Ben rubbed the sleep from his eyes and then accepted the mug of steaming tea.
“You’re really kind, Badge,” he said, as he took his first sip of the hot liquid.
“That’s what friends are for,” Badger replied, smiling. “Besides, I woke up at least an hour ago and was just too excited to go back to sleep.”
“I think I was dreaming about the Roaring Forties when you woke me up,” said Ben. “I dreamt there were massive waves and the ship was tilting right over.”
Badger smiled again. “That’s what it’s going to be like,” he said. “Only it won’t be a dream.” They sailed down the coast of Ireland, through the Irish Sea and then out into the open Atlantic. The Atlantic is one of the great oceans of the world, and only seagoing ships, tough and well-made, can stand some of the conditions found there. The famous Atlantic swell is one of the hardest tests awaiting sailors – these are vast mountains of water that travel from one side of the ocean to the other, lifting up and then dropping whatever floats on them. Then there are the waves themselves, which can be higher than a house and sometimes break with immense force, crushing whatever is below them under tons of cascading water.
On the Tobermory, new rules were issued by the Captain.
“When you’re on deck,” he announced to the crew as they left the protective cover of the Irish coast, “if the sea is rough, you must – and I mean really must – have lifelines clipped on to your lifejackets at all times. Anybody found on deck in such conditions without a lifeline will have to answer to Mr Rigger and me. And we shall not be lenient – I can assure you of that. Isn’t that so, Mr Rigger?”
Mr Rigger nodded gravely. “I’ve seen people swept off deck in a big sea,” he warned. “If they’d been wearing lifelines, they would still be with us.” He paused. “Instead of which, they’re down below in Davy Jones’ Locker now.”
“That means they drowned,” whispered Poppy.
Ben gave an involuntary shiver. He could hardly imagine what it must be like to be swept overboard and to realise that you might not be rescued. The trouble with going overboard in high seas is that you can very quickly disappear behind a large wave and people on board might not spot you. He shivered again. He would wear his lifeline – he was certain of that.
For their first few days in the Atlantic, the ocean behaved itself. Although there was a small swell, the sea was calm and everyone was wondering what all those dire warnings had been about. But then, on the third day out, they awoke to a sky of dark grey clouds. The wind was rising now and it was beginning to whistle through the rigging, making a long, low moaning sound, rather like an animal in distress.
The Captain gave the order for lifejackets to be worn and for lifelines to be attached. Mr Rigger checked everybody before they went on deck, sending anybody who had forgotten to put on a lifejacket back down below to find one. Up on deck, it was the turn of Poppy, Fee and Angela to be on watch. Poppy was at the helm and Fee was standing immediately beside her. Angela was in charge of watching the compass, giving Poppy a warning when she needed to steer the ship back on course.
It all happened very quickly – as things at sea so often do. One moment everything is all right and going smoothly, and the next something dreadful has occurred and there is a full-scale emergency.
Poppy had spotted Flubber crossing the deck, on his way to join Shark and Hardtack, who were on starboard watch at the time.
“Flubber!” shouted Poppy. “Your lifejacket! Where is it? The Captain says we’re all to wear lifejackets and have lifelines until this wind dies down.”
Flubber halted in his tracks and stared at Poppy. Then, cupping his hands so that he could be heard against the wailing of the wind, he shouted his response: “Mind your own business!”
Poppy felt the anger well up within her. It was her business, because if Flubber were to be washed overboard when she was at the helm, she would have to steer the ship round to rescue him. No, she had every right to tell him to put on his lifejacket.
“Flubber,” she said, “I’m at the helm and I’m telling you – put on your lifejacket!”
But Flubber simply laughed what, if things had turned out just a little differently, might have been the very last laugh of his life.
Flubber continued to saunter across the deck and did not see the huge wave building up off the side of the Tobermory. This was a rogue wave – the name given to a large wave that comes from an unexpected direction. A large enough rogue wave can sink a ship if it hits it in the wrong place. This wave did not do that, but it did break over the deck of the Tobermory, flooding it badly, washing various ropes and buckets over the side and into the angry sea below.
