We Didn't Mean to Go to Sea

  “Bring her round, Titty,” he said.

  “But nothing happens,” said Titty, putting the tiller across first one way and then, desperately, the other. The mainsail hung idle and half the mainsheet was slowly sinking. The wind had dropped to a dead calm and the Goblin had not even steerage way.

  A bundle of red staysail appeared through the forehatch.

  “No. Stow it away again,” said Jim. “There’s no wind at all.”

  He hurried aft, looking over his shoulder at the buoys. The ebb was still running and the buoys were coming rapidly nearer.

  “Feet out of the way everybody,” he said. “Got to start up Billy. That’s it. Feet out of the way.”

  “Can I be engineer?” said Roger.

  “All right. Get the spanner out of that starboard locker. Got to give a turn to the grease cap on the stern tube. Always have to do that before starting.”

  He lifted a board in the floor of the cockpit, reached down with Roger trying to look over his shoulder, came up again, wiped his hands on a lump of cotton waste, and put the board back into place.

  “Hope to goodness Billy has the sense to start when he’s wanted,” he said, as he dropped down the companion, into the cabin.

  “Clang!”

  “We’re nearly out of the harbour already,” said Susan.

  “You try to steer,” said Titty, and John took the useless tiller.

  From below in the cabin came talk of grease and oil, Roger’s voice, “Oh let me pour it in,” and Jim’s, “Buck up, then,” and “Keep clear while I swing her.” They had almost reached the Cliff Foot buoy when there was the noise of the engine being turned over, and suddenly the quiet of the windless morning was broken by a slow chug, chug, that quickened, chug, chug, cough, chug, and steadied again.

  Jim, followed by Roger, shot up from below.

  “Good old Billy,” he said. “Just in time to keep our promises.” He leaned out over the transom, to see that the water was coming out of the exhaust as it should, hauled in the Imp’s painter, for fear it should get wound up by the propeller, and turned to Roger. “Now then, engineer. Put her ahead. Shove that lever right forward.”

  “Look out for your leg, Titty,” said Roger, and as Titty took her leg out of the way he pushed forward the lever that stuck up out of the cockpit floor. The engine took up the work, and Jim let go the Imp’s painter and fiddled with the throttle. The chug, chug quickened.

  “She’s moving,” said Roger, looking over the side.

  “That’s right, John. Swing her round. We’ll go close up the Felixstowe side.” He was rattling in the mainsheet, and made it fast with the boom well in. They could hear the relief in his voice.

  “What would have happened if the engine hadn’t started?” said Titty.

  “We’d have drifted out to sea,” said Jim.

  “Which way?”

  “Out by the Cork lightship,” said Jim. “The ebb runs about north-east. We shouldn’t have gone very far because it’s practically low water and the flood would have brought us back. But I promised your mother we shouldn’t go outside the buoys.”

  “We all promised,” said Susan, looking astern at the Cliff Foot buoy.

  “Beu … eueueueueueu,” sounded the foghorn from the lightship.

  “Thank goodness the engine did start,” said Susan, and then, in an altogether happier voice, she said, “I’m going to light the stove now, and we’ll have the rest of breakfast. Boiled eggs, I think, and tea.”

  “Good,” said Jim. “We’ll lower the mainsail and roll up the jib. No good pretending to be sailing. We’ll run up to Ipswich with the motor.”

  “Can I try steering her?” said Roger.

  “Go ahead,” said Jim. “Keep her straight for the mills by Felixstowe Dock. Yes. Those high buildings.”

  “I can’t see while everybody’s just in front of me,” said Roger, feeling that for the first time he was in command.

  Except, perhaps, Roger, not one of them would in the ordinary way have been glad to feel that the Goblin had her motor running. But today, even John, who cared for nothing but sail, was grateful to the little engine chug-chugging away under the companion-steps. It had saved them at the very last minute and was taking them quickly further and further away from the danger of a broken promise.

  John and Jim quite cheerfully rolled up the jib, took the weight of the boom on the topping lift, and let the useless mainsail down on the cabin top. Jim put a couple of tyers round it, for neatness’ sake, leaving it all ready to hoist again as soon as there should be some wind.

