Great Northern? Page 2

  “Square Top,” Roger suddenly shouted, pointing along the bowsprit.

  “I can’t see it,” said Titty.

  “Where?” asked Dorothea.

  “Might be it,” said John. “Just coming up now.”

  The skyline ahead of them was changing. Hills near the coasts were lifting to hide the bigger hills beyond them. John gave the little chart to Peggy and went up the port shrouds to the cross-trees to get a view from higher up.

  “Square Top all right,” he shouted.

  Captain Flint took the chart from Peggy.

  “Fine on the starboard bow,” called John, and came quickly down to have another look at the chart.

  “Looks like it,” Captain Flint was saying. “That little sketch must have been made from just about where we are now. How’s she heading, Nancy?”

  “West and a half north,” said Nancy.

  “And we’re coming in on the right bearing. Couldn’t have struck it luckier.”

  “Good for the Sea Bear,” said Titty.

  “Carry on just as we’re going,” said Captain Flint, “and this tack will bring us close off the entrance.”

  A hand, Susan’s, showed in the companion way and took hold of the rose knot worked in the end of the bit of rope that dangled from the clapper of a small ship’s bell.

  “Ting … Ting.…”

  “Two bells! Five o’clock. Tea!” called Nancy, almost as if she wanted to hurry the others off the deck.

  “We’ll get it over,” said Captain Flint. “We’ll be in in no time if only the wind lasts out.”

  Roger, at the first “ting” of the bell, had opened the forehatch and was already disappearing below. Susan’s hand came up again through the companion, this time carrying a mug for the steersman. Peggy took the mug and put it on the leeward side in a corner of the cockpit where it could not slide about. Susan passed up a huge rock bun. Peggy handed it on.

  “Shall I have mine on deck too?” she asked.

  “No need,” said Nancy.

  Titty and Dorothea went down and Peggy after them.

  “Go on, John,” said Nancy. “You’ll get a better view when we’re a bit nearer … Get along down, Dick. Your Pppppppterodactyl’s out of sight.”

  Dick took a last look towards that long lump sticking out from the coast-line away to the south. It looked almost like an island, but he knew it was really a cape, the Head, that hid the harbour where they had first seen the bird-man’s boat. He could not see the motor yacht any longer. He followed John down the companion.

  Nancy, at the tiller, was alone on deck. The clink of mugs and plates sounded from below. She took a gulp of tea and then a mighty bite of the rock bun. This was better than going into any harbour with buoys and lighthouses and shops and quays. Sailing towards an unknown coast, watching for a tiny break in the coast-line, she had the ship to herself and wished that tea in the cabin would last for ever.

  Sitting at the cabin table, Dick saw two tea-leaves floating in his mug. He dipped them out.

  “Stranger,” said Titty.

  “Perhaps your Divers,” said Dorothea. “Perhaps you’re going to see them after all.”

  Dick, as a scientist, did not believe in tea-leaf prophecies. “There’s not much hope left,” he said.

  “You never know,” said Dorothea.

  Nobody wants to stay below when the ship has made a good landfall and is coming in towards an unknown anchorage chosen by the crew and not by the skipper. Nancy did not have the ship to herself for very long. Nobody dawdled over tea and presently they were all on deck once more, watching the coast coming nearer and nearer, watching the square-topped hill, glancing at the compass, comparing the cliff, now clear to see, with the little drawing of it on Mac’s chart, and eager for the first glimpse into the little cove where the Sea Bear had once been scrubbed and was going to be scrubbed again.

  “Got it!” called John who had taken his telescope up to the cross-trees. “Just to the left of the cliff … Low ground to the south of it. Plumb on the bowsprit end.”

  Presently they were all able to see it from the deck, the narrow inlet close under the cliff, the ridge above the cliff stretching up to the hills, and north of the ridge, some cottages and a grey house.

  “Conspicuous house,” said Peggy, looking at the chart.

  “Anyhow,” said Titty, “it doesn’t show any houses where we’re going.”

  “Those houses don’t matter,” said Dorothea. “They’re in a different valley, over the top of that range. They won’t even be in sight.”

  “I can’t see them very well even now,” said Roger.

  There is no certainty at sea. At the very last minute, with the cove opening before them, things were changing fast. Away to the south the Head was showing less and less clearly. The wind was slackening. The Sea Bear was moving slower and slower. The sunlight had weakened. Something odd was happening to the coast. The tops of the hills inland showed sharp and still clear but it was as if a white veil hung over their lower slopes.

