Читать книгу Swallowdale - Arthur Ransome - Страница 12

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Mate Susan always knew the right thing to do, and she knew now that even if it were the end of the world nobody who could help it ought to hang about in wet clothes. The right thing to do was to make a fire and to make it at once. While the others were still thinking about what had happened, Susan had gone at once to yesterday’s fireplace on the beach, where the stream ran out into the cove. There were dry, charred sticks left there from yesterday’s fire, and she gathered a few dead leaves and built her usual little wigwam over them of dry twigs and scraps of reed as if this had been a picnic instead of a shipwreck. She couldn’t help dripping wherever she moved, but she kept the twigs as dry as possible. Then she felt in the pocket of her shirt for the box of matches which she carried there, together with her mate’s whistle. The matchbox came to pieces in her fingers. The matches were soaked. The wetting did not hurt the whistle, though there was a good deal of water in it, but it was no good even trying to strike wet matches. Susan blew the whistle instead.

“Go and see what the mate wants,” said Captain John. Roger went off as hard as he could go.

The others were still out on the point, watching to see if anything else would float up from the wreck and drift ashore. Both the oars had been rescued in this way, and Peggy was using one of them to catch another piece of flotsam, the knapsack full of towels and bathing things. It was waterlogged and almost sinking. Peggy scooped it towards the shore with the oar and as soon as she could reach it picked it up and went off with it after Roger.

“Captain John,” said Nancy Blackett at last, “why was it you threw the anchor out just before she went down?”

“Because I want to try to get her up,” said John. “If we can get hold of it, it’ll help us to get her into shallow water.”

“She wants matches,” they heard Roger shout.

Nancy felt in her pocket, but they heard Peggy call out, “I’ve got some.”

As soon as she had lit the fire and seen the first flames licking up among the sticks, Susan took the rescued knapsack from Peggy and emptied the wet bathing things and towels out on the beach. “That’s lucky,” she said. “Off with your things, Roger, and get into your bathers. Then you can go on getting as wet as you like while I’m getting your clothes dry. We’ll all change. What are the others doing?”

“They’re out on the point,” said Peggy.

Susan blew her whistle hard two or three times.

“She wants us too,” said Titty.

“Coming,” shouted John and Titty. Nancy and he hurried over the rocks from the point and joined the others by the fire.

Roger was already struggling out of his wet clothes.

“You’d both better change,” said Susan.

“I’m going to, anyway,” said John. “I’m going down to have a look at her.”

“And you must, whatever you’re going to do,” said Susan to the able-seaman. “And then turn to and get more wood.”

“That’s the way, Mister Mate,” said Nancy Blackett. “Keep your crew on the jump and there’ll be no time for mutiny.”

In the end the Amazons changed too, for company’s sake, and then, running about like savages, they gathered wood and built up a fire big enough for a corroboree. Susan took the rope that had been used for rescuing Roger, and made it into a clothes-line. They squeezed as much water as they could out of their sodden clothes and then hung some of them on the line, and spread others on the stones near the fire.

Presently Susan said that the fire was big enough, and John and Nancy went off again to the point off which Swallow had gone down.

“Can we go too?” asked Roger.

“The moment you begin to feel cold,” said Susan, “go into the water and swim as hard as you can.”

Titty and Roger went off after the others, leaving the two mates with the fire. They reached the point in time to see John dive in, bob up again, and swim towards the Pike Rock. Suddenly he turned half over and went under without a splash. The wind was veering to the south now, and not as hard as it had been. It was as if it felt that after sinking Swallow it might take a rest. But there was still a good ripple on the water and the morning sun was in the eyes of the watchers on the point, so that they could not see at all what John was doing.

He was under a long time, but came up at last close to the Pike Rock. He rested there, holding to the rock with one hand. With the other he held up Susan’s black kettle.

“Hurrah,” cried Nancy.

“Susan,” called Titty, “he’s got the kettle.”

John pushed off from the rock and swimming with one hand and carrying the kettle in the other, keeping it under water so that it was not heavy, he swam ashore.

“Did you see the eggs?” asked Susan. She and Peggy had come running from the fire when they heard Nancy’s shout.

“Or a frying-pan?” asked Titty. “I had a frying-pan as well as the basket of eggs.”

“The frying-pan’s there all right,” said John, “but I didn’t see the eggs. They must have floated out in the basket and then been swamped. Half a minute and I’ll go down again. It’s not as deep as I thought it would be.”

He swam out again and went under, coming up with the frying-pan, which he threw ashore.

The next time he dived he brought up the knapsack with the day’s food in it. He brought it to the top of the water and then kicked himself ashore, swimming with his legs only.

