any others we’re likely to want when he comes he’s got hundreds. Here you are, here’s the Downs. Oh. You know you were asking about Ellwright and the pirates. Here’s where he got stuck. Just off Ramsgate. See those dotted lines. Shoals. He got on in a fog. He’d have been all right if he’d only kept clear of the coast, jolly sight safer out at sea.”
He spread the chart on the table and heads bumped together as they looked at it in the light of the cabin lamp.
Jim Brading turned on his big torch and flashed a brilliant white circle on the chart to make the dotted lines of the shoals and the tiny drawings of the buoys show up better.
“But what about the pirates?” said Titty.
“Longshore sharks,” said Jim grimly. “Well, poor old Ellwright was aground here, where my finger is. Calm weather, too. Pretty safe. He had only to put a kedge out and wait for the tide to rise. But some longshore sharks came off to him in a boat when the fog lifted, and offered to pull him off and tow him in. He had to get back to work next day, and he was jolly pleased, and they had him off in two minutes and towed him into the harbour, and he thanked them and was going to give them ten bob. . . ”
“Gosh!” said Roger.
“And they wouldn’t take it,” said Jim. “They said they’d salvaged the boat, and that she would have broken up if they hadn’t towed her off, which wasn’t true, as he only went aground for lack of wind.”
“You mean they wouldn’t take anything?” said Titty.
“Jolly decent of them,” said Roger.
“Wasn’t it?” said Jim. “No. They wouldn’t take his ten bob. They wouldn’t take a pound. They put in a claim for salvage, a third of the whole value of the boat, and as the poor chap hadn’t any money, he had to sell his ship to pay them. You see, he’d let one of them come aboard, to fasten a rope or something, and the man took the tiller and that was that. . . So if ever you get into trouble, never take a tow from anybody if you can help it, and never ever let anyone come aboard. Bang their hands with a boathook. Do anything you like, but keep them off. If they see a chance of claiming they’ve saved your ship, they’ll take it.”
“He had to sell his ship?” said Roger.
“Yes,” said Jim, “and by the time he’d paid the sharks, and their lawyers and his lawyers, he’d next to nothing left. He hasn’t got a ship any more.”
“What beasts!” said Roger.
“One way of making a living,” said Jim. “No. The only people to take aboard are pilots, and you don’t want even to take a pilot if you can help it. I never do. Can’t afford it.”
“Where are the shoals off Harwich?” said John. He was almost more interested in that than in the sad tale of the loss of Jim’s friend’s boat. After all he was actually sitting in the cabin of the Goblin, and the Goblin, only two nights before, had been out at sea waiting to come in.
“Other chart,” said Jim, and spread the second chart on the top of the first. “There’s Harwich. Here’s Shotley, where we are now . . . and that . . . and that . . . and that are the shoals outside. . . Shoals all over the place. . . West Rocks and the Gunfleet and the Cork Sand . . . this bit is uncovered at low water . . . Shoals all over the place. The big ships come in like this. They make for the Cork light-vessel . . . through this big opening between the shoals, and then slip along between the Cork Sand on one side and the Platters and Andrews on the other. Well, Goblin likes to do the same, specially in fog or dark. . . No fun for a little boat to crash into an unlighted buoy. Easily sink her, even if she didn’t go aground. No. Only one motto for the Goblin. When in doubt keep clear of shoals. . . Get out to sea and stay there.”
John listened, telling himself that he too would have that motto, when at last he should have a ship of his own. He too would do the same. . . He gripped an imaginary tiller. . . Shoals to the right. . . Shoals to the left. . . out to sea. . .
“What did you do?” asked Roger.
“Just jilled about,” said Jim, “outside everything, first on one tack and then on the other, till things cleared. Then I made the Sunk light-vessel, then the Cork, and so to Beach End buoy (You’ll see that tomorrow) and into Harwich harbour and up the river to Pin Mill, where I made a bad shot at picking up my mooring and was glad of help from some jolly good sailors who were hanging about in a dinghy. . . ”
“How did you know we weren’t pirates?” said Titty.
“Or sharks?” said Roger.
“Just guessed,” said Jim, laughing.
“Lucky for us,” said Roger. “Or we wouldn’t be here.”
“And for me,” said Jim. “Look here. It’s getting dusk outside, and we’ll put up the riding light. No good having a barge coming along to bring up and sending us to the bottom in the middle of the night.”
“And then let’s go and telephone,” said Susan. “It’s getting on for nine, and we ought to try to get some milk for breakfast.”
A few minutes later, when the riding light, burning palely in the dusk, had been hung from the forestay, the Imp was pulled alongside. It was a close fit for five. John and Roger sat in the bows, Susan and Titty in the stern, while Jim paddled them off to the wooden steps of Shotley pier, which had seemed quite small when they had sailed past in the Goblin, but towered above them when they came close under it in the Imp.
“Can I tie her up?” asked Roger. “I always tie up Swallow.”
“All right,” said Jim, and watched while Roger made fast the end of the Imp’s painter.
They walked ashore along the uneven planking of the old pier. They had come only a few miles from Pin Mill, but it felt like landing in a different country.
“What’s that bag for?” asked Roger, looking at a rolled-up green kitbag in Jim’s hand.
“Pop,” said Jim. “I’d forgotten the Goblin’s cellar’s getting rather low.”
“Grog,” said Titty.
“They’ve a very good brand of grog in Shotley,” said Jim. John looked at Susan.
“We ought to pay for it,” said Susan. “I’m sure Mother’d want us to.”
“I’ve got enough for that,” laughed Jim. “Besides, Uncle Bob’lI be here on Monday.”
They went to the inn, and watched a dozen bottles of ginger pop being stowed away in Jim’s green kitbag. The landlady took the milk-can from Susan and filled it. Then she took them to a little room where there was a telephone, and Jim rang up Miss Powell’s at Pin Mill, and put two pennies in the box. They stood round him, listening to his half of the talk, guessing for themselves what was being said at the other end.
“Is that Miss Powell? How are you? Jim Brading. Can I speak to Mrs Walker. . . How do you do? . . .We’ve anchored for the night by Shotley pier. . . Yes, Shotley. . . Very well indeed. . . Yes, they’ve had supper. . . They’re all here . . . going to bed as soon as we get back aboard.”
“Let’s all say good night,”
