Coot Club

by Arthur Ransome

  “Well,” said the Admiral, “Tom’s worries are over at last. And everybody is soaked through, and perfectly happy. Hot baths all round come next. Oilskins for dressing-gowns. And a hot meal at the Wherry Hotel with no cooking to do. And then we’ll take the bus to Lowestoft and see the fishing harbour. But first of all I must give William a dose of his cod-liver oil. He mustn’t catch a chill, poor little dog.”

  The rain had stopped, and the sun was coming out as the harbour-master had said it would. Dorothea climbed up on the quay and shook the wet from her oilskins.

  “It feels rather nice to be on land for a change,” she said, and wanted to know if the Coots counted what they had been through that day as a proper storm.

  “Quite proper enough for the Teasel,” said Starboard.

  Tom looked at her. “Good bit of work,” the harbour-master had said. But what would have happened if he had not had the twins to help?

  1 A Roger is the Norfolk name for a sudden squall which makes a loud hissing noise as it comes sweeping over the reeds.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  RECALL

  THE Teasel carried a light-hearted crew next day when she sailed from Oulton for the Norwich river. No need now to think of Hullabaloos. If the Margoletta was safely out of the way being patched up in a Wroxham boat-yard Tom, for the time, was outlaw no longer. Even Dorothea stopped looking anxious at the sight of every motor-cruiser, no matter whether large or small. That storm on the Waveney had given them a good deal of confidence, and they were all looking forward to sailing in the Yare where every day may be seen big steamers bound for foreign ports or coming in from sea. The Coots had been there before with Mr. Farland. But then Mr. Farland had been skipper, and his daughters and Tom had been eager crew. In the Teasel things were different. The Admiral simply left the sailing of the ship to them, and did not seem to trouble her head about it. She seemed to think that they could make no mistakes, and spent all her time with her sketch-book.

  “That’s all right,” she said, when Tom suggested that they had all had a turn and that it wasn’t fair never to let her steer her own boat. “That’s all right. Admirals never do take the wheel. They just hang about and try not to get in the way. Brother Richard always says that’s how you can tell a good one. He knows, because he was in the Navy during the War.”

  They sailed from Oulton in the afternoon, to catch the last of the ebb through the New Cut. The harbour-master stood by to give them a hand, but there was no need. Everything went well, and their voyage out of Oulton with a light southwesterly wind was very different from that mad crashing to and fro in the storm as they were beating their way in.

  As they were sailing along Oulton Dyke, they caught sight of the topsail and mainsail of a big barge far away over the marshland, moving towards the queer little church with the steeple built in steps.

  “The Welcome,” said Port.

  “Can’t be anyone else,” said Starboard.

  Soon after they had left the dyke and were in the Waveney river, the barge swept grandly by with a loud noise of swirling water, her huge brown sails towering high above the little yacht. Captain Whittle was at the wheel. Mrs. Whittle was beside him with her knitting. Mr. Hawkins was making an elaborate coil of rope on the top of the hatch. Somehow they had found time to go ashore after all, or perhaps, as Dorothea suggested, Mrs. Whittle had taken her chance and gone for a country walk while they were loading, for both captain and mate were wearing big bunches of primroses in their button-holes.

  “Get your telegram?” bawled Captain Whittle.

  “Yes, thank you,” shouted Tom.

  “Where ’r ye bound for?”

  “Norwich.”

  “Where’s Welcome going?” shouted Starboard.

  “London River.”

  “Going out to sea,” said Port, as proudly as if she were still aboard her.

  “Out to sea,” said Dorothea.

  There she was, sailing now between reedy banks, stared at by grazing cows, and in a few hours she would be at sea … Yarmouth … the lightship … trawlers … liners out of Harwich.… The Thames at night with the big ships home from the East.… The crew of the Teasel watched her wistfully. The Admiral, with a few strokes of a pencil, noted how high she was compared with a windmill ashore.

  “Not forgotten them knots?” shouted Mr. Hawkins, stirred by an afterthought that came a little late.

  “Funny to think we sailed in her,” said Starboard.

  “And slept in her,” said Port.