  The stove in the galley at the side of the companion broke into a cheerful roar. Susan passed up a saucepan for salt water in which to boil the eggs.

  “Will she go any faster?” said Roger, talking very loudly, because of the noise of the engine.

  Jim grinned and bent down and opened the throttle. The Goblin shot forward, the water foamed past her sides, and the Imp, towing astern, had a good bow wash of her own.

  “Gosh,” said Roger. “We’ll be at Pin Mill in two minutes.”

  “About an hour,” said Jim.

  Already the Goblin was pushing up the channel close to the pierheads of the dock at Felixstowe. They could read the name of the Pier Hotel, and could see a red motor-bus by the dock gates.

  “Water’s boiling,” said Susan. “How many eggs shall I put in?”

  Down there, at the foot of the companion-way, she was close to the engine, and, in the cockpit, they could not hear a word that she was saying. They leaned forward to listen.

  “How many eggs for the skipper?” she shouted.

  “TWO!” shouted Jim.

  “SOFT OR HARD?”

  “HARDISH.”

  Looking down, they could see her putting the eggs, one by one, into the saucepan of bubbling water. She was just putting the saucepan back on the stove when they looked suddenly at each other. The noise of the engine was changing. That quick, whirring, chug, chug, chug slackened, faded out, stopped, went on once more, and finally, after a few half-hearted chugs, died altogether. For a moment there was silence. It was broken by Roger.

  “Oh I say, Susan, you’ve gone and stopped the engine.”

  “I haven’t touched it,” said Susan from below.

  Jim jumped down and gave a few turns to the starting handle. The engine coughed, chugged twice, and stopped once more. He climbed out into the cockpit, swept Titty off the starboard seat, lifted a little lid, like the lid over the pump, unscrewed a cap beneath it, and peered down into the petrol tank.

  “Bone dry,” he said. “What an idiot. I must have used more than I thought the night before last. I ought to have filled up before starting. Hi, Roger, look out …” He glanced round at the Felixstowe pierheads and then the other way. The Goblin was still moving. He swung her round slowly and let Roger have the tiller again.

  “Keep her heading like that, on Harwich Church spire. She’ll carry her way till she’s out of the channel. We’ll anchor on the shelf …”

  Susan had come up from below. All four of them stood in the cockpit, while the Goblin, steered by Roger, slipped silently, more and more slowly, past a large flat-topped buoy on which they could read “NORTH SHELF.” Jim had run forward, and they could hear chain being hauled up on deck.

  “She’s hardly moving,” called John.

  There was a great splash and then a rattle of chain as the anchor went down. Jim made fast and came aft.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Roger.

  “Wait for wind,” said John.

  “Get some petrol,” said Jim. “There’s a garage between here and Felixstowe, and if I can catch that bus it won’t take ten minutes.” He was rummaging under the cockpit seat and presently pulled out an empty petrol tin. “Couldn’t have run out of petrol at a better place,” he was saying. “I never use old Billy if I can help it, but I hate to feel he isn’t on duty and ready if he’s wanted. Next time I miss my moorings, there may not be a boatload of sailors to take
a rope for me. I’ll just get a couple of gallons and then we’ll be all right. Blooming donkey I was, not to have looked in the tank yesterday.”

  “What about getting more paraffin at the same time?” said Susan.

  Jim emptied his trouser pockets. Half a crown, a shilling and a few coppers. “Jove,” he said. “It’s a good thing I didn’t get two dozen of pop instead of one last night. No, I won’t bother about paraffin. Plenty in the cabin lamp, plenty in the cooker. I filled the riding light when I took it down, and we shan’t be using the others.”

  “I’ve got some money,” said John, feeling for a half-crown that he knew was somewhere mixed up with the string in a trouser pocket.

  “Never mind,” said Jim. “We shan’t want paraffin before we get back to Pin Mill.”

  “Can I come with you?” said Roger.

  “No,” said Jim. “I’ll be quicker by myself.”

  He pulled the Imp alongside and slithered down into her, while John passed down the red petrol tin.