Shocked and surprised, Flubber was knocked off his feet as well and carried at great speed across the deck by the surge of water. He might very easily have been washed off the deck altogether and into the open sea had he not managed to grab onto the railings as he headed off the side. This left him half on the ship and half off it, clinging with all his strength, shouting for help at the top of his voice.
The crash of the waves and the howling of the wind drowned his cries, with the result that his friends Hardtack and Shark did not hear him. Nor did they see him, as they were looking out to sea in the opposite direction when all this happened. Poppy saw him, though, as did Fee, and they both gave a shout.
“Flubber! Flubber’s going overboard!”
Not far away, Badger heard them. Looking up, on the other side of the deck he saw two hands gripping the railing, hanging on for dear life. Without a second’s hesitation, Badger launched himself across the deck, wading through the last of the draining water to reach his imperilled shipmate. As Badger reached the side, Flubber was just about to let go – it can be very hard to support yourself like that. Fortunately, he still had a few ounces of strength left in him, and this kept him from disappearing into the sea.
“Hold on!” shouted Badger as he took hold of Flubber’s wrists. “I’m going to pull you back on board.”
Badger tensed his muscles and then, with a supreme effort, gave as strong a yank as he could manage. This brought Flubber back onto the deck, wet right through, panting and spluttering every bit as much as if he were a fish hauled from the water.
Mr Rigger appeared. He had heard Poppy and Fee shouting and had come up on deck to see what was happening. Now, peering down at the sodden bundle that was Maximilian Flubber, he spoke firmly to the rescued boy. “Why no lifejacket, Mr Flubber?” he asked. “Didn’t you hear what the Captain said?”
Flubber sat up and tried to wipe the salt water out of his eyes.
“I was just putting it on, Mr Rigger,” he said. “Then this great big wave came and washed it out of my hands. I promise you that’s what happened.”
It was a lie, of course – Flubber was always telling lies – and his ears started to wiggle, as they always did when he lied.
“Is that so?” Mr Rigger asked Badger. “Did you see all this, Tomkins?”
Badger did not know what to say. Nobody likes telling tales, but at the same time nobody – except people like Flubber – wants to tell a direct lie. The problem was, of course, that he had not seen Flubber with his lifejacket.
“Well?” said Mr Rigger. He stared at Badger, waiting for the boy to answer, but Badger simply remained silent.
Flubber spoke. “Can I get up, Mr Rigger?” he asked. “I’ve got water in my ears and I need to get it out.”
Mr Rigger sighed. “Yes, I suppose so, but listen to me, Flubber. You could have been drowned right before our eyes. Never, ever forget your lifejacket when the wind and the sea are in this mood. Remember that.”
Flubber rose to his feet and Mr Rigger went back below.
“I hope you’re all right,” said Badger. “That was a close thing.”
Flubber was dismissive. “I was never going to drown,” he said. “People like me don’t drown, you know. It’s you guys who drown because you’re useless swimmers.”
Badger ignored thi
s provocation. He knew there was no point arguing with people like Flubber. Rather, he would give a full report to the Captain, so that he might know exactly what was going on. If he wanted to punish Flubber, then that was the Captain’s business.
By now, Hardtack had come across to find out what had happened.
“You okay, Flubs?” asked Hardtack. “These people bothering you?”
Badger drew in his breath. The sheer cheek of Hardtack’s comment astonished him. He had saved Flubber’s life, and now Hardtack was beginning to threaten him.
Flubber looked down at the deck. He did not look at Badger as he spoke. “It’s all right, Tacky,” he said, “I’m fine.”
Hardtack gave Badger a warning glance and then led Flubber back to where Shark was standing. Badger went to join Poppy and Fee, who were still standing at the helm and who were eager to hear exactly what had happened.