Susan opened the knapsack anxiously. “The pemmican’s all right,” she said, as she pulled out the tin, “and the spoons and the knife and the marmalade, and the butter. . . . But the bread and the seed-cake are all soppy . . . and the sugar’s soaking through everything.”

“We’ve got some bread,” said Nancy, “but we counted on you for the tea.”

“What about the milk?” said Susan.

“The bottle’s all right,” said John, “but the milk’s just a cloud in the water.”

“We can get milk at Swainson’s farm,” said Peggy. “We often do. It’s not far.”

“Is Swallow very much hurt?” said Titty. She had been wanting to ask each time John came up.

“I simply can’t see,” said John. “There’s such a tangle round the bows with the broken mast and the sail settling down there. I know she’s stove in, but we can’t tell how badly she’s hurt until we get her out.”

“Can we get her out?” Nancy, Peggy, Titty, Susan and Roger all asked that question at once. Indeed, looking at the rippled water, with nothing showing above it but the wicked point of the Pike Rock, it was difficult to believe that the Swallow had not disappeared for ever.

“I don’t know,” said John.

“They often do get up sunk boats,” said Peggy.

“It’ll be all right,” said Nancy. “Captain Flint’s coming to-day, and he’ll howk her up in two jiffs.”

That settled it. It was bad enough to have lost the ship, but for Captain Flint to come for the first time this year to join the explorers and to find the Swallow at the bottom of the lake would be altogether unbearable. John climbed up out of the water and sat on a rock to rest and consider what he would do next.

“We mustn’t let the fire go down,” said Susan. “Come on, you two. I want all the wood you can get. And you must keep moving and not hang about while the clothes are drying. Let’s see if we can do anything with the seed-cake.”

“It might get all right if we dried it by the fire and then fried it in slices,” said Peggy.

The two mates, the able-seaman and the boy went back to the fire.

When they had gone, Captain Nancy looked at Captain John. “Have you got a plan?” she said.

“It may not work,” said John.

At the very moment of Swallow’s sinking, with the shore so near and yet out of reach, the plan had come into his head. Somewhere, in some book, someone had done something like it. It was this plan, so shadowy that it could hardly be called a plan, that had made him at the last moment use all the strength he had in throwing Swallow’s anchor towards the shore. He had often wished she had a heavier anchor. To-day he had been glad that it was light. But, after all, what had he done? Not much. But he had been down to Swallow under water. The water was not as deep as he had feared. There was no doubt in his mind that Captain Flint and a few other strong natives could get her up. But he wanted more than that. He wanted to get her up without them, and, thanks to that anchor, lying somewhere between the wreck and the point, he thought he could. For the anchor rope was fastened to a ring-bolt in Swallow’s bows, and it was just there that he could not safely go without the risk of being mixed up in sail and ropes. If he had had that rope to fasten there, he might have had to give up his whole plan. But, it was fastened already, and if he could get hold of the anchor and bring the rope ashore. . . . He was almost glad the others had gone back to the fire. He almost wished Nancy had gone too. But someone would be wanted if the plan worked at all.

DIVING FOR THE ANCHOR

He swam off again and, carefully judging his distance from the Pike Rock and from the shore, dived down once more to the wreck. Dim and misty she lay down there. It was only when he had his eyes close to a bit of her that it looked solid and he could be certain what it was. It had been easy enough getting kettle and saucepan and knapsack. He knew where they were in her, stowed in the broadest part of her, by the middle thwart. He could hold on to that and find what he wanted as much by feel as by sight. It was different now. He dared not go too near that tangle of mast and ropes and sail about her bows, and yet he wanted the rope that led there, the rope with the anchor at its other end. Down he went, down to the stern of the wreck. Then swimming with his legs and using his hands to keep him close to the stones on the bottom he tried to swim in a half-circle round the wreck and between the wreck and the shore. Somewhere in that half-circle he must find the anchor rope. This was harder than picking saucers off the bottom of the swimming-bath at school. He counted to himself . . . Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen . . . at twenty he would have to come up . . . eighteen, nineteen, twenty . . . twenty-one. . . . There! There was the rope, but he was already shooting upwards, and a moment later was spluttering and blowing on the surface.

He got his breath again and dived once more. There was the wreck. No need now to begin his semicircle from the stern. The rope was more than half-way round it. It would be close to him now. Now . . . there it was . . . a long, grey, thin snake squirming away into the brown shadows. He grabbed it, lifted it off the bottom and swam along it, letting it run between his thumb and first finger. . . . He saw the anchor just before he came to it. He let go the rope, took the anchor by a fluke, and, using his feet on the bottom now, shifted the anchor a yard, two yards, three yards, until the rope drew taut and he could hold his breath no more.

