Arthur Ransome - Swallows and Amazons (Complete Series)

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.