LITMIR.BIZ

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Sixty years of it, and maybe then a bit more.”

      “A fine ship,” said Captain Flint.

      “If you be thinking it over, Cap’n,” said the old sailor, “and if it’s all the same to you, I seen a block up there that’s like to come adrift, and sign on or not sign on, I might as well be putting a whipping on it.” His hands were already on the halyards and before they guessed what he was thinking of doing he had begun climbing up the mainmast. A minute later he had hitched a leg over the cross-trees. Then he pulled a knife and some twine out of his pocket and they could see him busy up there far above their heads.

      “Well?” said Nancy. “How about that?”

      Captain Flint said nothing. He was shading his eyes against the sunshine, looking up at the masthead to watch what Peter Duck was doing.

      Just then Roger, who had been exploring under the deckhouse, trying to get a look at the little engine that was tucked away down there, came rushing up for fear he was missing anything on deck.

      Like all the others he looked up at the mast-head. “Hullo, he said, “what’s he doing?” but did not wait to be answered. His eyes were all over the place. There was such a lot to see in this harbour. He looked at the swing bridge, closed now, with carts and motor cars and people going across it. He looked along the quay to the Custom-House with the big crest over the doorway, and beyond it the tall masts of the fishing vessels. He looked up the inner harbour towards the dry dock, where a steam trawler was being repaired and there was a great noise of men chipping rust and riveting. And then his eyes rested on that other schooner on the opposite side of the harbour, the black schooner that was tied up against the south quay. There were men taking stores aboard her, or cargo, Roger thought, and suddenly he caught sight of a man he knew on the black schooner’s deck.

      “Hullo,” he said. “There’s the man who tried to be beastly about Titty’s parrot. The man with the ear-rings.”

      “Where?” said Titty.

      “Over there. On that ship. He’s seen us. He’s looking at us with a telescope.”

      “He’s wondering what’s being done to our mast,” said John.

      But Peter Duck was coming down now, hand over hand, faster than he went up, with his legs about the mast to steady himself

      “Good enough,” said Captain Flint. “In the Thermopylæ, I think you said? There’ve been few ships to touch her. I think we might fix something up together. But you’d better meet the rest of us. This is Captain John. This is Captain Nancy. Both have commanded their own vessels. This is Ableseaman Titty. This is Roger, the ship’s boy. Where are the mates? Great hands at cooking are our mates. Ah, here they are. Mate Susan of the Swallow and Mate Peggy of the Amazon. This is Mr. Duck, who’s thinking of coming down Channel with us . . .”

      “Down Channel, sir?” said Peter Duck. “But I made sure you was going foreign.”

      “No reason why we shouldn’t,” said Captain Flint, “if we all get on together. We’ve got no plans as yet.”

      “It was blue water as I was thinking of,” said Peter Duck.

      “You think we’re fit for it?”

      “She’s a tough little packet is yours,” said Peter Duck, “land two men and a boy could take her anywheres.”

      “What about girls?” said Nancy rather fiercely.

      “I don’t count captains girls,” said Peter Duck, “nor mates neither, nor yet able-seamen. And I’ve three girls myself, all proper sailormen, though they’re settled down now and got families.”

      Nancy laughed. “That’s all right,” she said. “Some people don’t understand.”

      “How soon could you join?” asked Captain Flint.

      Everybody listened. Peter Duck thought for a moment before answering.

      “It’s like this,” he said. “I’ve a vessel of my own to lay up before I can sail with you. Lying at Oulton she is, my old wherry, and I must sail her up to Beccles and leave all snug with one of my daughters for to keep an eye on her while I’m away. All that takes time. And then there’s my things to put together. It’s a good while now since I last went to sea.”

      Faces fell once more. Perhaps after all it would be days and days before they could be starting.

      Peter Duck went on. He looked up and sniffed the air and glanced at the vane over the Custom-House. “But there’s a right wind for Beccles now, and she’s a flyer is my old wherry. Arrow of Norwich, they call her. Everybody knows of her. I don’t say but what I might be back here with my dunnage tomorrow morning, and you’ll hardly be sailing before then. There’s best part of a day’s work to do on the rigging, seems to me.”

      Captain Flint laughed. “I thought you were going to say the week after next. That’s all right. You’re the man for us, if you think you won’t mind cramming into the deckhouse with me. You and I ought to be handy for the wheel . . . ”

      A few minutes later Captain Flint and Peter Duck were walking off together along the quay to the harbourmaster’s office.

      “Well, that’s just saved us,” said Nancy.

      “And isn’t Peter Duck a lovely name?” said Titty.

      “That man’s still got his telescope,” said Roger. “But he isn’t pointing it at us now. He’s watching Captain Flint walking along the quay.”

      They looked across the water to the black schooner. The man who had been angry with the parrot was standing on the deck with a telescope to his eye, watching Captain Flint and Peter Duck, who were just turning into the harbourmaster’s office.

      Captain Flint came back alone. He was in the highest spirits.

      “We simply couldn’t have done better,” he was saying. “The harbourmaster tells me that that old man’s the best seaman that’s ever shipped out of Lowestoft. The Thermopylæ! We shall know something about sailing when that Old fellow has finished with us. And now we can start the moment we’re ready. Trial trip tomorrow. Well, anyway, the day after. I was thoroughly bothered when I heard Sam Bideford couldn’t come. What a bit of luck. An old sailor from the Thermopylæ! Good enough for anybody.”

      “What is the Thermopylæ?” asked Roger.

      “A fine clipper ship” said Captain Flint. “She was named after a battle, a land battle, though, not like Salamis. Oh yes, Roger, we heard all about your picture of that, of Salamis, I mean, and how you put funnels on all the triremes. You’ll be an engineer before ever you’ll be a sailor. You’ve been at the engine already in this ship . . .”

      Roger grinned a little shyly. “How do you know?” he asked.

      “One large smudge of grease on your left cheek,” said Captain Flint. “There’s nowhere else you could have got it. Simple, eh? Well, come along now and have another look at it. And get your things stowed in your cabins, you others. We’ve a lot to do before Mr. Duck comes aboard in the morning.”

      The rest of the day was busy for everybody. The old sailor, Peter Duck, was sailing the Arrow of Norwich up to Beccles, and wondering what his daughter there would say when she heard that her old father was going to sea once more. Aboard the green schooner Roger had been appointed engineer. He was oiling the engine, and Gibber the monkey was following him round with an oilcan, copying him in everything, and dripping oil on likely places. A board had been slung over the stern, and John was sitting on it with a tin of white paint and a brush, painting in the name “WILD CAT: LOWESTOFT” in good big letters. Peggy and Susan were going through the stores and getting things into working order in the little galley at the forward end of the deckhouse, where they were to cook. Nancy and Titty were polishing up the brasswork and talking of old times. Captain Flint was lending a hand here, there, and everywhere. The parrot was practising his

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