Arthur Ransome - Swallows and Amazons (Complete Series)

“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.”

Table of Contents

“Uncle Jim’s got it again,” said Nancy. She was sitting on the top of the capstan on the foredeck of the Wild Cat, watching the yachts at Cowes reflected in the smooth oily water. They had had a good night below decks, though in the deckhouse Captain Flint and Peter Duck had been talking still, when the last of their crew had fallen asleep. Breakfast was over, a very early one. Roger was sitting on the edge of the forehatch, playing with Gibber. Titty was hoisting the parrot’s cage on the forestay in place of the riding-light that had hung there all night. Peggy and Susan were peeling potatoes, John was leaning over the bulwarks watching the anchored vessels, which were heading all ways in the slack water, and wondering when they would begin to show that the tide was turning west.

“What’s he got?” asked Peggy.

“Just look at him,” said Nancy. “He’s just like he was the last time he went off to the Malays. Or was it Java? Don’t you remember how he used to prance up and down the houseboat? It’s a sort of fidgets.”

They all looked aft. Peter Duck was sitting there on a little canvas stool he had brought out of the deckhouse, busy putting a shine on the sidelights and the riding-light that he had on the deck beside him. He was working hard but with no hurry, enjoying his pipe and the morning sunshine, content with everything. But Captain Flint was walking up and down the deck from the wheel to the mainmast and back, lighting his pipe again and again and throwing the matches overboard. He looked as if he did not know whether the sun was shining or not. Suddenly he stopped short, as if he had made up his mind about something, but then he shook his head and went on walking up and down with his pipe in one hand and a matchbox in the other.

“It was just the same before he went to South America,” said Nancy.

“He looks awfully Captain Flintish,” said Titty.

“That’s what he’s feeling like,” said Nancy. “He’s just bursting to go off somewhere and do something.”