We Didn't Mean to Go to Sea

by Arthur Ransome

  “Aren’t there any other boats?” said Titty.

  “None in sight,” said Roger.

  “Isn’t it light enough to turn back now?” said Susan. “You said we’d go back as soon as it was light, to talk to the people on the lightship.”

  “What lightship?” said Roger.

  “One we passed in the night,” said Susan. “Let’s turn now. I’m sure I shan’t be sick this time. It’s not rough any more.”

  The moment had come. John looked at her.

  “I don’t believe we ought to turn back at all,” he said. “We’ve come such a tremendous way. Wait a minute, Susan. Don’t get in a stew. I’ll turn back, if you like, but with the wind as it is we won’t be able to head back straight for the lightship and we might easily miss it. We’ve only got to go on and we’ll come to that lighthouse. Land can’t be far away. I believe we’ll see it when the sun comes up.”

  “But we’ve simply got to get back.”

  Roger and Titty stared at John. Neither of them said a word.

  “I’ve been thinking,” said John. “We’ve been sailing jolly fast all night and a lot of yesterday. Even if we could sail straight it’ll take us just as long to get back. And we might get back to Harwich in the dark, which would be nearly as bad as the fog. No. Wait just a minute, Susan. The most important thing of all is to let them know where we are. Once they know the Goblin’s all right it won’t be so bad. Today’s the day we ought to be back and we can’t be whatever we do. Mother’ll be worrying like anything. And so will Jim. And Daddy may be there already. If we go on we’re bound to come somewhere, and we’ll be able to send a telegram.”

  “Perhaps they could send a wireless from the lightship,” said Susan.

  “But what if we miss it?” said John. “It’ll be much safer to go on.”

  “If they knew we were all right it wouldn’t matter so much,” said Susan. “But are you sure we’re near land?”

  “Absolutely certain,” said John. “You saw that light yourself. We’ve only got to keep on as we’re going. It’s perfectly clear. No fog. We’ll go on and get into a harbour and send a telegram at once.”

  “And then Jim Brading could come to bring us home …” There was relief in Susan’s voice and John knew that she was going to agree.

  “I wonder if he’ll have money to pay his fare to wherever it is,” said Roger.

  “I’ve got two pounds and seventeen shillings in the Savings Bank,” said Titty.

  “We’d better go on,” said Susan.

  *

  The thing had been decided. From that moment on not one of them looked astern, not even Susan. Land, land, and the sooner the better. In spite of everything a new excitement filled the Goblin. Nobody had meant to go to sea, but here they were, and an unknown land ahead of them.

  “Properly,” said Titty, “John ought to nail a gold piece to the mast like Columbus did, and the one who sees land first gets it.”

  “I haven’t got one,” said John.

  “We’ll keep a look out just the same,” said Roger.

  “I should jolly well think you will.”

  Far ahead on the horizon the flaming edge of the long cloud had turned to gold. All the light seemed to be coming from one point below it, in the north-east. A spot of dazzling fire showed under the cloud, and a long lane of blazing sparks seemed to shoot out towards them over the dancing sea.

  The spot of fire widened and presently disappeared behind the cloud. The lane of light over the water dulled. And then, above the cloud, the sun rose round and red. A river of light poured from it. The burgee that had been black at the masthead all night shone out bright blue and red and white. The red sails glowed warm. The sea, no longer grey, was blue and green. The morning sunlight bathed their eager faces, as the four of them looked east and south for land. There was not a sign of land, nor yet a ship. The new day had begun and the Goblin was utterly alone.

  Susan, Titty and Roger looked at John. Was he mistaken after all?

  “It’s all right,” he said at last. “We couldn’t expect to see it yet. It’ll be still below the horizon. But we know just where it is. Look here, Susan. You steer for a bit. Watch the compass. Keep her going south-east by east. There’s much less wind. I’m going to let the reefs out again. And then I’ll get the staysail up. She’ll carry full sail easily now. The quicker we get there the better.”

