We Didn't Mean to Go to Sea. Arthur Ransome

we now?” said Mother.

      “Here,” said Jim, pointing with a finger. “There’s Pin Mill, and this is the river going up to Ipswich. We might go up there tomorrow and look at the docks. Then going the other way it comes down to meet the Stour at Shotley.”

      “They’ll like to see Shotley,” said Mother.

      “The two rivers together make Harwich harbour,” said Jim, “and those buoys. . . Beach End and Cliff Foot. . . show where the harbour ends and the sea begins.”

      “And you won’t go out beyond them?” said Mother.

      “No,” said Jim.

      Time passed very quickly while they were looking at the chart and talking of what they were to do, and how, in the Goblin, John and Susan were to be first and second mate and Titty and Roger were to be able-seamen.

      “I hope they’ll do what they’re told,” said Mother.

      “We’ll have to,” said Titty cheerfully, “or he’ll stiffen us out rusty corps and dump us to the fish like the man in the poem.”

      “He has my full permission,” said Mother.

      “Oh I say,” said Roger, and then, “But perhaps he hasn’t got an iron belaying pin.”

      “I expect he has,” said Mother, and then, seeing Jim glance up at the clock, she went on, “How time does fly in a boat. Come on, Bridget. Why, where is she?”

      A faint grunt came from the fore-cabin, where Bridget had curled herself up in Titty’s bunk and was pretending to be asleep.

      “No, no, no,” said Mother. “No stowaways. . . though I must say I almost wish I were coming too.”

      “Let’s,” said Bridget.

      Mother looked at Jim Brading’s face and laughed. He had said nothing, but she knew what he was thinking. The Goblin was going to be a pretty tight fit for five, and as for cramming in another two, the thing simply could not be done.

      “They don’t want us,” said Mother.

      “We do really,” said Jim, “only. . . ”

      “I know,” said Mother. “The extra sardine bursts the tin. And you ought to be off. Bridget and I will leave you a clear deck.”

      Jim glanced at the clock again, and out through a porthole at the hard, half of which had already been left dry by the tide.

      “It’s all right,” he said, “so long as we have the ebb down to Shotley Spit.”

      “Anybody for the shore?” called Roger from the cockpit.

      “Coming, coming,” said Mother.

      Mother climbed down into the borrowed dinghy and the stowaway was helped down by the skipper. Mother had already kissed goodbye to mates and able-seamen alike.

      “Now Susan,” she said, “and you too, John. No night sailing. No going outside the harbour. . . And back the day after tomorrow. . . You don’t want to risk not being here to meet Daddy. . . Promise.”

      “We promise. . . ”

      “I promise too,” said Jim. “It’s high water at four on Friday. I’ll have them here at Pin Mill in time for tea.”

      “We’ve all promised,” said Susan.

      “That’s all right,” said Mother. “Have a good time. And if you land at Harwich or Shotley or Ipswich or other outlandish ports, you might telephone to Miss Powell’s. . . ”

      “And send picture postcards,” said Bridget.

      “I say,” said Titty, “do let’s send a postcard to Nancy and Peggy and the D’s.”

      “I’ll send one for you tonight. . . ”

      “I’ve got some postcards,” said Jim. “But only plain ones.”

      Mother and Bridget waited alongside while Jim dug out a postcard. Titty drew a picture on it of the Goblin under full sail in enormous waves. She wrote the address, “Aboard the Yacht Goblin, Pin Mill. Master. . . ” “You sign your name here.” Jim signed. “Mates and crew. . . ” “And now we’ll all sign.” The pencil was passed from hand to hand. Tiny added, “We’re afloat now and just going to SAIL.” She addressed the postcard to Captain Nancy Blackett, at Beckfoot, and handed it down to Mother. “It’ll cheer them up a lot,” she said. “They never thought we’d get any sailing so soon. And anyhow not sleeping in a boat.”

      Roger dropped the coiled painter into the bows of the borrowed dinghy, and Mother pulled clear and watched while skipper and crew set to work, hoisting the mainsail, unrolling the jib, getting the staysail all ready to hoist as soon as they should be under way. Mother grew happier every moment as she saw how easily everything went and what a good capable skipper Jim was . . . There was no hurrying. Nothing had to be done twice. . .

      There was a pause. Skipper Jim came aft to the tiller. He was looking aloft and around. Yes. Everything was ready. The mainsail was set, and the boom slowly swinging to and fro. The jib was flapping. They were ready.

      “John!”

      “Sir!”

      “Will you be ready to cast off the mooring. Take the buoy clear of the bowsprit shrouds. Drop it clear of the side when I sing out. We’ll go off on starboard tack, and round under the blue boat’s stern.”

      “Aye, aye, Sir!”

      “Isn’t it funny to hear John saying, ‘Aye, aye, Sir!’” said Bridget.

      “He’s quite right,” said Mother. “He’s mate in this ship, not skipper.”

      The wind was filling the mainsail and the Goblin began to creep up. Her head was being pulled round. The sail flapped. The boom swung slowly across and the mainsail filled again.

      “Now,” sang out Jim, “cast off !”

      There was a splash as the mooring buoy dropped into the water.

      “All gone, Sir!” shouted John.

      “Up with the staysail,” called Jim. “Haul in the port jib sheet, Susan. That’s right. She’s sailing.”

      The Goblin swung round, gathered speed, cleared the stern of the blue Coronilla and headed out through the fleet as John sent the staysail up hand over hand. Two heads bobbed up out of Coronilla’s cabin as the tall red sail of the Goblin swept by.

      “Going for a sail? Lovely day for it.”

      “Only in the harbour,” called Jim.

      “Goodbye,” called Mother and Bridget, waving from the dinghy. “Goodbye.”

      “Goodbye, fare thee well,” called Titty.

      “Goodbye, goodbye,” shouted the others.

      They were fairly off. John hurried aft along the side deck, and waved as soon as he was safely in the cockpit. In another moment the Butt and Oyster disappeared behind an anchored barge. They were clearing the last of the yachts. Titty, Susan and Roger looked back to see Mother and Bridget in the dinghy making for the hard.

      “Hullo!” cried Roger. “There’s Miss Powell come down to see us off.”

      Miss Powell was standing on the hard, waving. The skipper and crew of the Goblin, slipping away down river in the afternoon sunshine, waved back.

      Mother and Bridget joined Miss Powell on the hard and tied up their dinghy.

      “Don’t