There was a chorus of thanks from the others.
Dorothea collected the clues and put them back in her suitcase.
“What are you going to do with them?” asked Mr. Farland.
“Taking them back to Scotland Yard.”
“I may have to ask you for them again,” said Mr. Farland. “But I think not. I fancy they won’t be needed.”
“Wake up, Bill,” said Joe. “You take t’other end of our chimbley.”
“Gosh, young Pete,” said Bill. “You give us a fright.”
They all went out together into sunshine that seemed extraordinarily friendly. A light breeze was stirring the river and they could see the water sparkling through the trees.
“Come on,” said Tom. “Let’s all go sailing.”
THE END
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FISH
MONTHS later, when the worst of the winter was over, the Death and Glories, once more at peace with all the world, were lying at Horning staithe. It was a Saturday morning. They had come aboard after school the night before. Smoke was drifting from their chimney in the crisp air of late February, when Pete, on the look out, saw the Cachalot coming up the river, and called the others to come out.
“That fare to be a coffin he got on deck,” said Pete.
“Never,” said Bill.
It certainly looked like it, a long, narrow packing-case, roped down between the rails along the Cachalot’s cabin-top.
The Cachalot came close alongside.
“Ahoy, you,” called her owner. “Busy?”
“Not all that,” said Joe.
“Hop aboard. I’ll bring you back in the afternoon. I’m just taking your fish to the Roaring Donkey, and you chaps ought to be there.”
“Tell you that were a coffin,” said Pete.
In two minutes they were aboard and the Cachalot had swung round and was on her way.
“Lay at Thurne Mouth last night,” said the fisherman of the Cachalot, “but I didn’t want to hand over without you.”
“What about Tom?” said Joe.
“Take him, too, if you like,” said the fisherman, “and that girl and the other boy, the one with the glasses.”
“They ain’t here,” said Bill. “Won’t be till Easter. But we can get Tom.”
They were unlucky. The Cachalot stopped by Dr. Dudgeon’s lawn only for them to learn that Tom was out. “Never mind,” said the fisherman. “He can bicycle over any time. The fish’ll still be there…. By the way,” he asked, as they started off again, “what happened to the tiger who was taken in by the bleating of the kid?”
The Death and Glories looked gravely at each other.
“Them two,” said Joe, “George Owdon and that other. They go away next morning and we never seen ’em since.”
There is no need to describe their run down the Bure and up the Thurne. On that cold February morning, they took turns in steering the Cachalot and in going into her cabin to sit by the stove and get the tingle out of their ears and noses.
They passed under the bridges at Potter Heigham, getting friendly waves from a couple of Sonning’s workmen as they passed. Bob Curten, once again a full member of the Coot Club, waved from the road bridge and they waved back. They tied up at the mouth of the dyke leading to the Roaring Donkey.
The long packing case was taken off the top of the cabin and the great fish, once again, was carried to the little inn.
A small crowd was waiting.
“Here you are,” said the landlord, coming out to meet them. “I tell a few chaps you was coming. I got that mantelshelf all ready.”
The landlord’s wife called the Death and Glories to come into her kitchen and have a cup of hot tea. Perishing they must be, she thought. They went in with her, leaving the landlord and half a dozen eager fishermen busy round the packing case. Ten minutes later they heard the voice of the owner of the Cachalot calling them. They ran out of the kitchen into the inn parlour. At the door they pulled up short.
The room was full of people. Just opposite the door was a wide brick fireplace and over this on the wide mantelshelf was a glass case, the biggest they had ever seen. In the case was the world’s whopper, swimming against a pale blue background among green weeds that looked as if they were alive.
“Gee whizz!” said Joe.
“I’ve been fishing sixty-seven years,” said an old man with a white beard, “and I’ve never caught a fish like that.”
“Talk about heathen worshippers,” said the landlord cheerfully, looking at the admiring crowd. “No, I don’t care who caught it, nor yet what I pay. They’ll come from all over England to the Roaring Donkey to take a look at that there old fish.”
