Читать книгу Swallows and Amazons (Book 1-12) - Arthur Ransome - Страница 97

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Down below everybody overslept again, and when they woke and came running up on deck in their pyjamas, they found Peter Duck at the wheel, and Captain Flint waiting for his breakfast, looking a little sleepy, but enjoying a morning pipe, sitting on the roof of the deckhouse, dangling his heels, and watching a black schooner, her grey canvas almost white in the sunshine, sailing along on the port quarter, just where John looked for her the moment he came up out of the companion.

“Still there,” said John.

“The Viper,” said Titty.

“Perhaps she wants to race,” said Nancy.

“She can outsail us if she wants. Carries more canvas,” said Peter Duck.

“We’ll get breakfast over,” said Captain Flint, “and then we’ll set topsails and see what she does. What have you two mates to say for yourselves? Here are us poor sailormen starving for something hot.”

“Sorry, sorry,” said Susan. “Come on, Peggy. I put some quaker oats to soak last night. Will you broach two tins of milk? We’ll give them boiled eggs and do our getting up afterwards. You fly down, Titty, and get dressed.”

“Go ahead then,” said Captain Flint, “and John and Roger can have a bit of a bath. There’s a canvas bucket with a rope to it.”

“I’ll just go down and let Gibber out,” said Roger. “I’ll get the towels at the same time.”

“Bring them up the forehatch,” said John. “What’s that lighthouse right under the cliff?”

“Beachy Head. We’re getting along. We couldn’t have had a luckier slant of wind.”

A minute or two later, the forehatch was pushed open from below. Gibber came out, shivered a little, and then, making up his mind that things were not so bad, climbed up the capstan and sat there making faces at the wind. Roger pushed the towels up and came after them. Then John and Roger took their clothes off, tossed them down the forehatch, and closed it to keep them dry. John went to the lee side, threw his bucket forward at the end of its rope and hauled it up again as the schooner swept him past it. The first time or two he got very little water. Once he waited too long and had the bucket nearly pulled out of his hands. But he soon learnt the trick, more or less, and he and Roger took turns, emptying buckets of water over each other. At the first splash the monkey leapt from the capstan, ran to the foremast, and raced up the wooden hoops of the foresail to the gaff jaws and above them to the cross-trees, where it stopped, leaning down and chattering with anger, while John and Roger sluiced the water about on the deck far below.

Cold water, bright sunshine and the clear green and white of Beachy Head somehow made it hard for John to believe the sort of things he had found easy to believe last night. This morning the black schooner over there looked in no way different from other sailing vessels. She was the Viper all right. There was no doubt of that, but sunshine and cold water made it hard to believe that it was not mere accident that brought her down Channel in such close touch with the Wild Cat. After all, they had left Lowestoft very soon after each other.

THE COOKS’ GALLEY

But when John and Roger had dressed and cleaned their teeth (Susan had put her head out of the galley to remind Roger not to forget to clean his) and they came on deck again and found Titty and Nancy waiting about very ready for their breakfast, John told Nancy what had happened while he and Peter Duck had been keeping watch together. Nancy seemed to think it real enough.

“He wants to do something beastly,” she said, “after being ducked in the harbour like that.”

“He’s probably a real pirate,” said Titty. “Not like Captain Flint. A bad one. He looks it, with those ear-rings.”

They hung on to the shrouds and looked across the waves at the black schooner that was so steadily keeping pace with them.

“He’s probably going to have another look at those crabs,” said Roger.

“That’s what Mr. Duck thinks,” said Nancy.

They looked aft at the broad back of Captain Flint, sitting on the roof of the deckhouse. Just then the bell was banged suddenly and close behind their backs by Peggy, and they looked round to see Susan, also dressed, disappearing down the companion with a great saucepan of steaming porridge.

“How did you get dressed?” said Nancy. “You can’t have washed.”

“We took turns,” said Peggy. “I stirred the pot while Susan went below and then she stirred and I bolted down.”

