Peter Duck. Arthur Ransome

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      John and Susan coiled the throat halyard and hung the coils out of the way. That rope would not be wanted again until the time came to lower the sail.

      “What about washing up?” said Peggy. “Shall we just put all the mugs in a basket and do the washing up afterwards?”

      “You’ll have time now,” said Peter Duck. “Skipper and I’ll be a minute or two, what with all the warps to shift and the little donkey to get a-going.”

      “What little donkey?” asked Titty.

      “Sailorman’s name for the engine,” said Peter Duck. “Engines and donkeys is all one. One day they’ll pull and another day they won’t, do what you will with them.”

      “Sails won’t pull in a calm,” said Peggy, over her shoulder as she went off to the galley.

      “That’s not their fault,” said Peter Duck. “Give them wind and they’ll work right enough. But you can drown one of these here little donkeys with oil and paraffin, and it’ll do no more than cough and spit at you. Got no gratitude hasn’t donkeys. Listen, though, to that. Skipper’s got this one a-going.”

      There was a sudden chug, chug-chug from below. Then silence. Then chug, chug-chug again, and another silence. There was no more thought of washing up.

      “We’ll have time later,” said Susan.

      Peter Duck was up on the quayside, hurrying from bollard to bollard casting loose the warps. John and Nancy hauled them aboard. Peter Duck took one of the stern warps forward round a bollard on the quay and back again, throwing the end to John who made it fast.

      “We’ll be wanting to cast that loose in a minute,” said Peter Duck, seeing that John was making fast as if for ever.

      The noise below began again. “Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug,” and settled down till it was as regular as the ticking of a clock. Captain Flint and Roger, both very red in the face, climbed up into the deckhouse and out on deck.

      “All ready?” asked Captain Flint. “Good. Now then, Roger, you stand by this lever. When I say, ‘Full ahead,’ shove it as far forward as it will go.”

      “Aye, aye, sir,” said Roger, his eyes sparkling, taking his place by a little brass lever just inside the deckhouse door.

      “Come on, you two captains, and hoist the staysail. The two mates stand by the wheel. Keep it just as it is, and hand over to Mr. Duck as soon as she starts moving. All ready with the spring, Mr. Duck?”

      “Aye, aye, sir.”

      Captain Flint hurried forward. John and Nancy had picked out the staysail halyard, seen that all was clear up the mast, and were ready to hoist the sail. Titty was with Peter Duck at the stern. He had given her a fat rope fender to hang over the side to save the Wild Cat’s green paint.

      Captain Flint sang out, “Up with the staysail,” and hand over hand, John and Nancy hauled it up. It flapped idly in the light wind coming straight in from the sea. Captain Flint hauled in for a moment on the port sheet, so that the staysail stiffened on the port side, and the wind, taking it aback, began slowly, ever so slowly, to force the bows of the Wild Cat away from the quay.

      “Haul in on the spring, Mr. Duck!” Peter Duck hauled on the warp that he had led forward from the stern. The Wild Cat headed out from the quay.

      “Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, cough, chug, cough, chug, chug,” went the little engine down below, and Roger, at the deckhouse door, was holding on to the lever and waiting for the word.

      Captain Flint let fly the staysail sheet. “Full ahead, engineer!”

      Roger pushed the lever forward, and the tune of the engine changed as the propeller began to do its work. Peter Duck let go one end of the warp, and Titty, who had brought her fender in now that it was no longer needed, hauled in the slack of the warp as it slipped round the bollard and fell between the Wild Cat and the quay. She soon had it aboard, Peter Duck took the wheel and spun it round. The Wild Cat moved slowly out of the inner harbour between the grey walls and out. The swing bridge was open for the Wild Cat to pass, and a milk-boy with a tricycle was waiting for it to close again, looking down at the little schooner and whistling as if to make up for the general quiet at that time of the morning. The Wild Cat moved slowly on, the little engine coughing away inside her, and spitting out of the exhaust pipe at the stern. She moved down between the long piers, and into the outer harbour.

      Captain Flint came aft, bringing John and Nancy at his heels.

      “Mr. Duck,” he said, “I think you and I might be getting the foresail up now. John’ll keep her going straight for the pier heads.”

      John was on the point of saying he would rather wait to take the wheel until she was outside with plenty of room, but he was too late. He found himself with his hands on the spokes of the wheel, while Peter Duck and Captain Flint were already hurrying forward. Nancy was looking at him almost with envy. There was nothing for it but to hope that he would manage not to do something dufferish by mistake. He turned the wheel just a little first one way and then the other. The Wild Cat was moving slowly under the little engine, which was only just strong enough to shove her along. She seemed, however, to steer quite easily. John hoped Nancy had not noticed his experiments. Now he looked far ahead to the outer piers, with their queer little pagoda-like shelters with the lanterns on the top of them, set himself to steer exactly between them and almost came to believe that he had been doing this all his life. He saw Captain Flint take a sharp look round and then, as if quite at ease, turn back to his work. That was comforting, too.

      Peter Duck and Captain Flint were at the foot of the foremast. Peter Duck took the throat halyard, Captain Flint took the peak. They hauled away and the gaff of the foresail moved slowly up above their heads. Then there was Peter Duck swigging on his halyard till he had it bar taut, throwing his weight forward and pulling in the slack, and then making fast and taking a look up the mast to see that the blocks were all but touching. Captain Flint was still hauling on the peak halyard. The gaff cocked itself up, and the big creamy sail no longer swung loose, but stiffened until the crinkles in it ran up and down instead of across. Captain Flint belayed his halyard. Then they slackened away the topping lifts, so that the weight of the boom made itself felt, and the crinkles straightened out.

      They hurried aft to the mainmast, and the peak that had been left not fully hoisted rose up and up. It stopped. Again topping lists were slackened away and there was the mainsail really looking like a sail at last.

      “Setting nicely,” said Peter Duck.

      John had been thinking of nothing but the steering. The little group of the others had been watching every detail of the setting of the sails.

      “It’s just like setting sail on Swallow,” said Susan, “Only everything’s heavier.”

      “And you don’t have to haul down the boom,” said Nancy. “Come on. They’ll be sailing in a minute. They’ll be wanting someone to haul on the staysail sheet and the jib sheet. Let’s be there.”

      When Captain Flint turned from squinting up at the mainsail into the morning sunlight to see that all was really well with mainsail and foresail, he saw Nancy and СКАЧАТЬ