“Man the capstan then,” said Captain Flint. “Man the capstan and heave it up, and then below decks without waiting another minute.”
He took the lantern, and the whole ship’s company went forward along the dark deck. There was silence in the harbour. They peered across at the Viper, but all was dark where she lay. The capstan bars were ranged handy along the bulwarks, and in a minute the Swallows and Amazons, all six of them, had fitted their bars into the slots in the capstan head, and, walking steadily round and round, were walking the anchor up as if it were a feather. It is astonishing what six people, even small ones, can lift with a capstan, all working together.
Captain Flint flashed a pocket torch over the side. The anchor had come up clean. The dinghy’s painter must have slipped off it before.
There was a sudden squawk of annoyance in the darkness.
“I’d forgotten all about him,” said Titty, rather ashamed.
The parrot had fallen asleep, perched on the bulwarks, and was not pleased to be waked. Titty picked him up and took him down with her into the saloon and put him into his cage for the night. Roger was nearly as sleepy as the parrot. But the others were for some time too full of talk to sleep. They undressed, talking. And, when they were in their bunks, they talked still from one cabin to another. Treasure. Black Jake. Crabs. Peter Duck. That red-haired boy who was sailing with Black Jake. They had enough to talk about.
And then, long after they had stopped getting answers from each other when they spoke, long after they had stopped talking and fallen asleep, they woke again, listening to steps going to and fro overhead, along the Wild Cat’s decks.
“It’s Mr. Duck,” said Susan quietly.
“Yes,” said Titty. “It was Captain Flint before. I heard him tapping his pipe.”
“They must think Black Jake may come again in the night,” said John.
“Keeping watch,” said Titty.
“Who?” A voice came now from the Amazons’ cabin.
“Mr. Duck and Captain Flint,” whispered Susan. “Listen.”
“Let’s all go up and help,” said Nancy.
“No, no,” said Peggy. “Stop here.”
“What’s happening now?” This was Roger’s squeak in the dark.
“Nothing. Go to sleep,” said Susan. “We all ought to,” she added. “If they want help they’ll thump on the deck for us, or call down through the skylight.”
They slept again.
But all night long, watch and watch about, Captain Flint and Peter Duck walked up and down above their sleeping crew.
* The samson-post is a very strong post that goes right through the deck and down to the keel. – NANCY.
* Not to be confounded with the much larger Crab Island east of Porto Rico.
* A quant is a long pole for poling (“quanting”) a wherry along when there is no wind to help her or where the Channel is too narrow for sailing against the wind.
CHAPTER VII
OUTWARD BOUND
“HULLO! What’s happening?” Nancy was the first to wake as a heavy warp slapped on the deck above her head.
“My engine’s going,” said Roger half-asleep. He woke, feeling the throbbing of the hull and hearing the chug, chug, chug of the little engine that already he looked on as his own, rolled out of his bunk, reached up to tug at John, and then, in his pyjamas, ran out of the cabin, through the saloon, and wriggled round the companion stairs.
“She’s moving,” said Titty.
“Keep your head out of the way. I’m coming down,” said Susan.
“Listen.” John, sitting up in his bunk, called out from his cabin. “There’s a headsail flapping.”
That noise stopped and there was a sharp creak and the groan of blocks.
“That’s the boom going over,” called Nancy.
“She’s slanting the other way,” said Peggy.
“Heeling, you mean,” said Nancy. “Yes, she is.”
“They must have got the sails up without us,” said Titty.
“Somebody’s started my engine,” said Roger indignantly, coming back after having a look at it.
There was a general rush and scramble below decks. John, Susan and Roger came up on deck through the companion out of the saloon. Nancy, Peggy, and Titty came up the ladder out of the forehatch. They came on deck in the summer morning, to find sunshine and a strong northeasterly breeze clearing away the light morning mist. The Wild Cat, with her engine running in case of trouble, was tacking out of harbour under jib and mainsail.
“Why did you start without us?” said Roger. “Who’s engineer?”
“You are,” said Captain Flint, “and in another minute or two you can stop her. But keep out of the way now. Stand by to go about, Mr. Duck.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Captain Flint spun the wheel, and the Wild Cat swung round, while Peter Duck let fly the port jib sheets.
“Smart enough,” he said, finding Nancy all ready to haul in on the other side as the sail blew across.
“Well, but why did you start without us?” said Nancy.
“Ask the skipper,” said Peter Duck. “But you ain’t got left behind.”
“We thought we’d take our chance of a little practice without you,” said Captain Flint. “Tide served. And it seemed a pity to waste any of this wind.”
“We heard you walking up and down all night,” said Titty.
“Ready to repel boarders,” said Nancy.
“But that man didn’t come again,” said Peggy.
“No. He didn’t,” said Captain Flint, glancing back over his shoulder towards the inner harbour. “And if he wants to come now, he’s too late. And now, you scallywags, what do you think our ship looks like with all of you slopping about in pyjamas all over the place? A floating dormitory. All pyjamas go below. Get dressed as quick as you can. We shall be in fairly quiet water going down the Pakefield, but after that we’ll probably catch it. Much more wind than yesterday.”
“We must stay on deck just till we’re outside the harbour.”
“Tally on to the foresail halyards then, and help Mr. Duck.”
“Smartly now, my hearties,” cried Nancy, as they ran forward to help Mr. Duck hoist the foresail.
“Slack away foresail sheet,” said Mr. Duck, seeming almost to forget that the six Swallows and Amazons in their pyjamas were not some sort of native crew. “Handsomely now. Belay. Now then. You three on the throat. T’other three on the peak. Hoist away. Up she goes. Hoist away. Belay peak halyard. Haul away on the throat. Swig away there. Let me get a hold. SO. Belay. Haul on the peak. Handsomely now. So. Belay. Slacken away topping lifts. Not that, Cap’n Nancy. That’s right. Coil down halyards. Haul in the sheet . . . “
As he spoke he hauled in the sheet himself, with John and Nancy tallying on to help him.
“Staysail halyards!” he called, and Nancy and John flew forward again. In a very few moments the staysail was up and drawing.
“A year or two of practice and you’ll be a goodish crew,” said Peter Duck.
“Ready