“Never was better pleased to hear a bell in my life,” said Captain Flint, slipping down off the deckhouse roof and sweeping them with him down to breakfast. “Hurry up now, and let me get it over, so that Mr. Duck can come down. Take him up a mug of coffee, Titty, to be going on with.”

Sunshine and cold water had made John doubtful for a moment if he had really seen those lights change in the dark as the Viper followed exactly the movements of the Wild Cat. But now, after breakfast, in broad daylight, something happened that made it clear to everybody aboard that Black Jake was indeed watching everything they did.

Captain Flint let John and Nancy take the wheel and steer the schooner, heading west now, to pick up the Owers lightship, while he and Peter Duck brought out the topsails, and presently set them, after Roger with some monkey nuts had coaxed Gibber down out of the way. The topsails made a great difference to the speed of the Wild Cat, and at once she began to leave the black schooner astern.

“This’ll settle it,” said Captain Flint, coming aft with the old seaman and taking up the glasses to look at the Viper.

Almost as he spoke, Peter Duck said, “Can you see what they’re doing by the foremast?”

Up to the foremast head of the Viper loose canvas climbed, opened, spread out, and presently filled all the space between mast-head and gaff. The Viper lost no more ground.

“She could leave us hull down if Black Jake were to set both topsails,” said Peter Duck, after watching to see if the Viper was going to set a topsail above her main. “But it isn’t that he had in mind.”

“It certainly looks very queer,” said Captain Flint.

“It’ll look queerer yet,” said Peter Duck.

“Well,” said Captain Flint, “the sea’s free to all, and if that fellow likes to waste his time running down Channel after us, it’s no concern of ours.”

“He’ll make it ours before all’s done,” said Peter Duck.

“He’ll be sorry for it if he does,” said Captain Flint.

All the rest of that day everybody aboard the Wild Cat was watching the Viper and wondering what it was that Black Jake hoped to do, following them like this. That first day, coming out of Lowestoft and sailing through the Downs, the Viper had been little more to them than another vessel sailing in the same direction. Besides, they were at sea. They had begun their voyage. Nobody can think of everything at once. And that day it had been enough for them to learn to keep their footing on slanting decks, to watch the land slipping by, the buoys, the lightships and the traffic. Black Jake had somehow belonged to Lowestoft harbour and that they had left behind. They hardly thought of him. Peter Duck’s yarn, too, had been a splendid story but it had been a story of the distant past. It had explained why Black Jake had been inquisitive. It was only to-day that they began to understand that perhaps the story was not over and that perhaps Black Jake and Peter Duck, the Viper and the Wild Cat, and even they themselves were at that very moment taking a part in it. It was a grand day and perfect sailing, white tops to the waves, a blue sky and a steady north-east wind from off the land. Land was always in sight to the northward, the south Downs showing green behind the coast-line and its watering-places, Shoreham, Worthing, Littlehampton, Bognor. But the Swallows and Amazons saw little of it. They were shaking down into the routine of life aboard ship, and dinner that day was at the proper time, but when they were not actually cooking, or steering, or swabbing down decks, or showing each other that they had not forgotten the names of all the ropes, they were watching the Viper, thinking of Black Jake’s voyage to Crab Island, remembering his angry face when the parrot, knowing nothing about it, had blurted out its hint of treasure in the “Pieces of eight!” that Nancy had spent so long in teaching it, and wondering what life was really like for the red-haired Bill; and if, indeed, he had been pushed overboard or had simply fallen in, that time when they had fished him out.

And then, towards evening, after tea, when they had passed the Owers lightship and were steering for the Nab Tower, something happened that changed their feelings yet again. It was simply this, that Black Jake set a topsail over his mainsail and the Viper at once drew level with the Wild Cat and began to run away from her.

“She’s winning like anything,” said Roger. “Hadn’t we better start the engine?”

“Just call Mr. Duck, somebody,” said Captain Flint, a little later. The old seaman was getting some sleep, but he came out of the deckhouse in a moment, and, as usual, looked astern for the black schooner.

“She’s passed us,” said Captain Flint. “What do you make of that?”