“I’ve found it,” he spluttered as he came to the top. “And I’ve moved it a good bit farther in.”

But there was no Nancy. For a moment John thought he had stayed under so long that she had run off to tell the others he had got stuck. But before he had let out a cheering shout to show that he was all right, he saw Nancy hurrying over the rocks to the end of the point. In her hand she had Amazon’s anchor rope.

“Have you found the anchor?” she called.

“Yes,” said John.

“Why not make this rope fast to it, so that we can haul it in from the shore? It’ll be a dreadful job shifting it under water.”

He knew it was. Nancy really was a sailor. That was something he ought to have thought of himself. He came ashore, rested a moment, and then swam off with one end of Nancy’s rope, which she paid out from the point.

“Let’s have a lot loose,” he called, and then, taking the end in his mouth, for he did not think he could swim down with one hand, he dived again, found the anchor, this time without difficulty, made fast Nancy’s rope to it, shot up and swam ashore.

Nancy was already hauling in on her rope. In it came, and then straightened, tautened. There was a jerk.

“It’s coming.”

The rope fell slack and tautened again. She hauled in, and John suddenly splashed under water from the point. Swallow’s anchor was in sight. He seized hold of it and clambered out.

“Well done, Nancy,” he said. “It would have taken ages if you hadn’t thought of that.”

“You’ve got a jolly good crew,” said Nancy. “If they hadn’t coiled your anchor-rope as it should be coiled it would have jammed, as sure as eggs is eggs, and you might never have been able to throw it clear.”

Even to be ashore and to hold Swallow’s anchor and to pull the rope taut and feel Swallow at the other end of it was enough to make things seem more hopeful.

“We could shift her now,” said Nancy.

“It’s an awfully rough bottom,” said John. “All stones. I’m going to try to get the ballast out of her first.”

“How much is there?”

“Six pigs of lead, five little ones and a big one.”

“I wish I could take a turn at the diving,” said Nancy, “but it’s no good. I simply can’t keep under.”

“It’s all right,” said John. “I’m not tired a bit. I’ll take your rope and make it fast to a pig of ballast. You start hauling when I give two jerks.”

He fixed Swallow’s anchor among the rocks on the point, unfastened Nancy’s rope and swam out, towing the rope behind him. Down he went, grabbed the thwart of the Swallow with one hand, got a grip on it with his legs, and quickly, as quickly as ever he could, counting to himself as he did it, pushed the end of the rope through the loop on the top of a pig of ballast, tied two half-hitches, lifted the pig over the side, jerked twice on the rope and shot up in a hurry.

“How many did you say there were?” asked Nancy.

“Five more,” he panted. “But the rest’ll be easier. I know how to do it now.”

“Tie two of them together,” said Nancy. “They don’t weigh much under water.”

But it was just the tying that was the trouble. The little bit of extra work, in threading the rope through two of the stiff rope-loops on the pigs of lead instead of through one, was just too much, and he had to come to the top to breathe without making the rope fast at all. So he gave that up and they were content with one pig of lead at a time. Five more times he went down. Five times Nancy felt two eager jerks on the rope and was hauling a pig of lead ashore as John’s dripping head shot up out of the water.

“Now then,” he said, as he swam ashore after making fast the last pig. “It’s no good trying to free the mast and sail. If the sail gets torn we’ll have to mend it. Let’s try if she’ll come now. Her bows aren’t pointing this way though. Let’s try, gently.”

They took hold of Swallow’s anchor rope and pulled, gently at first, and then harder. Something stirred far down and sent a quiver through the rope into their fingers. They pulled again and it was almost as if they could hear Swallow move on the bottom of the lake.

“Steady now,” said John. “I’m going down to have a look.”

He was gone with a splash, but was up again in a moment or two.

“Her head’s come round a lot,” he said. “It’s all right.”

Again they pulled. The rope came in and they could feel Swallow lifting over the stones. With her ballast out she weighed very little more than water.

“I can see her,” said John, almost under his breath, as if he were telling of a miracle.

“We can’t do anything with her here,” said Nancy, “with the rocks dropping down so steep. We must get her round into the cove to beach her. Hi, Peggy! Peggy! We must get some of them on the rope, and we’ll go down into the water to fend her off.”

Peggy came running.

“You take the anchor,” said Nancy, “and crawl round the point. Don’t pull too hard.”

“They’ve got her up,” yelled Peggy, at the top of her voice.

“They’ve got her up,” echoed Roger shrilly, dropping the bit of driftwood he was carrying and setting off as hard as he could go for the point. Titty hurried after him, and Susan, after one more look, to see that none of the clothes were in danger of scorching, went after them.