  “What’s that in the water?” said Roger suddenly.

  “Where?”

  “Port bow … I mean starboard … Sorry. I say, let’s have the glasses.”

  “Floating log,” said John. “Gosh, I’m glad we didn’t charge into one of those in the night.”

  “There’s another.”

  “And there’s another on the other side.”

  John was tying the life-line round his middle. He was going to take no risks of giving Susan another fright while letting out those reefs. He stopped to look at a log as the Goblin passed it. Running into a thing like that would be as bad as running into a buoy. He wondered with a bit of a shiver how many of them they had passed in the night.

  “Keep a good look out for them,” he said.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” said Roger, leaning on the cabin top and looking ahead through the binoculars.

  CHAPTER XVII

  SHIPWRECKED SAILOR

  “WHERE HAVE THEY all come from?” said Titty, as another of those long timbers rocked past them. A squared end, orange with the wetness of the wood, lifted clear of the water and dropped into the smooth back of a wave.

  “Deck cargo from a timber-ship,” said John. “Norwegian probably, like the one we saw in the harbour. Jim says they roll like anything, and it was awfully rough in the night.”

  “First one side and then the other,” said Titty, “and then a wave would come washing along and a whole lot of logs would be floating in the sea.”

  Susan was steering. John had made his rope fast with a bowline round his middle and was rummaging in the locker for the little brass handle of the reefing gear.

  “There’s a whole lot more,” said Titty.

  “There’s something that isn’t a log,” cried Roger. “It’s a box. Bother. I wish she’d keep still for a moment.” He was trying to look through the binoculars and finding it very difficult, as the Goblin rose and fell, not to lose sight of the thing, whatever it was, that kept showing on the top of a wave ahead of them, disappearing in the trough and then showing once more.

  “It’s not a box,” he said at last. “It’s a sort of cage.”

  They came nearer and nearer to it, steering to leave it twenty or thirty yards to port. “Don’t go too near,” said John. He did not mean the Goblin to bump even into a biscuit box, if he could help it, and this thing looked a good deal bigger than a biscuit box.

  “It’s a chicken coop,” cried Titty. “How lovely. Don’t you remember the poem about the pirates, after they’d scuppered the ship? … ‘And hear the drowning folks lament the absent chicken coop.’ It’s the absent chicken coop that ought to have been there and wasn’t.” And then a graver thought struck her. “What’s happened to the chickens? Eaten or drowned? I wonder which they’d mind most.”

  “They’d be eaten either way,” said Roger. “If they were drowned some shark or other would be glad to gobble them up.”

  “But at least they’d be allowed to keep their feathers,” said Titty.

  “Hi!” spluttered Roger, trying to keep the binoculars steady. “There’s something on it … There is … Do go a little nearer. Oh I say. It’s a dead kitten …”

  “Oh …”

  “Drowned.”

  All four of them could see it now, as the chicken coop lifted and fell among the waves. It was no more than a scrap of wet fur plastered flat on the wooden slats. It drifted by perhaps a dozen yards away. They could see the head of the kitten, the fur on it sticking close to the skull, the slip of wet body, the hind legs stretched out as if they had no bones, the tail like a bit of wet string. They tr
ied to look away from it, but their eyes came back to it in spite of themselves. Even John, who had found his handle and was in a hurry to go forward and get the sail unreefed, stopped to watch it.

  “How awful,” said Titty.

  “It must have been washed off with all those logs,” said John. “Perhaps the same big wave …”

  “Asleep,” said Titty, “and then in the water and just clinging on till it was drowned.”

  John and Susan knew well enough how easily they, too, might have found themselves struggling in the water in the dark.

  The chicken coop, with that soaking wisp of fur on it, was already astern of them when Roger suddenly shouted, “It’s alive!”

  “It can’t be.”

  “I saw its pink mouth.”

  And then, as the chicken coop lurched away astern, all four of them saw that pink mouth open again, just a little, as if the kitten, too weak to shout, were whispering a cry for help they could not hear.