“Crowding on sail,” said Peter Duck. “Both topsails. Black Jake’s not the man to do anything without he has a reason for it. What’s he think’s coming?” He looked round the sky and sniffed the wind. Then he looked again at the black schooner, already far ahead of them.

“Looks to me,” said Captain Flint, “that she’s setting a course to pass outside the Wight.”

“Maybe he thinks we’re going to do the same, with us so far south.”

“But crowding on sail?”

“Seems to me like he might be thinking the wind’s going to drop and he’s clapping on sail to come to an anchorage where he can hold on while the tide’s running east against him.”

“You don’t think he’s given up his game with us?”

“That man plays no games. We’ve not seen the last of him.”

“Well,” said Captain Flint. “We’ll put him wrong about one thing. We’ll carry on and let him think we’re heading to pass outside the Wight and then we’ll turn north by Bembridge Spit. He’ll have to beat back then if he doesn’t want to lose us. We’ve had a good run so far and if we can get to Cowes before the tide turns against us, there’s no harm in all hands having a quiet night at anchor there, if you really think the wind’s dropping. Not that it looks like it.”

“If it wasn’t for the Viper hurrying on I’d be thinking the wind would hold for a week. But he’s one for knowing, is Black Jake.”

Indeed the wind seemed to freshen. It drew a little towards the north, and the Wild Cat rushed along with the water foaming under her lee, while the Viper, under her press of canvas, was heeling over like a yacht and fairly racing for the shelter of the island. When at last Captain Flint and Peter Duck hauled in the sheets, and the Wild Cat changed course to pass north of the island, the Viper held on under all sail and was presently out of sight behind the Bembridge point.

“It seems almost funny without her,” said Peggy.

“I wonder if the red-haired boy is thinking it seems funny without us,” said Titty.

“There won’t be much seems funny to him while he’s sailing along of Black Jake,” said Peter Duck.

And then he began pointing out the Warner lightship, and Spithead and the forts, and Portsmouth. And Captain Flint ran the ensign up to the peak of the mainsail and let Nancy dip it, just to see if anything happened, when a destroyer rushed by in the usual dreadful hurry about something or other. And something did happen. Although the destroyer was in such a hurry the ensign at her stern fluttered down for a moment and up again. And then there was a liner coming out, but somehow she did not notice the Wild Cat’s salute. “Too proud, that sort,” said Peter Duck. Generally, once the Viper was out of sight, they found it hard to believe they had been followed by her all the way from Lowestoft. The evening was just an ordinary summer evening, and they were enjoying their first sail in famous waters. They had passed Ryde and were nearing Cowes, and Susan and Peggy were thinking about getting supper, when suddenly the burgee drooped at the mast-head, the ensign drooped at the peak, the sheets slackened and the Wild Cat began to lose her speed.

The wind came again in a moment, but, somehow, just to know that Black Jake had guessed that the wind was going to drop, and that now it was actually dropping, made the chase seem real once more, and they began to wonder what was the anchorage Black Jake had had in mind when he had begun to hurry on. The Wild Cat was still moving fast through the water, but she was moving slowly past the land. They knew that the tide had turned against them and that the wind would not for long be strong enough to carry them over it. The wind grew fitful. There were a great many yachts in the anchorage at Cowes and the little green schooner picked her way through them, moving more and more slowly.

“Let fly staysail sheets. Get the headsails down.”

The Wild Cat stemmed the tide no longer.

“Let go starboard anchor.” Down it went, and John and Nancy grinned at each other, both remembering Black Jake’s ducking at the same moment.

“Give her fifteen fathom, Mr. Duck.”

There was hurried work on deck lowering the sails.

“We won’t put the covers on,” said Captain Flint.

“We’ll be getting the wind again in the morning,” said Peter Duck.