“I can’t believe it,” said Poppy. “Flubber should have thanked you for saving his life.”
Poppy was right, of course – Flubber had not said so much as the smallest thank you. But that evening, when they were all in the mess hall having their dinner, Flubber appeared behind Badger’s chair and whispered something in his ear.
“I meant to say thank you,” he said. “And I would have said it if it hadn’t been for …” He left the sentence unfinished.
“If it hadn’t been for what?” asked Badger.
Flubber looked nervously in the direction of the table where Hardtack and Shark were sitting. “If it hadn’t been for Tacky,” he said. “He didn’t want me to.”
For a while, Badger said nothing. But Flubber’s words made him think. Some people appear bad, but maybe they are really not quite as bad as you think they are. Sometimes they are under the influence of some stronger, nastier person. Perhaps Flubber was like that. He was weak and Hardtack was strong, and Hardtack knew that he could bully him into doing his bidding.
Badger looked into Flubber’s eyes. He saw weakness there – and fear.
“It’s all right, Flubber,” he said quietly. “I know it can’t be easy being Hardtack’s friend.”
Flubber looked back at him with gratitude. “Thanks, Badger,” he said, his voice so low as to be almost inaudible. “I’ll remember that.”
Four weeks later, as they sailed off the coast of South America, the winds died down and the sea became much friendlier. Instead of huge rollers travelling from horizon to horizon, there were now small, well-behaved waves that could barely be felt on a big ship like the Tobermory. It was warmer, too. The wind further north had been cool and sometimes even cold. Now it was like the breath of a large animal on the skin – a comfortable feeling that would never make you shiver or seek shelter. The sun too shone without interruption from dawn until dusk, dancing on the surface of the water with golden shoes.
Now that there was less work to do on deck, ordinary lessons had begun again in the classrooms down below. Miss Worsfold started her geography lessons and introduced everybody to currents and the effect they had not only on ships but also on the weather.
“There’s a very important current called El Niño,” she explained. “It flows off the west coast of South America, but it’s responsible for droughts and floods all over the world.”
She drew a picture on the board. “That’s a big current,” she said. “There are smaller, weaker currents all around us, and if you’re a sailor you should know about them. Why?” she asked.
Angela Singh put up her hand. “Because they can give you a free ride,” she said. “A boat can go much faster if a current helps it along.”
Miss Worsfold nodded. “Or more slowly,” she said, “if it goes against the current. That’s more like walking uphill.”
Currents came into other lessons too, such as the maths class that Mr Rigger taught each morning.
“Let’s imagine,” he began, “that there’s a current of 1.2 knots going east to west. Let’s imagine too that you’re on a ship following a course west to east – that is, against the current. The wind is pushing you along at six knots an hour and you sail for five hours.” He paused, looking out over the heads of the class. “How far will you have travelled at the end of those five hours?”
Ben looked at Badger, who frowned. Badger was good at doing this sort of calculation. “Come on, Badge,” he whispered. “You can work this out with your eyes shut.”
Badger did close his eyes, but only briefly. Then he opened them and raised his hand.
“Twenty-four miles,” he said.
“Wrong,” said Mr Rigger.
Badger looked puzzled. “But six multiplied by five is thirty. Then you take away 1.2 multiplied by five, which is six, and you get twenty-four miles.”
Mr Rigger shook a finger. “You’re forgetting something.”
Poppy suddenly realised what it was that Badger had forgotten. “Nautical miles!” she burst out.
Mr Rigger clapped his hands together. “Exactly,” he said. “A mile is 1,760 yards or 1,609.34 metres. A nautical mile, which is the same as a knot is …”
“One thousand eight hundred and fifty-two metres,” supplied Angela Singh.
“That’s right,” said Mr Rigger. “So that means that the correct answer to our question is twenty-four nautical miles, which is a bit further than twenty-four miles.”
