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The first thing John did when he woke in the morning was to listen. He could hear Roger’s breathing somewhere in the blankets on the other haybag. He could hear a wren quarrelling with some other bird on the island. But he could not hear any rustling of leaves. He could not hear any noise of water on the shores. It was another day of absolute calm. He rolled over and looked at the barometer. It had hardly moved. No, it was another calm day, and the Swallows and Amazons were held apart by long miles of windless, useless water. What was he to do about Captain Flint? But just then he heard one noise that puzzled him, a little noise, surprising, uncertain. It was the crackle of fire. He sniffed. He could smell the fire, too, the same sharp, pleasant smell that had hung about the charcoal-burners’ camp. He crawled out of his blankets, and walked out of the tent, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The mound of earth that was the mate’s fire was smoking. Some of the clods on it had fallen in. Some were blackened. But in the middle of them the fire was still alight, and making little noises like a waking bird.

“Hullo, Mister Mate,” called Captain John. “Your fire’s still burning.”

“What?” came sleepily from Susan’s tent.

“Rouse up, and come and look at your fire. It’s burned all night.”

“Has it? Good,” said Susan. “I was afraid I’d damped the earth too much.”

“Come out and look at it.”

“In a minute,” said the mate. “What about filling the kettle? I used all the water last night to damp the fire.”

John picked up the kettle, and went down to the landing-place. He dipped the spout of the kettle under, so that water came into the kettle through the spout instead of through the hole at the top where the lid is. If he had simply dipped the whole kettle, the water would have poured in, bringing with it any scum that might be floating about. By dipping the spout, he drew his water from below the surface. By the time he came back with the full kettle, Susan was already busy at her fire, pulling aside what was left of the earth clods, and putting new sticks on the red fire that was underneath.

Titty was looking out of her tent.

“Let’s keep it alight for ever and ever,” she said. “We will keep it burning, all our lives, and then our children, and then their children. It’ll be like the fire in a savage temple that never goes out at all.”

“Probably in temples they have oil lamps,” said Susan. “They have them in some churches. This is a real fire.”

“Well, it hasn’t gone out either,” said Titty, half asleep.

The fire blazed up well, and Susan hung the kettle over it.

“I think I can leave it while I bathe,” she said.

“Come on, Roger,” said Captain John, reaching into his tent and pulling the blankets off the boy, “let’s see you swim with both feet on the bottom.”

“One,” said Roger, “and not all the time.”

Two minutes later all the Swallows were in the water.

“Try swimming on your back,” said John.

“Can’t,” said Roger.

“It’s easy. Stand like this in the water, leaning back. Then put your ears under.”

Roger leant back.

“Ears right under,” said John.

“They are,” said Roger.

Even as he said it, there was a wild splashing, and Roger disappeared. He was up again at once, spluttering.

“I couldn’t keep my feet on the bottom,” he said. “They came up of themselves.”

“I knew they would,” said John. “If you hadn’t doubled up you’d have floated.”

Titty was swimming round them like a dog, paddling with her arms and legs, not in pairs, but one after another. “Try it again, Roger,” she said.

“I’ll put a hand under the back of your neck so that your mouth won’t go under,” said John.

Roger leant back once more, and rested his head on John’s hand. He pressed his ears under, and again his feet floated up.

“Kick,” said John. “Kick like a frog. Kick again. You’re swimming. Well done.”

“You really did swim on your back,” said Titty, as Roger struggled to his feet again.

“I know I did,” said Roger. “Watch now.” He leant back towards the shore, put his ears under, and kicked hard. He got three good kicks in before he ran aground. He had swum three yards at least.

But Mate Susan had not seen him. She had just had a few minutes’ good hard swim, and then had run up to the camp again to dry and dress, and see to her fire and the kettle at the same time. There were eggs to boil, and bread and butter to cut. The mate’s job is not an easy one, with a hungry crew to feed. Roger looked round for her, splashed out of the water, and ran, prancing, up to the camp to tell her that he had swum on his back.

“Did you really swim?” said the mate.

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the boy. “Three kicks, not touching anything. Come down, and I’ll show you.”

