Great Northern?. Arthur Ransome

was the first time they had been to sea. There was nothing for them to do except to keep out of other people’s way and to be ready to obey orders in case anybody should think it worth while to give them any.

      Splash. Again the lead fell after Nancy had sent it flying forward. Again she was dipping, dipping. Again she was hauling it in hand over hand.

      “No bottom at twelve.”

      There was a sudden shrieking of gulls. Captain Flint, who had been glancing at the little chart, looked up from it to watch Nancy, as if he were waiting for the answer to an urgent question.

      Splash.

      “No bottom at twelve.”

      “We must be pretty near in,” said Captain Flint to John. “We ought to be getting the bottom by now.”

      Splash.

      Nancy, hauling in the line and dipping, turned suddenly to shout, “Twelve fathoms.”

      “Arm the lead,” said Captain Flint.

      Dick saw Titty scoop something out of the tin with her fingers and poke it into the hole he had often noticed at the bottom of the lead.

      “Hurry up,” Captain Flint was saying, low, to himself, not for Nancy or Titty to hear. Anybody could see that they were being as quick as they could.

      Splash.

      Nancy was hauling in. She was dipping. “Eleven,” she shouted, and went on hauling, coiling as she hauled, grabbed the lead as soon as she could reach it and looked at the bottom of it. “Eleven and soft mud,” she called out.

      So that was how it was done, thought Dick. The grease on the bottom of the lead brought up a sample of the bottom to help the skipper who was feeling his way in. He knew now what was the use of those little notes dotted about on the charts … “s” for sand, “m” for mud, “sh” for shell, and so on. This was the first time he had seen them bother about arming the lead. They had often sounded to make sure of the depth when they were making ready to anchor. This time they wanted to know more. They wanted every little bit of knowledge that might help them with this white mist blindfolding their eyes.

      INTO THE MIST

      Splash.

      “Nine and a half … mud and shell …”

      “Do we … ?”

      “Shut up,” said Captain Flint. “Listen!”

      Gulls were squawking somewhere to starboard, high above them.

      “Cliff?” muttered Captain Flint.

      The chugging of the engine sounded suddenly different, as steps do when they go over a wooden bridge after walking on solid road.

      “West,” said Captain Flint to John.

      “West it is, Sir,” said John quietly.

      “If that’s the north side of the place,” said Captain Flint, we must be clear now of any tide there is across the entrance.”

      “He’s very pleased,” Dorothea whispered to Dick.

      “Nine fathom … mud and shell.”

      A bird flew close by the stern of the ship.

      “Guillemot,” said Dick. “At least, I think so.”

      “Eh! What’s that?”

      “Sorry,” said Dick. “It was only that I saw a bird.” “Something to starboard,” yelled Peggy, high in the mist. “No … It’s gone. I can’t see anything now, but there was something.”

      “She may have caught a glimpse of the cliff,” said Captain Flint to John. “We must be pretty near. Sorry. Don’t listen to me.” He grinned at Dick. “You watch your steering.”

      “West,” said John.

      They were startled next by a noise that had nothing to do with the sea. “Go back. Go back. Go back!” It was the cry of a grouse alighting.

      “We jolly well won’t,” said Roger, and earned a grim look from Susan.

      Captain Flint gave the chart to Dick. “Hang on to this,” he said, and went forward to join the misty figures on the foredeck.

      “Eight fathom,” called Nancy. “Eight fathom … mud.”

      “Seven fathom,” said Nancy, looking round to find Captain Flint close beside her.

      “Stop her,” called Captain Flint, and the throbbing of the engine quickened for a moment as Roger instantly put it out of gear.

      “Hard a starboard!”

      “Starboard,” repeated John, putting the tiller over.

      “Let go!” called Captain Flint and himself obeyed his own order. There was a heavy splash and then the rattle and roar of the chain pouring out through the fairlead on the stem.

      “Finished with engine.”

      The throbbing of the engine turned to a cough and ended.

      The Sea Bear was at anchor. Looking over the side Dick could see small flecks of foam moving slowly past her as she swung. Looking away from her he could see nothing at all but white mist.

      “Have we got in?” Nancy was asking.

      “We’re in,” said Captain Flint. “But I wouldn’t like to swear to the exact spot. Lend a hand to get that dinghy over.”

      There was a rush to set up the davits and in a few minutes the dinghy was swung out and lowered into the water.

      “John in charge of the ship,” said Captain Flint. “Come on, Nancy. Bring the lead. Somebody keep on ringing the bell … all the time. We’re not going far, but it may help us not to lose you.”

      He rowed away, with Nancy in the stern coiling the lead-line at her feet. In a few moments the dinghy, with Nancy and the skipper in it, was no longer even a dark blob in the mist. It had gone. Listening for the gentle splash of the oars, the rest of the crew were looking at each other as if to ask what was going to happen next.

      “We’re close in shore anyhow,” said John. “Hear that grouse again?”

      “And anchored,” said Susan. “Well, it’s much better than being at sea in a fog.”

      “We may have to shift again,” said John. “We may be too near in.”

      “Is that what they’ve gone to find out?” said Dorothea.

      “What about Peggy?” said Susan. “He forgot about her. She isn’t wanted up there now.”

      “Come along down, Peggy,” called John.

      “BELL!” A shout came at them out of the mist.

      “Ting … ting … ting … ting … ting …” came the answer. The shout had met Roger just as he came happily up from the engine room after shutting off the petrol and giving the engine a wipe over with an oily rag.

      “He said we were to keep on ringing,” said Titty, and took the rag with which Roger was wiping his fingers and used it to wipe the grease off her own.

      “All right,” said Roger, “I will,” and he kept the bell ringing, “Ting … ting … ting … ting …”

      “Quiet a minute,” said John, coming aft from the foredeck where he had been making a neat stow of the staysail so that it could be hoisted again at a moment’s notice. “Listen!”

      “Seven fathom,” they heard Nancy’s voice away in the mist.

      “Ting … ting … ting …”

      “And again.” That was Captain