  Long after the Welcome herself was out of sight, they could see her topsail moving above the reeds.

  “Oh well,” said Tom suddenly, “the Teasel’s come a jolly long way herself. And we’ve got another four days.…”

  “Yo ho for Norwich,” said Port. “There’s nowhere else left to go to.”

  *

  But they never got to Norwich.

  No one can count on the wind, and that afternoon, when they had passed Somerleyton and Herringfleet, and Dorothea had dropped the money into the butterfly net for the men who open the road-bridge on the New Cut, the wind was dying away to nothing. They drifted out of the New Cut into the Norwich river, but there was not wind enough to carry them up through Reedham Bridge against the stream, and Tom had to jump into the Titmouse and do some hard towing. They tied up for tea above the bridge, and sailed again later in the evening, past Hardley Cross and the mouth of the Loddon, past Cantley, where a foreign-going steamship was loading at the wharf, and moored for the night a mile or so higher up. Next day the wind was not much better, and they cruised slowly on, coming to Brundall in the afternoon. There was so little wind that no one minded when the Admiral suggested tying up while she made a sketch of that lovely bend of the river. They found a good mooring-place at the mouth of a dyke, close to an old sailing ship that was being dismantled and turned into a houseboat. The Admiral settled down in the well of the Teasel to make her sketch, and the others went ashore, and climbed a ladder to the deck of the dismantled ship, and watched a man who was cutting through the old iron-work with a jet of hissing, white-hot flame.

  Tom had watched this for some time when he remembered his promise about telephoning home.

  “Now’s your chance,” said Starboard. “They’re sure to have a telephone at the inn here, and we’ll never get up to Norwich tonight.”

  “We’ll come, too,” said Port, and the three Coots left Dick and Dorothea watching the flame-cutter, and strolled slowly along the dyke and so to the Yare Hotel.

  Mrs. Dudgeon had hardly answered the telephone before the twins, watching Tom’s face, saw that he was getting serious news.

  “I’m so glad you rang up,” Mrs. Dudgeon was saying. “I’ve an urgent message for the twins, and for you, too. Which day were you meaning to start back?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  “Uncle Frank’s written to say he’s coming back by the early train the day after tomorrow, and the twins must be here by then, because he’s racing Flash at eleven. You’ll have to come through Yarmouth tomorrow if the twins are to be in time. Do you think you can manage it?… If not they’d better come by train or bus. Brundall, you said, didn’t you?”

  “We were going on to Norwich tomorrow.”

  “Better not. We’ve had a call from a friend of yours, one of the wherrymen.”

  “Jim Wooddall?”

  “Yes. He thought we ought to know that those people in the Margoletta have been boasting that they knew the boy they were after had gone south. This was in some inn, up at Wroxham. They even knew the name of the Teasel. You were right about George. Someone’s seen him talking to them. And Bill’s here, waiting for a word with you. He says the Margoletta will be only two more days at Wroxham getting mended. So come through Yarmouth tomorrow if you can. Your father doesn’t want you to leave the Teasel in the lurch, specially with the twins having to leave too, but he thinks the sooner you’re safe home the better.… Hang on now while I call Bill in. He’s been weeding all day just
outside, so as to be able to talk to you if you rang up. Mischief of some sort, I’ve no doubt. Bill!”

  Tom passed on the news.

  “I say,” said Starboard. “There’s jolly little wind. Do you think we can get down to Yarmouth in time?”

  “If we can’t,” said Tom, “you’ll just have to take the train at Cantley or somewhere.”

  “Tide’s all right tomorrow,” said Port, “if we do get down. And if we get up to Acle before dark, we can easily get to Horning next day, before breakfast if somebody wakes us up.”

  “If those beasts know about the Teasel being down south,” said Tom, “it’s no good waiting to be caught by them. Once they leave Wroxham they can get anywhere in no time. And they’d only have to hang about Breydon to make sure of catching us on our way through.”

  “Come on,” said Port. “We’ll just slip home and diddle them again.”

  “Yes.… Yes.… Hullo!” Tom had the telephone receiver at his ear, and waved at the others to keep quiet.

  “That you, Bill?”

