” asked Dick. “It must be quite close because of those grouse.”

“Never got a sight of it,” said Captain Flint. “We’ve been all round the ship and saw nothing. But we’ve got a good depth and a good bottom and plenty of room to swing.”

“Where are we?” asked Dorothea.

“We’ll know that when the mist goes,” said Captain Flint. “It won’t last. The wind’s coming off the land. It’ll be clear enough in the morning.”

“We’re stopping here?” said Susan.

“We jolly well are,” said Nancy. “Shiver my timbers but that mist’s clammy.”

“You ought to say, ‘Chatter my teeth!” said Roger.

“Well, they do it without my saying it,” said Nancy.

“Mine too,” said Peggy. “Let’s have a fire in the cabin.”

“Good idea,” said Captain Flint.

There was a stampede down the companion ladder. Half an hour later, the cabin stove was burning brightly and the whole ship’s company were sitting in the warmth. It was hard to believe that only a few hours before they had been sailing in bright sunshine. The cabin lamp had been lit. Dorothea was thinking that a misty chapter would go well in her Romance of the Hebrides. John was writing up the log … “Closed with the coast. Thick mist. Anchored in seven fathoms. Mud bottom. Laid out kedge. Land to north.” Captain Flint was poring over a book of sailing directions. Nancy was looking yet again at the small chart on which the Sea Bear’s owner had marked the place where he had put her ashore for a scrub. Dick was looking at the big Admiralty chart that showed a lot of small sheets of water not far inland from the coast, just the place for Divers if only he were able to go ashore and look for them. Peggy and Susan were debating supper and agreeing on macaroni and tomato with poached eggs. Titty was back at her own private log … “Anchored in white mist. We may be anywhere.” Roger was fingering his penny whistle trying to think of a suitable tune to play. He grinned to himself and startled everybody by shrilling out at a good pace, “We won’t go home till morning”.

“Oh, shut up,” said John. “If you want to play that thing, we’ll put you in the dinghy at the end of a long rope and you can go and play it in the fog.”

Roger played a bar or two of “God Save the King!” to show that he was bringing his private concert to an end, and said, “Well, if you don’t like real music, get Captain Flint to lug out his accordion.”

“All right, Roger,” said Captain Flint. “We’ll cheer them up by playing duets.”

“We don’t need cheering up,” said Nancy. “This is the best thing that’s happened on the whole cruise. But we don’t mind helping you to make a noise.”

“It’ll be like being in the Arctic,” said Titty. “Nansen could make all the noise he liked, drifting in the ice, with nobody to hear except Polar bears.”

“We’re Sea Bears ourselves,” said Roger, “and we can make all the noise we like, and there isn’t even Nansen to listen.”

Captain Flint laughed, and took the accordion that Peggy pushed into his hands, and presently there was a din in the cabin enough to lift the roof. They sang all their old favourites that they used to sing in the houseboat on the lake, stamping with their feet, and banging on the table. Peggy and Susan, the cooks, busy in the galley, were singing while busy with their eggs and macaroni. But Nancy, now and again, looked doubtfully at Captain Flint. She knew very well that he was not really happy.

“It’s all right, Uncle Jim,” she said. “It couldn’t be righter. Mac’ll be delighted. We’re in his bay, just where we wanted to be.”

“Are we?” said Captain Flint. “I wish I knew. If only this infernal mist would clear and we could see. She’s safe enough as things are, but we shall have to keep an anchor watch.”

“What’s that?” asked Dorothea.

“Somebody on deck while we’re asleep,” said Titty, “to rouse out the rest of us if anything goes wrong.”

There was more singing after supper. Then, before turning in, everybody went on deck for a last look round. The mist was as thick as ever. Water dripped from the furled mainsail. The decks were wet. The light coming up through the skylight shone into whiteness overhead. It was very quiet, but for the distant sigh of waves. The Sea Bear lay in smooth water. They knew that those waves must be somewhere outside.

“Even in real harbours she hasn’t lain as quiet as this,” said Nancy. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t go to bed too.”

“Look here,” said Captain Flint, “she isn’t mine. I wouldn’t care twopence if I drowned the lot of you, but I’m not going to get Mac’s ship into trouble if I can help it.”

“You can’t stay up all night.”

“Not going to. You can set the alarm for three, and then, if it’s still thick, you and John can take a watch. But it should have cleared by then.”

The crew stowed themselves in their bunks. The lamp burned on in what might have seemed an empty cabin, except that a pair of large feet showed near the top of the companion ladder where the worried skipper of the Sea Bear was sitting and smoking and, every now and then, looking uselessly round into the misty night.