“I can’t see the Head,” called John.
There was a yell from below. “Hey, Nancy! What are you changing course for?” Captain Flint had glanced up from the chart table at the tell-tale compass under the cabin roof.
“Wind’s changed,” said Nancy. “Mist or fog coming. And we can’t see the Head. “
Captain Flint came storming up the companion ladder. He took one glance at the cliff ahead and jumped for the starboard jib-sheets.
“Ready about!” he called. “Helm down!”
The Sea Bear swung very slowly round. A gentle breath was coming from the north-west.
“Fair wind for the Head,” said Captain Flint. “What about using it and doing our scrub in harbour tomorrow?”
“And not go into the cove at all?” said Nancy. “But you promised we should.”
“Well, look at it,” said Captain Flint.
Already there had been another change. The square-topped hill was standing in a mist that hid its lower slopes. It was like an island in a white sea. The white sea was rolling towards them. It had covered the low-lying ground and was eddying round the foot of the cliff.
“Fair wind for the Head,” said Captain Flint again. “And Dick’ll be able to have another look at his boat … Eh, Dick?”
“But it’s the very last chance of seeing Divers,” said Dick.
“Look here,” said Nancy. “This wind’ll be dead against us once we’re round the Head and we’ll be beating all the way up to the harbour with rocks on both sides of us …”
“That’s true enough,” said Captain Flint. He looked south towards the invisible Head and then up at the cliff. Mist was already pouring over the top of it.
“We’re nearly in already,” said Nancy.
“It’s pretty late,” said Susan.
Captain Flint stooped and glanced at the clock. “Slack tide,” he said. “I wouldn’t try it otherwise. But the fog’ll be on us in a minute.” Once more he pulled out his pocket compass and took a bearing of the square-topped hill, now no more than a grey ghost above the mist. “All right, Nancy,” he said. “You win. Lower all sail! We’ll start the engine, Roger. And I hope to goodness the petrol lasts long enough to take us in.”
“Oh, good!” said Titty.
“Aye, aye, Sir,” said Roger, and, as he followed the skipper below, “I told you we’d be wanting it.”
There was a whirr from below as the engine started and a steady throbbing as it was warming up. Captain Flint was on deck again in a moment. The staysail was already down. Peggy and Susan, working together, were bringing in the jib. Captain Flint gave John a hand with the topsail and took the weight of the boom on the topping lift. “You and Susan take the peak halyard,” he said. “I’ve got the throat. Lower away.” This was all old drill to the crew of the Sea Bear and in a very few minutes all sails had been lowered and the old cutter was wallowing uncertainly in the swell.
“Nancy’s the best hand with the lead. John takes the tiller. Slow ahead, Roger!”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
The Sea Bear began to move again as the engine changed its tune.
“West and a half north, John, and as steady as you can.”
“West and a half north it is.”
“But what are we going to do?” said Dorothea.
“We’re going in,” said Nancy, taking the lead and its line out of a locker in the cockpit.
“If we can,” said Captain Flint.
The coast had disappeared altogether. The square-topped hill had been swallowed up. The chug … chug … chug of the engine was driving the Sea Bear slowly forward into a wall of white wool.
The boy high above the cliff had seen the mist coming. It had filled the valley and hidden the deer he had been watching. He felt a cold breath on his forehead. The wind was changing. He had written up his diary for the day and eaten all he meant to eat of the cake he had brought with him. A faint sound of bagpipes was calling him home. He put his diary and what was left of his cake in the biscuit box he used as a safe, pushed it well out of sight at the back of his private hiding-place and, as the mist reached him, set out carefully to pick his way among the rocks and heather. No one on land saw the Sea Bear lower her sails. No one heard the quiet throb of her engine as she crept slowly on towards the cliff.
CHAPTER II
FEELING HER WAY IN
THE WHOLE FEELING of the day had changed. This was no longer careless summer sailing. The wall of mist was moving to meet them. John, steering, was watching the compass as if his life depended on keeping the needle steady. Everybody was on the alert, waiting for orders, knowing that there must be no mistakes and that if anything needed doing it would need doing at once. The hatch over the engine room was open. Roger, his eyes sparkling, was standing by, his hands hovering over the controls. The mist rolled over the Sea Bear, and from the cockpit it was hard to see the little flag at the masthead. A clanking of iron told that Nancy and Captain Flint, grey ghosts on the foredeck, were making ready the anchor.
Captain Flint came aft and glanced at the compass.
“Keep her going as she is, John,” he said.
“West and a half north,” said John.
“We want someone at the cross-trees … Dick … no … I forgot your glasses.” (Dick was cleaning his dimmed spectacles.) “Peggy. I may want Susan to lend a hand with the anchor. Nancy’ll be busy from now on. Everybody else, keep your eyes skinned and sing out the moment you see anything. Anything. Don’t wait till you are sure what it is. Sing out if you see anything at all. Roger, stand by to stop her at once and go astern if I shout.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” said Roger.
“Titty. Nip below and bring up that tin of tallow for the lead. Fo’c’sle. Starboard side, top shelf.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.” Titty was gone.
“Chug … chug … chug … chug …”
The Sea Bear moved on in a white world of her own.
“It’s like being a caterpillar inside a cocoon,” thought Dick, hurriedly wiping his spectacles, putting them on and trying to see, not quite sure whether or not the mist was on his spectacles as well as all about him.
Nancy, at the starboard shrouds, a lifeline round her made fast to the rigging, so that she could use both hands without fear of falling overboard, was getting ready to swing the lead. Now, now … The lead dangled three feet or more below her right hand, the big coil of the lead-line, with its marks at every fathom, in her left. She was swinging the lead, fore and aft, in wider and wider swings. She was whirling it over and over, round and again and away … She had let go of it and the lead was flying out ahead of the ship. Nobody aboard could do that as well as she. Dick could see her feeling for it as the ship caught it up, dipping, as if she were fishing with a handline.
“No bottom at twelve fathoms,” she called out.
“Carry on,” called Captain Flint.
Titty came up through the companion instead of through the forehatch because that was closed to give more room for the chain that lay ranged ready