  “We must save it,” cried Titty.

  John was already hauling in the mainsheet.

  “When there’s a man overboard always jibe.” He could see the printed sentence as he had read it in the book on how to sail. Gosh, he was glad the sail was still reefed and easy to handle, and that the wind had fallen light. “Now then, Susan, bring her round. No … No … To port … Come on … Round with her … I’ll look after that backstay. Don’t lose sight of it, Roger … Look out for the boom coming over … It’s coming … Now …”

  The boom swung over as the Goblin turned sharp on her heel and headed back, close-hauled into the wind. Frantically John made his backstay fast, let go one jib sheet, flung himself across the cockpit and hardened in the other.

  “Where is it now? You haven’t lost it …”

  “Over there … It’s a long way off … There … There …”

  “We’ll have to tack …”

  “Can you manage it?” said Susan.

  “We can’t leave it to drown,” cried Titty.

  “We won’t,” said John.

  It is none too easy to pick up small things at sea unless you have had a lot of practice. John had had none. Susan gave up the tiller to him, and he clenched his teeth together, and looked at that bobbing chicken coop and then up at the burgee at the masthead. No, they couldn’t do better than this without going on the other tack.

  “It’s going further away,” said Roger.

  “Much further,” said Titty. “Oh, John!”

  “Ready about,” said John, and the jib flapped and the boom swung across, and Titty and Susan threw themselves on the sheets. The Goblin was off again, this time coming nearer and nearer to the kitten and its raft.

  “How are we going to get hold of it?” said Susan.

  “Boathook?” said Roger.

  “Have it ready,” said John. “No. Don’t. I’ll go right alongside.”

  “You’re going to pass in front of it,” said Titty.

  “No I’m not,” said John.

  “Hang on, Pussy!” shouted Titty, almost climbing up on the cabin roof.

  “We’ll knock it off if we bump the coop,” said Susan.

  “I know,” said John. “Give me your shoulder to hang on to.” He half stood on the seat in the swaying cockpit, steadying himself with a grip on Susan, who shouted to him not to go overboard. He was bringing the Goblin straight up into the wind, heading towards the chicken coop, just as if he were Jim Brading, bringing her up to her mooring buoy. He had to stand on the seat to be able to see the coop which was now close ahead.

  “There it is … Now … Now …” gasped Titty.

  The chicken coop touched the Goblin’s side, and there was a groan of terror from somebody. But it was only a touch. The next moment the coop was floating past the side of the cabin. John let go the tiller.

  “Hang on to my feet,” he cried. In another second it would be too late. He flung himself half out of the cockpit, reaching down across the side deck. The chicken coop lifted towards him. He grabbed the little cold wisp of wet fur. The kitten, with the last of its strength, hung on to the slats of the coop. One hand was not enough. John let go of the boat, to be able to use both. The next moment the chicken coop rolled slowly over and fell astern, and John hung there, more than half over the side, with the dripping kitten in his hands.

  Titty and Susan hung on to his legs and hauled. Roger lugged at the rope that was tied round John’s middle. John wriggled desperately, and, inch by inch, was pulled back into the cockpit.

  He gave the kitten to Susan, and, a good deal out of breath, took the tiller once more, glanced up at the burgee, looked round to see that they were in no danger of running into a log, and then kept his eyes on the compass.

  Susan sat down with the wet little wisp of fur on her lap, shielded by her hands.

  “He’s nearly frozen,” she said.

  The kitten lay perfectly still, too weak to move.

  “He can’t have swallowed much water,” said Titty, who was kneeling on the cockpit floor. “He hasn’t got a stomach at all.”

  “Probably starving,” said Roger.

  “What do they do to people who are nearly drowned?” said Titty.

  “Dry clothes and brandy,” said Susan. “We’ve got no brandy.”

  “We can dry his fur,” said Titty. “And what about Jim Brading’s aunt’s rum? … This is a medicinal purpose …”

  “We’ll take him down into the cabin and get him warm,” said Susan. “You go down first, Titty, and I’ll pass him to you.”

