Coot Club

by Arthur Ransome

  The twins meanwhile had brought the Teasel up to the staithe in style, and swung her round and laid her alongside so tenderly that if Dick and Dorothea had been holding fenders packed with valuable eggs instead of with scraps of old corks, not an eggshell would have been broken. Then, teaching to the very last, they put their apprentices through the whole routine of stowing jib and mainsail. When that was done, they did some good work with the mop, and then helped in getting in stores, reminding the Admiral of several things, such as matches and candles, which they knew by experience were only too often forgotten. It was on their advice that the Admiral bought three new electric torches, one each for Dorothea, Dick and Tom. Even to help in getting ready was something.

  They were back aboard the Teasel when Tom joined them and asked if they had seen the Death and Glories. They had not, but they had hardly said so before the old black boat herself came round the bend from up-river, hauling down her ragged old sail as she came to meet the wind.

  “Have they dropped one of them overboard?” said Mrs. Barrable.

  “There’s Joe stowing the sail,” said Starboard, “and Pete steering, but where’s Bill?”

  A bell sounded, and brakes put on hard brought a bicycle up with a scrunch. Bill, hot, and out of breath, jumped off. He had been riding his own bicycle for once.

  “I thought they’d cotched ye,” he panted. “I get word they gone up to Potter last night. Laying for you below the bridge. So I biked up there. Thought I’d get above bridges and tell ye to keep out. They been there, but they’re not there now. How d’ye get by ’em?” He could hardly get his words out.

  “Good man, Bill,” said Tom, and told of what had happened in the early morning.

  “How far is it to Potter Heigham by road?” asked the Admiral.

  “About six miles,” said Starboard.

  “Twelve altogether,” said the Admiral. “Well done, Bill. And what were the others up to?”

  “We had to have someone on the river,” said Bill.

  “What it is,” said the Admiral, “to be a member of the Coot Club.”

  Joe and Pete had tied up the Death and Glory and came along, eager to hear how yet again the elder Coots had dodged the enemy. They reported all well with all nests both up and down the river.

  Tea was made in the Teasel, and drunk in the well, and on the cabin roof, by apprentices, teachers of seamanship and thirsty pirates. Then, with everybody helping, the awning was put up for the night.

  It was very jolly to be making ready for a real voyage, with so many active helpers, but, after the younger, piratical Coots had gone off to their homes, sadness came down over the others. Port and Starboard, who were so busy seeing that everything was just right, and had just swilled down the decks for the last time, were going to be left behind.

  “It’s an awful pity you aren’t coming,” said Tom.

  “Change your minds,” said the Admiral. “We shall be wishing you were with us all the time.”

  “You’ll be all right,” said Starboard. She spoke to Tom, somehow not trusting herself to say it to the others. “You’ll be all right. Look at the way you and Dick managed everything this morning and let us go on sleeping.”

  “It wasn’t that,” said Tom. “You know it wasn’t. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to wake you. William was the one I was afraid of waking.”

  “The puir wee doggie,” said Port, turning suddenly and looking out of a port-hole. It was not of William she was thinking.

  And then Mr. Farland, back from the office in Norwich, strolled alone the staithe to fetch his daughters.

  He thanked Mrs. Barrable for being so kind to them, and then turned to Tom.

  “Well, Tom,” he said, “the whole river seems to know about your feud with those motor-cruisers.”

  “But I haven’t told anybody but the Coots,” said Tom.

  “You’ve got a lot of very active friends,” said Mrs. Barrable, who thought it was not surprising that secrets slipped out with the pirates and their allies (with or without stomach-aches) inquiring in all directions about the Margoletta.

  “It’s those people in the cruiser,” said Mr. Farland, “boasting about what they’re going to do and about some bet they have among themselves. And Norfolk folk can use their ears as well as most. They’ve got hold of the story of my two girls towing a dinghy that wasn’t exactly empty right under the noses of those fellows when they were looking for you. There’s been a good deal of laughing about it. People keep asking them when they think they’re going to catch that boy.”