  “Hullo.… That Tom Dudgeon?…” Tom could hear Bill’s anxious puffing and blowing at the other end. “The grebe’s nest in Salhouse Entry been robbed. Rest all right. We thought No. 7 had lost a chick but it was only Pete counted wrong.… Er.… See here.…” There was a long pause. Tom heard, more faintly, his mother’s voice. “All right, Bill, if it’s a secret I’ll go out of the room.” There was more anxious puffing. Then Bill’s voice came again. “Say, Tom. Which day you comin’ through?… Ter-morrer?… Afternoon tide?… Can ye hear? Joe’s mended our sail, and made a crutch, and we got a tarpaulin, so’s we can sleep under like you … see?… Joe an’ Pete’s took her down-river … down to Acle.… I’m bikin’ down now.… An’ a boy at Rodley’s is going to telephone about the Margoletta.… So we’ll have the news for ye.…”

  “Will you pay for another three minutes?” the indifferent voice of a telephone operator broke in from the Exchange.

  “No, no,” said Tom hurriedly. What was the good of throwing money away like that when it could be spent on ropes and other really useful things? “Good-bye, Bill. See you at Acle tomorrow night.…”

  “At Acle?” said Port and Starboard together.

  “They’ve fixed up their awning for the Death and Glory,” said Tom. “Those three kids are going down to Acle, and someone’s going to let them know when the Hullabaloos are going to leave Wroxham.”

  “Jolly good,” said Starboard.

  “Let’s get away at once,” said Port. “We ought to get as far down the river as we can before dark. Buck up.”

  They ran along the dyke to the Teasel.

  Tom stopped just before they reached her. “I say,” he said, “the others’ll be awfully sick at having to start back.”

  “Well,” said Starboard, “it can’t be helped. We’ve got to get home for the A.P.’s race. You’ve got to get home because of the Hullabaloos. It’d be much worse if they came down here and caught you in the Teasel. And anyway we can’t leave the Admiral and those two to get home by themselves.”

  But, for various reasons, Dick, Dorothea and the Admiral were as ready to start as the Coots.

  The Admiral was for sailing at once. “We’ve done so well,” she said, “we don’t want anything to go wrong now and spoil it.”

  “Good,” said Dick. “We’ll be seeing Breydon again tomorrow. These spoonbills may still be there. And Norwich is only a town anyhow.”

  “Let’s start now,” said Dorothea. “The warning came and the outlaw bolted for his lair. It would be too dreadful if he got caught after all. We’ve had a splendid voyage.… And the Admiral’s done her sketch.… Or haven’t you?”

  The Admiral laughed. “Luckily, I’ve done it,” she said.

  “And the man who was using that flame-cutter has stopped work for the day,” said Dick.

  Ten minutes later, sails were set, and the Teasel drifted out of Brundall, homeward bound, with hardly wind enough to stir her. They sailed her as long as they could, and tied up at dusk not far from Buckenham Ferry.

  “I’ll tell you what,” said the Admiral. “We’re a set of seven donkeys not to have bought more food at Brundall. The larder’s very nearly empty.”

  “It isn’t William’s fault,” said Dorothea. “He’d have bought some if he could.”

  “Six donkeys,” said the Admiral.

  They had a rather hungry supper and made up their minds to call at Reedham and do some shopping in the morning. Then Tom and the twins spread the map on the cabin table and got themselves thoroughly muddled about the tides. In the harbour-master’s office at Oulton, Tom had copied on a bit of paper the times of low water at Yarmouth for each day of that week. He was trying to work out a time-table for the voyage, so as to be sure of getting to Breydon Bridge at exactly the right moment.

  “It’s no good,” he said. “Not really, because we can’t tell what sort of wind there’ll be.”

  “Awful if there’s a calm,” said Dorothea.

  “We had no trouble coming the other way,” said the Admiral.

  “It’s much worse getting back,” the three Coots all began explaining at once.

  “You see we’ve got to get to Yarmouth at low water in the Yare, and then hang about to go up the Bure, because low water in the Bure is about an hour later.”

  “But why?” asked Dick.

  “It just is,” said Starboard.