  “Cast off,” said Jim. “You’re in charge, John. Don’t let anybody fall o.b. If anybody does, bat them on the head. Tide’s just turning now. Dead low water. She’ll be all right here, out of the channel. I’ll be back in half a jiffy. Nothing can possibly happen …”

  John dropped the coiled painter into the Imp’s bows. Jim spun the Imp round and pulled for Felixstowe Dock. The water spirted from under her bows at every stroke, and the sharp ripple of her wash spread across the oily water.

  “Can’t he row?” said Roger.

  1 In the International Code of Signals the signal for a pilot is G, with upright stripes of blue and yellow.

  CHAPTER VII

  “HE’S BEEN AN AWFUL LONG TIME …”

  THEY WATCHED THE little black dinghy disappear between the pierheads into Felixstowe Dock. Susan suddenly remembered the eggs.

  “They’ll be as hard as stones,” she cried. “It’s ten minutes past eight and I put them in at … Bother it. When did the engine stop?” She took the heavy saucepan off the stove and fished for the eggs with a tablespoon. One good thing about being anchored. No deafening, throbbing engine, and those two would at least be able to finish their breakfasts properly. She set up the folding flap of the cabin table, and took the roll of American cloth from the shelf.

  On deck, now that Jim and the dinghy were out of sight, John was enjoying the thought that they had the ship to themselves. It did not really matter, her being anchored. For the moment she was theirs. He hung the coils of the mainsheet on the tiller, and told himself secretly that he had just sailed the Goblin from Dover and was waiting to take the tide up the river.

  “John,” said Titty. “Where’ve we come from?”

  John started. It was as if she had heard him speak his thought out loud.

  “River Plate,” he said. Dover seemed too near, if Titty also was thinking they had come in from the sea.

  “Months on the voyage,” said Titty. “Isn’t it lovely to be in home waters at last?” She looked across to the old grey town of Harwich and the anchored steamers and barges, and then back at the tall mills, and the pierheads behind which the skipper and the dinghy had just disappeared. Yes, the red motor-bus was still there. He was going to be in time to catch it. She went on, “To think that last time we anchored there were palm trees on the banks, and crocodiles. I say, it’s an awful pity we haven’t got the ship’s parrot with us, to sing out ‘Pieces of Eight!’ and make things seem more real.”

  “Gibber, too,” said Roger. “He’d be simply fine sitting on the cross-trees and much happier than in the Zoo.”

  Titty, looking up at the cross-trees, found it easy to see the monkey and the parrot perched up there side by side.

  “They were jolly glad to get into harbour out of the fog,” she said, listening to the long “Beu … eueueueueu” from the Cork lightship out at sea.

  “The Goblin’s turning round,” said Roger.

  Not only the Goblin but all the anchored vessels, the big steamers and the barges, were swinging with the tide, and instead of pointing inland were one by one turning their bows towards the sea.

  “What’s the time, Susan?” said John. “Tide’s changed. The flood’s just begun to make.”

  “Sixteen minutes past eight,” said Susan. “Is he in sight? Breakfast’s all ready.”

  “There goes the bus,” said Titty. “He’s had plenty of time to catch it.”

  “If it’s only just gone, his eggs’ll be cold by the time he gets back. Come on down and eat yours.”

  *

  It was only the second half of breakfast, but Susan had done her best with it and was a little disappointed that Jim was not there to see his cabin table. She had laid for five, Titty, Roger and herself on one side, Jim and John on the other … five red Woolworth plates, five blue egg-cups each with a hard-boiled egg in it, with an extra egg on the plate that was meant for Jim, five spoons, five mugs, five slices of bread and butter, and five apples. It was a pity that he was not here to see the table in its beauty before people had begun eating and pushing things about. Still, it could not be helped. Roger and Titty ought to have had something hot inside them as soon as they came out of the water. Susan did not think of waiting, even to let Jim see the breakfast table at its best. All she said was, “Look here. We’ll try to keep his place nice and tidy.” So, while the others ate their bread and butter, and took the shells off their eggs (Roger bounced his on the table to prove that it was really hard) and pushed their mugs along for more tea, Jim’s corner of the table, in front of his empty seat, remained an example of what a laid place should be.