  “If only people would leave them alone,” said Tom.

  “Somebody must have told them Tom went up to Potter,” said Starboard. “They came up there last night after dark.”

  “I shouldn’t have thought any of the local people would have given Tom away.”

  “We think we know who,” said Starboard.

  “Your dear friend George?” said Mr. Farland, laughing. “Oh well, Tom’ll be out of his way when he gets down south. Nobody’ll look for a Horning boy down there. You’ll be safe enough as soon as you’re the other side of Yarmouth. What are you going to do when you get there?”

  “Oulton, Beccles, Norwich,” said Tom. “All over the place, like we did when you took us last summer.”

  “We’re going to Beccles first,” said Dorothea. “You see, the Admiral was born there.”

  “How far do you think you’ll get tomorrow?”

  “I thought we’d get down to Stokesby,” said Tom, “and then we can watch our tide and make sure of getting through at low water the next day.”

  “Much the best plan,” said Mr. Farland. “Down at Stokesby anybody’ll tell you when to start to get down to Yarmouth at the right time. Let me see, if the wind’s like this, you’ll be leaving here soon after nine to carry your tide down to Stokesby. Well, you two, have you packed your dunnage? Sling it ashore and say good-bye to the ship. They’ll be off in the morning before you’ve done your breakfasts. They never wake, these two,” he added, “before Mrs. McGinty calls them.”

  Port and Starboard stepped ashore with their knapsacks and rugs. They too were ready to say good-bye now. It would be more than they could bear, to come in the morning, and wave handkerchiefs, and see the Teasel sail away without them.

  “Good-bye! Good-bye! And thank you ever so much, Admiral.”

  “Good-bye, and good luck to your racing.”

  “And thanks most awfully for showing us how to do things,” said Dorothea.

  “Touching starboard noses for instance,” said Port.

  At the last minute it was hard to go. The twins stood there on the staithe, as if there was still something they wanted to say if only they could remember what it was.

  “Come along,” said their A.P., picking up both their knapsacks. “You must get a good sleep tonight. Remember you’ve a championship race tomorrow.”

  *

  “Funny,” said the Admiral after they had disappeared. “I got the impression that Mr. Farland doesn’t know his twins could have been sailing south with us.”

  “He doesn’t,” said Tom. “They didn’t tell him. Port said that if they did he’d have made them come with us, and then he’d have had to scratch Flash out of the championship.”

  “And, of course, they’d rather win those races than come with us,” said the Admiral queerly.

  “It isn’t that,” said Dorothea. “They don’t want him not to be able to sail. You see he counts on them.…”

  “They don’t want to let him down,” said Tom. “It’s never any use trying to persuade them when it’s like that. I’ve tried before.”

  “Well,” said the Admiral, “I hope they get the first gun in every race. They deserve to.”

  *

  Everything was ready now for tomorrow’s start. Dick was again to share the fore-cabin of the Teasel with Dorothea, leaving the main cabin to William and the Admiral. Tom was to go home to supper, and to sleep in the Titmouse, safely hidden in the Coot Club dy
ke.

  Last thing before he left, Dick and Dorothea came ashore on the staithe with him, to look at the weather. The wind from the south-east had dropped. Small wisps of cloud very far overhead seemed to be moving the other way. Tom watched them carefully.

  “I do believe the wind’s changing,” he said. “If we get it from the north-west we needn’t bother about Stokesby. We could get right through Yarmouth in the day and down the other side of Breydon. But we’d have to start jolly early. How early could you be ready?”

  “Well go to bed now,” said Dorothea.

  “Stick your head out the moment you wake,” said Tom, “and have a sniff at the wind. If it’s north-west I’ll be along first thing, and we’ll get off right away.”

  BOOK TWO

  IN SOUTHERN WATERS

  NOTE

  From now on, readers who want to know where they are should use the map of the southern rivers.

