We Didn't Mean to Go to Sea. Arthur RansomeЧитать онлайн книгу.
sailors who were hanging about in a dinghy. . . ”
“How did you know we weren’t pirates?” said Titty.
“Or sharks?” said Roger.
“Just guessed,” said Jim, laughing.
“Lucky for us,” said Roger. “Or we wouldn’t be here.”
“And for me,” said Jim. “Look here. It’s getting dusk outside, and we’ll put up the riding light. No good having a barge coming along to bring up and sending us to the bottom in the middle of the night.”
“And then let’s go and telephone,” said Susan. “It’s getting on for nine, and we ought to try to get some milk for breakfast.”
A few minutes later, when the riding light, burning palely in the dusk, had been hung from the forestay, the Imp was pulled alongside. It was a close fit for five. John and Roger sat in the bows, Susan and Titty in the stern, while Jim paddled them off to the wooden steps of Shotley pier, which had seemed quite small when they had sailed past in the Goblin, but towered above them when they came close under it in the Imp.
“Can I tie her up?” asked Roger. “I always tie up Swallow.”
“All right,” said Jim, and watched while Roger made fast the end of the Imp’s painter.
They walked ashore along the uneven planking of the old pier. They had come only a few miles from Pin Mill, but it felt like landing in a different country.
“What’s that bag for?” asked Roger, looking at a rolled-up green kitbag in Jim’s hand.
“Pop,” said Jim. “I’d forgotten the Goblin’s cellar’s getting rather low.”
“Grog,” said Titty.
“They’ve a very good brand of grog in Shotley,” said Jim. John looked at Susan.
“We ought to pay for it,” said Susan. “I’m sure Mother’d want us to.”
“I’ve got enough for that,” laughed Jim. “Besides, Uncle Bob’lI be here on Monday.”
They went to the inn, and watched a dozen bottles of ginger pop being stowed away in Jim’s green kitbag. The landlady took the milk-can from Susan and filled it. Then she took them to a little room where there was a telephone, and Jim rang up Miss Powell’s at Pin Mill, and put two pennies in the box. They stood round him, listening to his half of the talk, guessing for themselves what was being said at the other end.
“Is that Miss Powell? How are you? Jim Brading. Can I speak to Mrs Walker. . . How do you do? . . .We’ve anchored for the night by Shotley pier. . . Yes, Shotley. . . Very well indeed. . . Yes, they’ve had supper. . . They’re all here . . . going to bed as soon as we get back aboard.”
“Let’s all say good night,” said Titty.
“We’ll have to be jolly quick,” said Roger. “Or it’ll be another twopence.”
The telephone was passed from hand to hand. Each one of them said “Good night,” and heard Mother’s voice, oddly near, yet far away, saying “Good night” to these mariners who had come ashore from an anchored ship. Jim took the telephone again.
“We’ll ring up again tomorrow if we have a chance,” he said, “and we may come up to have a look at Ipswich with the flood tide. We’ll signal as we pass Pin Mill. . . I beg your pardon. . . Who? Susan? . . .” He turned to Susan. “It’s Bridget, with something to say to you.”
Susan took the telephone and listened for a moment. “Take care of her,” she said. “Good night, Bridgie,” and passed the telephone back. Jim was saying, “Good night” too. “I’ll be as careful as ever you could wish. . . Good night.”
“They gave us quite a long time for two minutes,” said Roger.
“What did Bridget want?” asked Titty.
“Only to say that she was going to sleep in Mother’s room,” said Susan.
They were silent as they left the inn and started back to the pier. It was funny how that single sentence made them feel almost like deserters. Bridget was sleeping in Mother’s room because the expedition in the Goblin had left Alma Cottage a rather lonely place for both of them.
It had been still dusk when they went into the inn, but those few minutes had made a difference. Lights had sprung up everywhere. There was a string of blazing lamps over the Parkeston quays at the other side of the river. There were lights in Harwich town, and lights far away across the harbour in Felixstowe. The flashes from the buoys that had been hardly visible by day kept sparkling out, now here, now there, the white flash of Shotley Spit buoy, the red one of the Guard buoy, and others of which they did not know the names. There were riding lights on all the anchored barges and on the ships in the harbour. The wind had dropped to nothing, and long glittering lanes led from every light across he smooth water. And there, a little way above the pier, lay the Goblin, she too with a light on her forestay, and the glimmer of the cabin lamp showing through her portholes.
They climbed down the steps in the dusk, found the Imp, and pushed off.
“We’re going to sleep in her,” said Titty, almost under her breath, as they drifted silently towards the Goblin with her riding light, and her tall mast dimly showing against the darkening sky.
“Pretty soon, too,” said Susan. “It’s after your bed-time already.”
They climbed aboard.
“Take the painter a moment, John, while I hang a bucket on the Imp’s bows.
“What for?”
“To catch the tide, so that she won’t come nuzzling round. knocking us up in the middle of the night.”
It was done, and the Imp went astern, to lie quietly, a black blot on the dark water.
Roger, as soon as he was aboard, had dodged down below and scrambled up again through the forehatch. The others were still in the cockpit when the penny whistle broke into the quiet night. . . We won’t go home till morning. . . We won’t go home till mooooorning.” The musician, sitting on the cabin top, was getting through it with expression, but as fast as he could before he should be stopped.
“Shut up, Roger.” said John.
“Don’t spoil it,” said Titty, and she did not mean Roger’s music.
“Oh well,” said Roger, ending with a long-drawn note. “I’ll never learn if you don’t let me practise sometimes.”
“All right,” said Titty. “But not now.”
“There’s a lot of dew,” said Susan. “The cabin top’s quite wet. What are you sitting on, Roger?”
“The usual place,” said Roger, feeling with a hand. “It is a bit damp. ”
“We’ll get up early tomorrow,” said Jim, “and go down to the harbour mouth with the last of the ebb and have a look at the sea.”
“Come on to bed, you two,” said Susan.
For a little while longer, Jim and John stayed on deck, Jim smoking his pipe in the cockpit, standing on a seat so that he could lean comfortably on the boom. Down below in the cabin they heard the small noises of people moving about, and one squeak on the penny whistle, which came to a sudden end. Presently Susan’s voice called up, “We’re all in bed. But I didn’t know how to fold Captain Jim’s rugs. He’s going to be awfully uncomfortable.”
“Coming,” said Jim. “‘I’ll deal with them.” He shook out his pipe, and John heard