And so, temporarily, and as if unwillingly, the Wild Cat brought up at Cowes, ready to sail on when the wind would take her. Her crew looked at each other. There was still a steady swirl of water past the ship’s sides, but that was only the tide. Close by were the houses of Cowes, the inns with gardens above the water, the old grey building of the Squadron, the houses up the hill, the yachts at anchor with dinghies and launches going busily to and from the landing places. For the first time since leaving Lowestoft, the Wild Cat was at rest. The houses were not moving. She was not moving past the houses. John, Nancy, and Titty looked at each other. Yes, they were all feeling it. It was as if something had gone out of the ship.

Captain Flint, busy with Peter Duck putting tyers round the sails, was still thinking of the Viper. “I almost wish we had him still in sight, Mr. Duck,” Nancy heard him say. “I hate to think of him going off to have another dig at your island.”

Just then Peggy rang a bell at the door of the galley, and at the same moment there was the noise of oars close alongside and a voice hailed them from the water, “Anybody for the shore?”

Captain Flint jumped up. “Why, yes,” he said. “I think there is. Who wants ices?”

“Supper’s ready,” said Susan.

“Let’s have it later,” said Peggy. “It’s a cold supper.”

“It’ll seem beautifully hot after the ices,” said Roger.

“I’m going, anyway,” said Captain Flint. “Anybody else can come who wants. What about you, Mr. Duck?”

“Too old for ice-creams,” said Mr. Duck, “and I’m not that set on shore. I’m staying by the ship.”

“We shan’t be long. Hurry up, you others. What time do the shops close here? What? Already? Hurry up then. Just as you are.”

He threw the ladder over, and everybody, except Peter Duck, crowded down into the shore boat. Peter Duck was busy with the big hurricane lantern getting ready to hoist it on the forestay. The boatman pulled away for the landing, and as they looked back towards the Wild Cat, they saw a white riding-light climb slowly up her forestay. Peter Duck was putting her to sleep.

Almost all the shops of Cowes were shut, as Captain Flint had feared, but he found a confectioner’s open, with a notice in the window to say that Chocolate and Vanilla Ices were For Sale.

He ordered a round of each, told the shopkeeper to keep the crew supplied, and said he had something to look for in the town. He hurried out of the shop. Half an hour later, when they were beginning their third round of ices, chocolate ones, he came back looking very hot and bothered.

“There isn’t an ironmonger’s open in the whole of this place.”

“What was it you might be wanting, sir?” asked the shopkeeper.

“Spades,” said Captain Flint, to the astonishment of his crew.

“You won’t get them, not as late as this,” said the man, “and I don’t suppose what I’ve got would be any use to you.”

Hanging up under the ceiling were a lot of the sort of toys that sweetshops keep in seaside towns. There were model boats, some of them, as Roger noticed, with quite a decent lot of lead on their keels. There were buckets with “A Present from Cowes” painted on them. There were string bags full of coloured indiarubber balls. The shopman half closed the door to get at the things that were hanging up behind it, and took down a toy spade, an iron one with a varnished wooden handle.

“Would this be any good, sir?” he asked.

Captain Flint tried the blade of it, between his finger and thumb.

“All right for digging in sand,” he said.

“That’s what it’s meant for,” said the man.

“Better than nothing,” said Captain Flint. “How many have you got?”

“Only these two,” said the man, taking another down from behind the door. “We’re expecting a new stock next week, if you could call again.”

“I’ll take the two of them,” said Captain Flint.

“And buckets to match, sir?”

“Eh? Buckets? No, thank you.”

The man tied the two spades together, wrapped them up in paper, and used a lot of string on them, as if they were really good.

The crew finished up their ices, and said, “No, thank you,” when they were offered another round.

“What do you want those spades for?” asked Roger, when the ices had been paid for, and they were all hurrying out into the street.

“There isn’t a spade in the ship,” said Captain Flint. “And I’ve only just noticed it. Ridiculous. And I thought I’d fitted her out with everything.” And he strode down the middle of the road, carrying his paper parcel.

“These aren’t very good ones,” said Roger, when they were getting into the boat to be rowed back to the ship.

“I know that,” said Captain Flint. “I hope the ices were better.”

“The ices were quite all right,” said Roger. “And the glasses weren’t half as thick as they are in some shops.”