“Go on,” said the owner of the Cachalot. “Go on and read what’s on the case.”
The three boys went nearer. Men, staring at the fish, made room for them. On the glass front of the case, in gold letters, they read the weight of the pike, the date when it was caught and … Pete was reading aloud and suddenly choked…. “Pike … 30½ pounds Caught by … why, it’s us.” There in gold letters were their own three names.
The old fisherman with the white beard turned from looking at the pike to look at the Death and Glories.
“Are you the boys who caught that fish?” he asked.
“We didn’t exactly….” began Joe.
“Poor lads,” said the old man. “Poor lads…. So young and with nothing left to live for.”
“Let’s go and catch another,” said Pete.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Arthur Ransome was born in Leeds in 1884 and went to school at Rugby. He was in Russia in 1917, and witnessed the Revolution, which he reported for the Manchester Guardian. After escaping to Scandinavia, he settled in the Lake District with his Russian wife where, in 1929, he wrote Swallows and Amazons. And so began a writing career which has produced some of the real children’s treasures of all time. In 1936 he won the first ever Carnegie Medal for his book, Pigeon Post.
Also by Arthur Ransome
Swallows and Amazons
Swallowdale
Peter Duck
Winter Holiday
Coot Club
Pigeon Post
We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea
Secret Water
Missee Lee
The Picts and the Martyrs
Great Northern?
THE ARTHUR RANSOME SOCIETY
The Arthur Ransome Society (‘TARS’) was formed in 1990 with the aim of celebrating Ransome’s life and works, and of encouraging both children and adults to take part in outdoor pursuits – especially sailing and camping. It also seeks to sponsor research, to spread Ransome’s ideas in the wider community and to bring together all those who share the values and the spirit that he fostered in his storytelling.
The Society is based at the Abbot Hall Museum of Lakeland Life and Industry in Kendal, where Ransome’s desk, favourite books and some of his personal possessions are kept. There are also close links with the Ruskin Museum at Coniston, where the original Amazon is now kept. The Society keeps in touch with its members through its journal, Mixed Moss, and its newsletter, Signals.
Regional branches of the Society have been formed by members in various parts of the country, including Scotland, the Lake District and North, East Anglia, the Midlands, the South and South West Coast, and contacts are maintained with overseas groups in America, Australia and Japan. Membership fees are modest, and fall into four groups – for those under 18, for single adults and for whole families, and for those over 65. If you are interested in knowing more about the Society or would like to join it please write for a membership leaflet to The Secretary, The Arthur Ransome Society, The Abbot Hall Gallery, Kendal, Cumbria LA9 5AL, or email to [email protected].
THE ARTHUR RANSOME TRUST
“I seem to have lived not one life, but snatches from a dozen different lives.”
Arthur Ransome wrote twelve adventures about the Swallows and Amazons and their friends. He also wrote many ot
her books and articles. He had a lot to write about, because in “real” life he was not only an author, but also a sailor, journalist, critic, story teller, illustrator, fisherman, editor, bohemian, and war reporter, who played chess with Lenin, married Trotsky’s secretary, helped Estonia gain independence and aroused the interest of both MI6 and MI5.
The Arthur Ransome Trust (ART) is a charity (no: 1136565) dedicated to helping everybody discover more about Arthur Ransome’s fascinating life and writings. Our main goal is to develop an “Arthur Ransome Centre” in the Lake District. If you want to know more about Arthur Ransome, or about ART’s projects, or think you would like to help us to put Ransome on the map, you can visit us at:
www.arthur-ransome-trust.org.uk
[email protected]
THE BIG SIX
AN RHCB DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 48318 3
Published in Great Britain by RHCB Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Books
A Random House Group Company
This ebook edition published 2011
Copyright © Arthur Ransome, 1940
First Published in Great Britain 1940 by Jonathan Cape
The right of Arthur Ransome to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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