  “Sometimes it’s more and sometimes less,” said Port.

  “Well,” said the Admiral at last. “Put all those figures out of your heads and get to bed. Goodnight, Tom, and you, Dick. Listen to William grunting. He hasn’t got a head for mathematics, poor dear, and you’re keeping him awake.”

  “The only thing to do,” said Tom, “is to start early and make sure.”

  “Better whistle for a wind,” said Starboard. “We’ll never get anywhere if it’s like this.”

  Somewhere, away over the marshes, a belated curlew gave his long whistling cry.

  “Thank you,” said Port. “Did you hear him? Whistling his best for us, because he knows we’ve got no time to lose.”

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE RASHNESS OF THE ADMIRAL

  “THAT wretched curlew must have been whistling the wrong tune,” said Port.

  The morning had brought them an easterly wind.

  “Fine for going up the Bure,” said Starboard.

  “But we’ve got to get down to Yarmouth against it first,” said Port.

  Tom and the twins began their calculations over again. How long must they allow to get down to Yarmouth against the wind so as to be at Breydon Bridge exactly at low water?

  Meanwhile the Admiral and Dorothea were looking through the larder and calculating how to make four eggs (all that were left) do for six people. There was fortunately plenty of butter to scramble them, but when breakfast was over, nobody would have said “No” to a second helping.

  “We don’t know what time we’re going to get down to Reedham,” said the Admiral, “but we’ll get all we want there.”

  “We’d better keep the tongue to eat on the voyage,” said Dorothea. “It’s only a very little one anyway.”

  In the end the navigators gave up all hope of making their figures agree. There were too many things to think of, the speed of the current, the speed of the Teasel when tacking, the speed of the Teasel when reaching, how much of the river would be tacking, and how much of it would let them sail with the wind free, and, on the top of all that, the wind itself seemed very uncertain.

  “There’s only one thing to do,” said Tom. “We’ll sail right down to Reedham straight away. People will know there what the tide’s doing.”

  “So long as we’re not too late, nothing else matters,” said Starboard.

  All down those long reaches by Langley and Cantley they sailed the Teasel as if she were a China clipper racing for home. Tom and the Coots were for ever hauling in or letting out the sheets to get the very best out of the wind.
Dick and Dorothea took turns with the steering whenever the wind was free, but gave up the tiller to a Coot whenever it was a case of sailing close-hauled and stealing a yard or two when going about. The little tongue was eaten while they were under way, cut by the Admiral into seven equal bits, for William was as hungry as everybody else. Indeed, he did not think his bit was big enough, and the Admiral promised him that as soon as the Teasel came to Reedham he should have some more.

  But as the Teasel turned the corner into the Reedham reach, and Tom was looking at the quay in front of the Lord Nelson, thinking where best he could tie up, above or below a couple of yachts that were lying there, they saw that the railway bridge was open, and that the signalman was leaning out of his window.

  “He’s beckoning to us to come on,” said Dorothea.

  “He’s probably going to shut it for a long time,” said Starboard.

  “Two trains, perhaps, or shunting,” said Dick.

  “Well, I’m going through now, to make sure of it,” said Tom. “It’d be awful to be held up.”

  “What about our stores?” said the Admiral.

  “Let’s hang on till Yarmouth,” said Tom. “We’ll have to stop there anyway.”

  It was no use arguing. Tom had other things to think of. Beating against the wind, and carried down with the tide, he had to work the Teasel through Reedham bridge. Just as he came to it he had to go about and the tide swept the Titmouse round quicker than he thought it would. The Titmouse bumped hard against one of the piers. Tom glanced wretchedly over his shoulder, and winced as if he had been bumped himself.

  “She’s got that rope all round her,” said Dorothea. “The bridge won’t have touched her really.”

  “Bad steering,” said Tom. “My own fault.”

  The bridge closed behind them. The red flag climbed up, and they knew that they might have had to wait a long time before it would be opened again. They were beating on towards the New Cut. Just for a moment they could see right down it, a long narrow lane of water, and, in the distance, the little road bridge, where the porters who open it catch their two shillings in a long-handled net.