  “I’m going to get the rum,” said Roger, and was half way down the steps in a moment.

  Titty followed and waited at the bottom, while Susan carefully reached down and put the shipwrecked kitten in her hands. She was just going down herself when John stopped her.

  “You can see it’s no good trying to go back. Not until the wind changes. I’m heading her as near the wind as she’ll go, and the best she’ll do is south of west. On the other tack she’d be going much too far north, and to go back we want to head about north-west by west. It’s no good going right up the North Sea. It’s far better to go on as we were going and get somewhere.”

  RESCUE AT SEA

  “All right,” said Susan. “I say, do you think it will be good for the kitten to give him rum?”

  “See if it’ll lick a drop off the end of your finger,” said John. “And try it with the condensed milk. But look here, Susan, give me a hand to get back on the course. If you’ll take the tiller, I can manage the rest … And I must let those reefs out. We ought not to waste a minute. I was just going to do it when we sighted the kitten. If you’ll take the tiller till I’ve done it, I’ll be all right by myself. Those logs are easy enough to see …”

  Susan called down the companion to Titty. “Wrap him up, first in one bit of towel and then in another, to get the wet out of his fur. I’ll be down in a minute …”

  *

  In the cabin, Titty was sitting on the lee bunk with the kitten in her lap, tenderly mopping it with a towel. She tried to warm it by putting her hands round its empty little stomach. Roger had got the store-cupboard open and was hunting for that small flat bottle. Suddenly the Goblin heeled over on the other side, and Titty had to shift across, while Roger as nearly as possible dropped the bottle on the cabin floor in grabbing for something to steady himself.

  “What’s happened now?”

  “It’s all right,” said Roger. “It’s only that they’ve turned round again. We’re going on.”

  “Do tell Susan to hurry up. I believe he’s going to die after all.”

  “Susan,” Roger shouted up through the companion. “Buck up. Titty says it’s lost eight of its lives already.”

  “Coming,” said Susan. “I say, John, I must. The kitten may really be dying.”

  “Go on down,” said John. “But do be as quick as you can. I can’t get the reefs out till you come back.” He took the tiller once more, while Susan hurried down into the cabin.

&nbs
p; The kitten lay between Titty’s hands.

  “He’s still alive,” she said. “Look. You can see a fluttering inside him. Stick to it, Pussy. You’re quite safe.”

  Susan, with trembling fingers, was pulling the cork out of the flat bottle. “Rum. For medicinal purposes only.” She read the label written by Jim’s aunt. She pressed the mouth of the bottle against her finger and turned the bottle upside down and back again. A transparent golden drop stayed on her finger-tip. Tenderly, kneeling on the cabin floor, she pushed her finger into a corner of the kitten’s mouth. She got another drop from the bottle and worked it into the kitten’s mouth in the same way. The kitten gave a feeble splutter.

  “Get a tin of milk,” said Susan. “Spike two holes in the top of it. Go on. Use the spike of your knife.” She scrambled up and got a spoon and a saucer out of the cupboard under the stove. She took a drop of water from the tap. Then, when Roger had spiked the milk-can with the marline spike on his scout knife, she poured some milk into the water and stirred it up.

  “Now then, Pussy,” she said, and dipped the kitten’s mouth into the saucer.

  The kitten spluttered again.

  “He’ll get it up his nose,” said Titty. “You’ll choke him.”

  But a thin pink tongue slipped out and in again like a tiny pink handkerchief. Susan took milk on her finger and smeared it on the kitten’s mouth. Again that little tongue slipped in and out. The kitten opened its eyes and instantly closed them again. It opened its mouth and …

  “Did you hear him?” said Titty.

  “John,” shouted Roger up the companion. “It’s mewed.”

  “Salt water in his eyes,” said Susan, and soaked her handkerchief in fresh water from the tap and gently wiped the kitten’s face. Titty dipped her finger in the milk and the kitten licked her finger clean with a rough little tongue.