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 words. And away there on the black schooner at the other side of the harbour, Black Jake, that dark, scowling man with the black ringlets and the gold ear-rings, was watching all that was going on through his long telescope.
* The davits are a pair of little cranes for hoisting and lowering a boat. - CAPT. NANCY.
CHAPTER II
RED-HAIRED BOY
“WELL,” said Nancy, “how did you sleep?”
“Very well, thank you,” said Titty, who was just bringing the parrot up on deck. Every one of them could have said the same. They had all slept very well, though they had been long in getting to sleep that first night. Voices had called from cabin to cabin. Top bunk spoke to lower bunk. Lower bunk had something urgent to say to top. Then there had been the creaking of the fenders between the schooner and the quay. There had been the noise of a passing tug. There had been the noise of someone in a rowing boat going home late at night to one of the ketches moored higher up the harbour. It had seemed almost wasteful to go to sleep, but, once they slept they had slept well, and waked up fresh and eager for their life aboard ship.
Peggy and Susan were busy in the galley. Peggy had already been ashore for a quart of new milk. Captain Flint was shaving in the deckhouse. John was looking into Swallow, to see that all was ready. Captain Flint had promised that if there was time, they should lower her into the water and go sailing in Lowestoft harbour. John and Titty had been wanting to do that from the moment they saw her, but had hardly liked to suggest it when there was so much to be done in getting the Wild Cat ready for sea. Roger was prowling round the decks, looking at one thing after another. Gibber, the monkey, was up at the top of the foremast looking away towards the fishing vessels. So many masts all together reminded him perhaps of forests at home. Titty put the parrot’s cage on the roof of the deckhouse, and went round with Nancy to have a look at the little sailing boat.
“She looks lovely in her new paint,” said Titty.
“He’s given her new halyards, too,” said John.
“There’s that man,” said Roger.
They looked across the water to the black schooner. The man whom the porter had called Black Jake was leaning over her bulwarks and watching them.
“Hullo! There’s a boy up the mast there. He isn’t as high up as Gibber though.”
There was a red-haired boy, not as big as John, but a good deal bigger than Roger, halfway up the black schooner’s mainmast, and busy with a scrubbing brush and a pail.
“He’s a cabin-boy or something,” said Nancy. “We’ve often seen him before.”
“I bet he has a horrid time,” said John. “The porter said we were lucky not to be joining that ship.”
But just then, there was a sudden stir on the black schooner’s deck. A man doing something at the foot of the foremast shouted something and pointed across towards the harbourmaster’s office. Black Jake started up and stared in that direction. Then he climbed up to the quay and set off, running, towards the swing bridge.
“What’s the matter with him now?” said Roger.
The next minute there was a general rush
