Читать книгу Missee Lee - Arthur Ransome - Страница 9

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Going to bed was easy. It meant no more than wriggling into their sleeping-bags and hopefully feeling for soft places on a hard bench. Going to sleep was much more difficult. In spite of everything, pirates or no pirates, even Nancy more than half expected that Captain Flint would meet someone who really did know English and that at any minute she would hear the noise of a boat coming off to bring them ashore. For a long time they lay awake listening to the pad pad of the watchman on deck, listening for land noises, wondering what was going to happen and, now that twenty-four hours and more had passed, living as if for the first time through the burning of the Wild Cat. They slept and woke to hear a new noise. The pad pad of the watchman had come to an end. Instead they heard the squeaking and scurrying of rats, and Peggy would not be satisfied until they had got up and searched all round the cabin by the light of the hanging lantern to make sure that, though the rats might spend the whole night dancing on the decks and down below, there was no hole by which they could get in to join the prisoners.

They had no idea what time it was when they woke next morning. Light was coming through cracks in the shutter outside the window and under the cabin-door. The lantern had burnt out. They listened. They thought they could hear voices far away, and the calls of birds, the squawking of jays and the high whistling note of a kite. But aboard the junk there was not a sound that they did not make themselves.

“I wish we hadn’t eaten all the rice,” said Nancy, looking in the empty bowl.

“Can’t we get out?” said Peggy.

“See what that watchman says about it,” said Nancy, and started banging at the door.

There was no answer.

“If he’s gone ashore too ...” said Nancy, as she hammered at the door again and began feeling round the edge of it with her fingers.

“They can’t have forgotten us,” said Peggy.

“They’ve no right to shut us up,” said Nancy.

“What are you doing?” asked Peggy a minute or two later.

“There’s something here I can jiggle,” said Nancy, who was poking with her scout knife between the door and its frame. “I moved it a quarter of an inch.”

“Better not,” said Peggy. “They’ll be pretty furious if we break anything.”

“Their own fault,” said Nancy, who was now working hard, poking her knife through the crack and then using it as a lever. “It’s moving, whatever it is.”

“What’ll we do if we do get out?”

“Walk about on deck,” said Nancy. “Why shouldn’t we? And if we see anybody we can yell to them to hurry up with our breakfast. Look here. The thing’s stuck. Come and shove your weight against the door.”

“What’s the good?” said Peggy.

“Don’t be a galoot,” said Nancy. “It was you who thought of getting out. Now we’re going to. No. Don’t just lean. Shove. There. I shifted it another quarter inch. Give it a good shove. ... No.... Not like that.... Barbecued billygoats, it isn’t a china cupboard. If it busts, it busts. Come on. One, two, three!”

There was a noise of splitting wood, the door flung open and the two of them landed in a heap on the deck outside. Nancy, with her head on the deck, saw, two yards in front of her, a pair of huge bare feet with enormous toes. She scrambled up in a hurry. Slumped on the deck, with his shoulders against the bulwarks, lay their Chinese guard. His head had fallen sideways. His mouth was open. A little box and a tiny metal pipe with a bamboo stem lay by his side.

“Hey,” said Nancy. “We want breakfast!” She leaned over the man, sniffed, made a face and shook him by the shoulder.

The man grunted as she let go of him, but did not speak. He did not even open his eyes.

“Opium, I expect,” said Nancy. “Smells horrible.”

“He’s dead,” said Peggy, shrinking back into the door of the cabin.

“He isn’t. Didn’t you hear him grunt? You can see him breathing. Hey, you!” she shouted, bending down once more.

There was no answer. Guard or night watchman, whatever he was, the man lay hopelessly asleep.

“Pig!” said Nancy. “Well, at least we can see things. I say, it isn’t a harbour at all.”

The junk was lying in the mouth of a river. Green forest stretched along the nearer shore, with hills behind it. On the other side a high bare cliff rose into the sky. A few hundred yards up the river they could see some brown buildings, partly hidden by trees. A long way upstream other junks were at anchor.

“There may be a proper harbour further up,” said Nancy. “That looks like a fort. And one on the other side under that cliff. And look at all those logs. There are people about somewhere.”

“I can’t see any,” said Peggy.

“I can hear them. Somewhere in behind those trees. Sounds like a monkey-house. And listen to that gong.”

“Are those people coming along the top of the cliff?”

“I wish we had a telescope,” said Nancy. “Gosh! We made a bit of a mess of that latch. Their fault, anyway, fastening us up.”

“Can’t we mend it before someone comes?” said Peggy.

“And fasten ourselves up again inside?” said Nancy. “Not me.” She looked over the side. “Come on. Let’s have a squint at Amazon.” She went up on the poop and looked down into Amazon, floating astern at the end of her painter. “Beasts!” said Nancy to herself. “They might at least have put the bottomboards straight. All lying cockeye. Pretty strong current. Look at it swirling under her bows.... Oh, here you are!” Peggy had made a dash across the deck, without looking at the sleeping man, and was on the poop beside her.

“I wish someone would come,” she said.