From the back of the class there came a sniggering sound. And then, just loud enough to be heard by Badger but not by Mr Rigger, Geoffrey Shark muttered, “Stupid! Anybody would have known that it was nautical miles and not ordinary miles. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
Badger bit his lip. He was sure that Shark would not have been able to work it out himself and was in no position to laugh at others.
“Ignore him,” whispered Poppy. “Just ignore him.”
“I’m glad Badger’s not navigating the Tobermory,” came a loud whisper from Maximilian Flubber.
But this was too much for Poppy, who spun round in her seat and glared in Flubber’s direction. “Have you forgotten who saved your life?” she hissed.
Flubber looked away. For a moment he looked ashamed, but then his usual pudding-like expression returned to his face.
Yet Ben, at least, having noticed Flubber’s reaction, thought perhaps there was a chance that the unpleasant threesome of Hardtack, Shark and Flubber might not be as united as they would like people to believe. Perhaps sooner or later Flubber or Shark would realise that Hardtack was just dragging them down and they would make a real effort to get away from his influence. But even if they realised this, would they act on it? Could Flubber or Shark ever take that all-important first step of telling Hardtack to his face that they wanted nothing more to do with his tricks and plotting? That would be the real test. Ben was not sure, but, on balance, he thought they would not. The Tobermory made its way down the coast of South America. Now they were off Brazil, the largest country on the continent, and would follow the Brazilian shore until the time came to turn off sharply to the east and head for Australia. The crew knew that once they did that the Roaring Forties would lie ahead. That part of the voyage would be tough, but by now they all had their sea legs and would be able to cope with the deck going violently up and down for days on end. For the time being, though, they had calm waters and a view of beaches and jungle to keep them happy.
Nothing eventful occurred during this section of the journey, except for one thing, which happened to Henry, the Captain’s dog. Henry was a popular member of the crew. He had no real duties, although he would sometimes warn smaller boats if they were in the way of the Tobermory. In such instances, he would sit up on the prow of the ship and bark loudly as a signal to the other boats that they risked collision if they did not give way to the large sailing ship. Usually, other sailors appreciated his warning and would wave cheerfully to Henry, who would give an encouraging bark in response.
When he was not acting as a look-out in this way, Henry would sometimes take up a position at the rail and look wistfully out to sea. It was no secret
what he was doing on these occasions. The story went that Henry had once dived into the water and brought back a mermaid on board. The mermaid had been none too pleased about this, and after being given a bowl of soup had slithered off the deck, back into the sea. Now, people said, Henry was looking out to sea in the hope of finding another mermaid.
But of course, like so many stories you hear at sea, it simply was not true. Nobody has ever seen a mermaid – not a real one – and there are no photographs to prove that they even exist. So the safest thing to do, when there are no photographs, is to conclude that people are just making things up or passing on a story that someone else has told them.
It was a Saturday morning when there were no lessons. The Tobermory was sailing gently along, and although there had to be a few people on watch, helping with the lines or handling the helm, most students were playing chess or cards, or drawing in their sketch books, or writing letters home that would be posted at the next harbour.
Henry was sitting halfway along the main deck, his tail stretched out behind him, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his dark wet nose. He was not thinking of anything in particular – dogs often think of nothing at all – although every now and then he formed a mental picture of his dinner and imagined he could already smell the gravy that would later be ladled into his bowl.
It was while he was day-dreaming in this way that a school of flying fish was swimming past. Flying fish are a very strange sort of fish. Most fish cannot fly, just as most birds cannot swim underwater. Flying fish, though, are equipped with a small set of flippers that act as wings when they launch themselves out of the water. Once they do, their stubby wings flap at high speed, making a whirring sound, just as if they are being powered by a loud clockwork motor. It is a sort of bbbzzz sound.
Miss Worsfold had explained all about flying fish during one of her lessons.
“They can’t breathe out of water,” she said, “so they can’t stay in the air too long.”
The Race to Kangaroo Cliff Page 3