  “I told you we ought to start the engine,” said Roger.

  Captain Flint took a worried look round.

  “We may have to change our plans,” he said suddenly. He went down the companion ladder, and looking down, they could see him busy with parallel rulers on the Admiralty chart.

  “Oh look here,” said Nancy, “he can’t be thinking of giving up now.”

  “Why, we’re nearly there,” said Titty.

  Suddenly the sails flapped. Nancy had to change course to fill them again. The air was suddenly cooler. It was as if somebody had turned down the light of the sun.

  “I can’t see the Head,” called John.

  There was a yell from below. “Hey, Nancy! What are you changing course for?” Captain Flint had glanced up from the chart table at the tell-tale compass under the cabin roof.

  “Wind’s changed,” said Nancy. “Mist or fog coming. And we can’t see the Head.”

  Captain Flint came storming up the companion ladder. He took one glance at the cliff ahead and jumped for the starboard jib-sheets.

  “Ready about!” he called. “Helm down!”

  The Sea Bear swung very slowly round. A gentle breath was coming from the north-west.

  “Fair wind for the Head,” said Captain Flint. “What about using it and doing our scrub in harbour tomorrow?”

  “And not go into the cove at all?” said Nancy. “But you promised we should.”

  “Well, look at it,” said Captain Flint.

  Already there had been another change. The square-topped hill was standing in a mist that hid its lower slopes. It was like an island in a white sea. The white sea was rolling towards them. It had covered the low-lying ground and was eddying round the foot of the cliff.

  “Fair wind for the Head,” said Captain Flint again. “And Dick’ll be able to have another look at his boat … Eh, Dick?”

  “But it’s the very last chance of seeing Divers,” said Dick.

  “Look here,” said Nancy. “This wind’ll be dead against us once we’re round the Head and we’ll be beating all the way up to the harbour with rocks on both sides of us.…”

  “That’s true enough,” said Captain Flint. He looked south towards the invisible Head and then up at the cliff. Mist was already pouring over the top of it.

  “We’re nearly in already,” said Nancy.

  “It’s pretty late,” said Susan.

  Captain Flint stooped and glanced at the clock. “Slack tide,” he said. “I wouldn’t try it otherwise. But the fog’ll be on us in a minute.” Once more he pulled out his pocket compass and took a bearing of the square-topped hill, now no more than a grey ghost above the mist. “All right, Nancy,” he said. “You win. Lower all sail! We’ll start the engine, Roger. And I hope to goodness the petrol lasts long enough to take us in.”

  “Oh, good!” said Titty.

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” said Roger, and, as he followed the skipper below, “I told you we’d be wanting it
.”

  There was a whirr from below as the engine started and a steady throbbing as it was warming up. Captain Flint was on deck again in a moment. The staysail was already down. Peggy and Susan, working together, were bringing in the jib. Captain Flint gave John a hand with the topsail and took the weight of the boom on the topping lift. “You and Susan take the peak halyard,” he said. “I’ve got the throat. Lower away.” This was all old drill to the crew of the Sea Bear and in a very few minutes all sails had been lowered and the old cutter was wallowing uncertainly in the swell.

  “Nancy’s the best hand with the lead. John takes the tiller. Slow ahead, Roger!”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  The Sea Bear began to move again as the engine changed its tune.

  “West and a half north, John, and as steady as you can.”

  ‘West and a half north it is.”

  “But what are we going to do?” said Dorothea.

  “We’re going in,” said Nancy, taking the lead and its line out of a locker in the cockpit.

  “If we can,” said Captain Flint.

  The coast had disappeared altogether. The square-topped hill had been swallowed up. The chug … chug … chug of the engine was driving the Sea Bear slowly forward into a wall of white wool.

  The boy high above the cliff had seen the mist coming. It had filled the valley and hidden the deer he had been watching. He felt a cold breath on his forehead. The wind was changing. He had written up his diary for the day and eaten all he meant to eat of the cake he had brought with him. A faint sound of bagpipes was calling him home. He put his diary and what was left of his cake in the biscuit box he used as a safe, pushed it well out of sight at the back of his private hiding-place and, as the mist reached him, set out carefully to pick his way among the rocks and heather. No one on land saw the Sea Bear lower her sails. No one heard the quiet throb of her engine as she crept slowly on towards the cliff.

  CHAPTER II

  FEELING HER WAY IN

  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.

  INTO THE MIST

  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.

  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.”