“Lend a hand with the painter,” said Nancy. “We’ll bring Amazon alongside. I’m going down to put those bottomboards straight and get some of the water out. They gave her an awful bump bringing her aboard.”

Nancy unfastened the painter from a bollard on the poop and towed her along, coming down again on the middle deck, followed unwillingly by Peggy.

“Keep her just like that,” said Nancy.

Peggy took the painter, looking nervously over her shoulder at the body of the watchman. Nancy climbed over the bulwarks between two of the cannon, found a hold for her feet, then another, and dropped down into her own old ship.

“Jibbooms and bobstays, what a beastly mess,” she said. “Lucky we wedged the baler under the stern sheets.”

She began scooping out the water.

“Nancy,” came Peggy’s voice from overhead. “I can’t stay on board with it ... with him....”

“All right,” said Nancy, tossing out water as fast as she could. “Come down and bale.”

Peggy climbed over the bulwarks and came down. Nancy took a waving foot and planted it for her. Peggy dropped down into the boat.

“Now,” said Nancy. “You bale, and I’ll get things straight. Put your weight on that side. I’ll get that bottomboard out of the way. Go ahead. I don’t believe she’s leaking really badly. Perhaps they just got a lot in when they put her over. Get her clear and we’ll see if it’s coming in anywhere.... PEGGY! What did you do with the painter?”

“I’m sure I made it fast,” stuttered Peggy.

“Well, it isn’t fast now.”

Already the little Amazon had drifted clear of the junk, her long painter trailing on the water.

“Rowlocks!” cried Nancy. “Oars!” and then, “Great jumping Giminy, they’re aboard the junk.”

“We’re going out to sea,” said Peggy. “Oh, if only we’d stayed in the cabin.”

Already the current was sweeping them out of the mouth of the river. The feathery tops of palms along the nearer shore were moving fast across the hills behind them.

“Get amidships,” said Nancy. “And bale. Go on baling. I can paddle her with one of the bottomboards.... From the stern. Be quick. Don’t tip her over. The more water you get out the steadier she’ll be. We’ve got to get back.”

“We’re moving like anything,” said Peggy.

“Of course we are. Don’t be a tame galoot. You bale and go on baling.”

With one of the bottomboards she set to work to drive Amazon upstream, back to the junk. That high, carved, painted stern was already far away and growing further. Nancy dipped her bottomboard, pushed as hard as she could, lifted, dipped and pushed again. Amazon wallowed round in circles, all the time drifting out towards the open sea. Nancy tried another way. With one hand on one end of the bottomboard and the other arm against the middle of it, keeping the awkward thing sideways as if it were a paddle, she managed to keep Amazon at least heading in the right direction.

“We’re still going the wrong way,” said Peggy.

“Shut up,” snapped Nancy. “You bale. Yapping doesn’t help.”

“Someone’s seen us,” said Peggy. “I heard a shout.”

“They’ll have to bring a boat,” said Nancy. “Go on. Don’t stop baling.”

Peggy baled. Nancy worked the bottomboard as well as she could, putting all the strength she had into each stroke. She glanced to the left. That high cliff over there had ended. Nothing that way but sea. She looked at the wooded shore on her right. The trees there were still slipping in the wrong direction. There was no hope of getting back to the junk, but she might be able to get to that shore before it was too late. She changed her plan and instead of trying to drive Amazon upstream tried to work her across the current and nearer to the trees. Along there the stream might not run so fast. But all the time those trees were sweeping past. She took one of them for a mark and drove towards it, but presently had to take another and then another.

“We’re nearer than we were,” she panted at last.

“There’s someone running through the trees,” said Peggy.

“We’re going to do it,” said Nancy. “If my arms don’t break first.”

Quite suddenly she knew that they had done it. They were much nearer to the shore. The current was weaker. She looked for a likely place to land. There was a gap, where a creek seemed to go in among the overhanging branches of queer trees with monstrous fleshy leaves. With a last effort she drove Amazon towards it.

“She’s nearly dry,” said Peggy.

“About time,” said Nancy.

They were in still water. Great leaves drooped towards them. Peggy grabbed a branch and pulled. Amazon slid on, trees on either side of her. She grounded.

“Can’t pole her up with no oar,” said Nancy. “Hop out.”

They splashed over the side and sank to the knees in mud. They hauled the boat with them, till they found firmer ground under their feet.

“Narrow squeak,” panted Nancy. She took the painter and made it fast round a tree. “She won’t get away this time,” she said.

“I’m awfully sorry, Nancy,” said Peggy.

“Over now,” said Nancy. “I wonder what sort of a slip knot you made. Anyway, we’ve landed on the coast of China.”

There was a noise of running feet. Three Chinese pushed their way through the trees, grabbed Nancy and Peggy and, in a moment, tied their hands behind their backs.

“All right, all right,” said Nancy. “We weren’t trying to run away. We want our breakfast. Laugh, Peggy, you goat. Don’t let them think we mind.”

The Chinese, chattering among themselves, hurried them off through the trees in the direction from which they had come.