“Half a minute,” said Captain John, who was in the water again up to his neck, feeling round the bows of the Swallow. “I’ll cut the halyard, so that we can get away the mast and sail. Anybody got a knife?”

As everybody was in bathing things, nobody had.

“Get the ship’s knife, Peggy,” said Nancy. “Stir those stumps. I’ll hang on to the anchor while you’re getting it. It’s with our clothes in Amazon.”

“No need,” shouted John, who was feeling about in the water. “I’ve got the gaff unhooked from the traveller. It ought to come now. It’s stuck. Oh, bother it, I forgot the boom’s fastened down. He struggled with the soaked ropes, but was glad at last that Peggy had brought the knife after all. A cut, a tug or two, and gaff, sail and boom were free from the rest of the wreckage, while the broken mast, held only by the halyard (neither Swallow nor Amazon have shrouds) bobbed in the water like a tethered log. Nancy came down into the water to help. Susan and Titty slid down the rocks to meet them as they lugged ashore the brown sail, heavy with water and almost black, still fastened to its spars. They hauled it up.

“Is it much torn?” asked John, who was now busy freeing the broken mast.

“There’s one awful tear,” said Mate Susan, “and a little one that doesn’t matter. Nothing we can’t mend.”

“Spread it on the rocks to dry.”

The broken mast and the halyard came ashore next. The stump of the mast had somehow jammed and was still in Swallow, under water. But under water though she was, even those who were on the rocks could see that John and Nancy had their hands on her. It was no longer as if she were out of sight by the Pike Rock when, even if in no more than eight or nine feet of water, she had seemed forty fathoms deep and gone for ever. There was hope in all hearts and a more cheerful ring in every voice.

“Tally on to the rope, you two. Give my mate a hand,” cried Captain Nancy, who simply could not help giving orders. “Susan and I’ll keep her from bumping this side, if Captain John’ll look out for any rocks under her bows.”

“Are you ready?” said Peggy.

“Steady. Steady. Not too fast,” called John.

“Heave ho!” cried Nancy.

“She’s coming! She’s coming!”

“Not too fast,” said John again. “Go slow. The bottom’s awfully rough. . . .” He ended in a gurgle, for on the outer side of the wreck he was on the very edge of the deep water, and as he spoke he slipped and went head under.

It was easier going and better footing as soon as they were round the headland and inside the cove, and presently they were towing her along a smoothly shelving bottom.

“I say, Nancy,” said John, “what about lifting her?”

“Steady there, you on the warp,” called Nancy. “Now then, skipper. Are you ready, Mister Mate?”

She, Susan and John together, lifted the empty hull of the Swallow, which weighed very little while it was under water, and walked her into the shallows.

“She’ll do here,” said Nancy. “If we can get her out. Now then, on the warp. Haul away. Way hay, up she rises. Way hay, up she rises.”

The bows of the Swallow showed, and much of her gunwale, though her stern was still covered.

“Steady,” said John. “Don’t try to pull her up too fast. The water’s got to run out. Now then.”

“Oh, poor dear,” said Titty.

As Swallow’s forefoot came up out of the water, Titty had seen the dreadful hole in the planking out of which the water was now pouring as fast as it had poured in.

They rested a moment, and then hauled again, all pulling together, and brought her half out of the water. The bottom boards had shifted but had jammed under the thwarts and had not floated out. John pulled them out now. The baler was still in her, and Roger hopped in and began to bale the water out over her stern. Susan found the milk-bottle and emptied out of it a little cloudy grey liquid that was all that was left of the thick fresh milk she had put into it before they started. She found the lid of the kettle. Then, all working together, they turned Swallow on her beam ends to empty out the last of the water, and at last turned her over altogether to see what could be done in the way of repairs.

This was careening that really mattered, and no pirates ever looked more anxiously over the bottom of their ship, beached on gold sand on some Pacific island, than the explorers searched now to find what damage had come to Swallow. There were a good many scratches in her paint, but, so far as they could see, no serious hurt except the gaping hole in her bows, where two planks had been stove in by the Pike Rock.

“Well,” said Nancy, “you’ve got her up, and that’s the main thing.”

“It’s only the beginning,” said Captain John.

At this moment, just when they had the wrecked Swallow bottom upwards on the beach, and were looking at the broken planking, a shout from the mouth of the cove made them all turn round. A rowing boat was shooting in between the heads. There was nobody in her but a big man who had hitched his oars under his knees while he took off his broad-brimmed hat and mopped his head with a large red-and-green handkerchief.

“Hullo, Uncle Jim,” Peggy called back to him.

“It’s Captain Flint at last,” said Titty.

“Hurrah,” said Roger.

“You needn’t mind now,” said Nancy, looking at John. “It isn’t as if she was at the bottom of the sea.”