  CHAPTER XVI

  SOUTHWARD BOUND

  TOM woke, remembered that the Titmouse was in the dyke at home, looked at his watch, saw that it was close on six o’clock, and, a moment later, had wriggled out of his sleeping-bag and was scrambling ashore bare-footed and in his pyjamas to have a look at the weather. The grass, wet with dew, promised well. Already there was a stirring in the leaves of the willows. Tom looked up at the gable of the house. The golden bream above the thatched roof sent him hurrying back into the Titmouse. It was heading north-west. There could not be a better wind for the voyage. North-west would be a fair wind all the way to Yarmouth, not bad for Breydon Water, and a fair wind again for most of the Waveney. With that wind, if only it held, and if they got down to Yarmouth by low water, there was no knowing how far they might not get before night. In two minutes he was dressed, stowing his dew-soaked awning, and unstepping his mast. Then he tiptoed round the house and looked up. Everybody was asleep. Good-byes had been said the night before, but he listened almost hopefully. If our baby happened to be kicking up a row his mother would be awake, and he could softly call her to the window. But our baby was asleep. There was not a sound except from the starlings who had, as usual, picked their way in and made a nest in the thatch. Tom poled the Titmouse quietly out of the dyke, and paddled silently upstream through the rising mist. The last of the flood tide was holding up the stream. The sooner the Teasel was off the better, to make use of the whole of the ebb. What about the others? Would young Dick have had the sense to look out at the weather and wake them up?

  Presently he looked over his shoulder and saw the Teasel moored against the staithe. One look was enough. A flag was fluttering at her masthead. He had seen it taken in the night before. It was up now. One, at least, of the Teasel’s crew must be awake. And then, as he came nearer, he heard voices aboard her.

  “Well, he did say we were to get up early if the wind was north-west,” Dorothea was saying.

  “You’d better both of you run along down the village, and you’ll find Tom’s still fast asleep.”

  “Teasel ahoy!” said Tom softly. What a good thing it was he had happened to wake.

  A flap of the awning was flung back and Dick looked out.

  “Good! Good!” he said. “Here he is. Wouldn’t it have been awful if he’d come and found us still in bed?”

  “Come along, Skipper,” said Mrs. Barrable. “Breakfast’s ready. I don’t believe Dick’s really been to sleep at all. He was up on deck in the middle of the night.”

  “I just had one look out,” said Dick, “but I didn’t go on deck till I went to put the flag up.…”

  “Hoist it,” said Dorothea.

  “Hoist it,” said Dick, “and by then the sun was up. I could see the sunshine on the tops of the trees sticking up out of the mist.”

  “He didn’t give us much chance of oversleeping,” said Mrs. Barrable. “So breakfast’s ready. Come along in.”

  Tom climbed aboard from the Titmouse and made her painter fast to a ring-bolt on the Teasel’s counter. The Titmouse was a yacht’s dinghy once again. He looked up at the Teasel’s flag. The flagstaff was already a little askew. The morning sun was drying and slackening the halyards which had been very wet when Dick had sent the flag to the masthead. He would put that right presently. The halyards would dry a lot more yet. He took one look round, thinking already of how best to get the Teasel under way.

  “Fill his mug, Dot,” said the Admiral. “Slip in here, Tom. Two eggs, Dot, and have a look at the watch when you put them in.”

  Tom slipped in between table and bunk and settled down to breakfast. William, curled up on that bunk, laid his chin on Tom’s lap.

  “Look here, William,” said the Admiral, “you’re my dog.”

  Tom took hold of the scruff of William’s neck and gently moved it up and down, while William, his pink tongue hanging out, looked up at Tom with eyes that seemed to bulge with adoration.

  “And to think of the way he barked at you when first he met you,” said the Admiral.

  Tom laughed. Ever since that first day, he and William had had a liking for each other. But, though he rumpled William’s scruff for him, he was thinking all the time of the routine of making sail. Dick had certainly done very well in waking everybody early. Blankets had already been rolled up and stowed. Below decks nothing needed putting away except the cooking things. It was as if they had merely tied up for a meal and had rigged the awning only to keep the wind from the Primus.