  Two or three times Susan looked out of a porthole to see if he was on his way back. She was a little bothered about those eggs. “Hardish,” he had said. There had not been much “ish” about the hardness of the others, and his would not get softer by keeping. She leaned over and felt them. Not as hot as they had been. Everybody else had passed from eggs to bread and marmalade, and from bread and marmalade to apples and second mugs of tea. She had another look through the porthole. She made up her mind.

  JIM ROWED AWAY

  “Anybody want to eat those eggs?” she said.

  “But he’ll be here any minute,” said Roger.

  “We don’t mind hard-boiled ones and he probably does. I’ll boil two more for him. And this time somebody’d better watch the clock. Go on Roger, you like them hard … You have one and John had better eat the other. I’ll do the new ones four minutes, and I won’t put them on till he’s in sight.”

  “We can keep him talking on deck if he gets back before they’re ready,” said Titty. “And then he won’t know you’ve had to do another lot.”

  John and Roger ate their extra eggs. They were finishing up with a round of bananas when Susan swept all the empty egg-shells on one plate and told Roger to empty them overboard and then to stay up in the cockpit and keep a good look out. She began to clear things away into the sink.

  “It’s a lot mistier than it was,” said Roger, passing down the empty plate. “But he isn’t in sight anyhow … Hullo! There he is.”

  “Quick!” said Susan. She put Jim’s two eggs into the saucepan. “You keep an eye on the clock, Titty, in case I forget, and sing out when it’s twenty-one minutes to nine.”

  “It isn’t him,” said Roger presently. “It’s a bigger boat than the Imp, and it’s gone away towards that steamer.”

  “Oh, Roger,” said Susan. “And the eggs are in …”

  “I bet he’ll be in sight before they’re ready,” said Roger.

  “Oh well,” said Susan. “He’s been such an age, he can’t be long now. They won’t have time to get cold.”

  “Time, Susan,” said Titty, who had never taken her eyes off the clock.

  A minute later, if Jim had come back, he would have found breakfast laid for one on the cabin table, and two eggs, neither too hard nor too soft, still steaming from the saucepan, one in his egg-cup and the other lying ready beside it.


  But there was no sign of him, and Susan tapped each egg on the thin end with a spoon, because she had heard that doing so stopped them from getting harder.

  *

  An hour passed and Jim’s breakfast still waited for him in the cabin. The crew were all on deck. Susan had brought up the brass polish and was having another go at the porthole through which the steersman had to look at the compass. There was no point in sitting about doing nothing. John was by the mast, taking the halyards off their pins and putting them carefully back again, learning his ropes, ready for the moment when Jim should come back and they should be hoisting sail once more. A little wind was coming across the water from Harwich, and he knew that if there was any wind Jim would not be using the motor, even if he had a couple of gallons of petrol in the tank. Roger and Titty, inspired by Susan, were also polishing brass work and getting quite a shine on the cleats for the headsail sheets. But all four of them kept looking across the rippled water to the pierheads of the dock.

  “The bus is there again,” said Titty. “That’s the second time.”

  “What’s happened to him?” said Susan almost crossly.

  “If he’d only known the wind was coming he wouldn’t have gone for the petrol,” said John.

  “He said he wanted to have some anyhow,” said Roger.

  “Well, why doesn’t he come back?” said Susan. “He must have got it by now.”

  “He’s probably met an ancient mariner,” said Titty. “You know, with skinny hand and glittering eye, and they got talking about boats, and Jim couldn’t get away. And when he heard the lightship howling, he thought it was the loud bassoon.”

  “They’re earning their twopences,” said Roger. “And it really is foggy now. It’s getting foggy even here.”

  There was no doubt about it. The long wail of the lightship that had seemed ridiculous when they had been sailing down the harbour in the early morning seemed ridiculous no longer. Fog was coming in from the sea with the tide, and already things that they had seen clearly had turned into faint shadows. The North Shelf buoy, quite near them, was clear enough, but the outer buoys had disappeared, and they could hardly tell where the land ended and the sea began at the mouth of the harbour. That red morning sun was now no more than a pale spot in the mist.