  “We women’ll wash up,” said Mrs. Barrable, the moment breakfast was over. “And you and Dick can be getting on with things on deck.”

  It was not what the Admiral called a full-dress washing up. By the time the awning was folded and doubled into a neat bundle and stowed away in the forepeak, all hands were ready for the hoisting of the sails. It seemed queer to be hoisting sail without Port and Starboard to help, but by not hurrying, and by taking a little longer about it, everything was done without mistakes.

  “Good for you, Dick,” said Tom, when all was ready for the start. Dick had seen for himself those slackened flag halyards and was making them taut again, so that the flagstaff stuck proudly up into the sunshine, and the little flag fluttered out above the masthead.

  The Admiral, in spite of herself, was looking worried. The river is so narrow up there by the staithe, and there was a hardish wind blowing. The thought of Yarmouth was in her mind, too, and in spite of her cheerful letter to Brother Richard, she could not help thinking of what he would say if anything went wrong. But Tom did seem to know exactly what he meant to do.

  “All ready?” said Tom. “Push her head off, Dick. Come aboard.” The Teasel was moving. Close-hauled across the river, into the wind, round again, and there she was, heading downstream. Dick was on the foredeck making a neat coil of the mooring rope. Dorothea, in the best Port and Starboard manner, was easing out the jib sheet. The staithe was left astern. They were passing the deserted boat-yards. Nobody was there to see them go.

  “They folded their tents like the Arabs,” quoted Mrs. Barrable, “and silently stole away.”

  “But she’s making a beautiful noise,” said Dick hurrying aft along the side-deck and stepping quietly down into the well.

  She certainly was. The water was creaming under her forefoot. The wind exactly suited her. Tom said nothing, but that noise was a song in his ears. If only Port and Starboard had been with them! The boat-sheds were astern of them, the willow-pattern harbour, and now his own home, still asleep in the early morning sunshine. There was the entrance to his dyke, between willows and brown reeds. There, behind bushes, farther back from the river front, was the twins’ house. He looked at the windows.… No.… There was not, a sign of them. Everybody was still asleep.

  “It’s an awful pity they couldn’t come,” said Dorothea, and Tom started, at hearing his own thought spoken aloud. But it was no good thinking it. He set himself again to the business in hand. There must be no mistakes. He knew that the success of the voyage and the safety of the Teasel, and of the little Titmouse, too, towing aste
rn, depended on him. Mrs. Barrable was very good in a boat, but, talking it over among themselves, the three elder Coots had decided that the Admiral, though a good sailor, was inclined to be a little rash. And then there were the new A.B.’s. Well, they were certainly shaping like good ones. As soon as they were in a reach where there was less chance of an unexpected jibe, he would have them at the tiller, standing by, of course, in case of accident. They had managed very well with the hoisting of the sails. And there had been nothing to be ashamed of in the actual start. He wished the twins had been there to see how well their pupils had remembered what they had been taught. And now the Teasel was sweeping past the Ferry, where George Owdon had exulted too soon, and betrayed that he knew rather more than he should of the plans of the Hullabaloos. The next bit would be easy sailing.

  “Come on, Dick. Take over for a minute or two.”

  Dick was ready, clutched the tiller as if he thought it might get away, watched the burgee fluttering out, and glanced astern to see how badly the Teasel’s wake betrayed the unsteadiness of his anxious steering.

  “Never mind about the wake,” said Tom. “You’re doing jolly well.”

  He looked into the cabin, to see what had become of the Admiral. She was sitting on her bunk with William beside her. William had decided that it was still too early for pugs to be out-of-doors. Seeing Tom, the Admiral held up some sheets of paper she had folded so that they made a little book. On the outside page she had drawn a little sailing yacht, and under the picture she had written, in very gorgeous printed letters:

  “LOG OF THE TEASEL.”

  “I forgot all about the log,” said Tom.

  “Sailed 6.45 a.m.,” said the Admiral. “Within a minute or two. Anyhow, I’ve put it down.”