“Can’t now,” said the mate. “You dry yourself and help to get the breakfast. We’ll bathe again in the middle of the day, and you can show me then. Now, skip, and get the captain’s chronometer out of his tent.” He got it. “Hi!” she called, as he capered off again. “Take the milk-can down to the Swallow. It’s time someone went across to the farm.”

John and Titty went across to the mainland to fetch the milk from Mrs. Dixon’s. Roger and the mate between them had breakfast ready when they got back.

After breakfast John called a council for a second time.

“It’s about Captain Flint again,” he said.

“Do let’s go and sink him,” said Titty.

“Shut up, you fo’c’sle hands,” said the mate.

“It’s not altogether about his letter,” said Captain John, “it’s about what the charcoal-burners said. You see, there’s no wind. We shan’t see the Amazons to-day, so we can’t give them the message. That means that the houseboat man . . .”

“Captain Flint . . .” said Titty.

“Able-seaman Titty, will you shut up?” said the mate.

“It means that he won’t know what the charcoal-burners wanted him to know. Don’t you think we ought to tell him without waiting for the Amazons? You see,” he went on, “it’s all native business. It’s got nothing to do with us, even if he is a beast, and thinks we’ve been touching his houseboat. We haven’t and we’ve got an alliance against him with the Amazons, but all the same, about this native business, it wouldn’t do not to tell him. We were to have told the Amazons. They’re not here, so I think we’d better tell him ourselves.”

“Would the Amazons tell him?” asked Susan.

“I’m sure they would. They wouldn’t like anyone else to break into his houseboat, specially when they’re going to break into it themselves. They’ve broken into it before, when they took the green feathers. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m sure they wouldn’t like natives breaking into it. I’m going to tell him.”

“You could declare war on him at the same time.”

Captain John cheered up. “Yes,” he said, “so I could. The Amazons couldn’t help being pleased with that. Yes. I’ll tell him what the charcoal-burners said. That’s got nothing to do with us. It’s native business. Then I’ll tell him we haven’t ever been near his boat. Then I’ll tell him that we declare war on him and are going to do everything we can against him.”

“Let him look to himself,” said Titty. “That’s the proper thing to say.”

“We ought to give the message, anyhow,” said Susan. “We promised we would, and I tied a knot in my handkerchief and showed it to the charcoal-burners. That’s a double promise. Shall we all go?”

“I’ll go by myself,” said Captain John, “then he can’t think it’s an attack. He’ll know it’s only a parley.”

And so it happened that on the second day of the calm Captain John once more took the mast and the sail out of Swallow. Only this time he rowed north instead of south, and he rowed alone. He did not like going, because he was worried about what the Amazons would think, and after all it was their message. Also he did not like going to deliver a message to an enemy who had stirred up the natives against them so unjustly. He remembered what Mrs. Dixon had said. Further, he held the houseboat man for a bad kind of enemy because he had come to the camp while the Swallows were all away. Still, there was the message, a native message. It would be more uncomfortable not to deliver it than to deliver it. It would soon be done anyway. Captain John waved as he passed the camp, and then settled down to work, rowing steadily, navy stroke, with a smart jerk as he lifted his oars from the water.

It did not take him long to reach the southern point of Houseboat Bay. He rounded it, looked over his shoulder to see that he was heading straight for the houseboat, and then looked over the stern of Swallow to the opposite shore of the lake. Directly over the stern on the far side of the lake there was a white cottage. On the hillside above the cottage was a group of tall pines. He chose the one that seemed exactly over the chimney of the white cottage. The cottage and the tree would be like the marks leading into the harbour on Wild Cat Island. So long as the tree was directly over the cottage and over the stern of the Swallow, he knew he would be heading as he was, straight for the houseboat. He made it a point of honour not to have to look round to make sure of his direction.

He plugged away at the oars again, navy stroke, not hurrying but keeping his timing as regular as a clock. It was another point of honour that the oars should not splash when they went into the water. Yes, he was rowing quite well. But meanwhile he was thinking of what he should say to the houseboat man. The message was native business, not real, so that it would not do to call the houseboat man Captain Flint. That would come afterwards with the declaration of war. He would have to begin by calling him Mr. Turner. Then there was that beastly note. That would come in the Captain Flint part of the talk. Yes. The first thing to do would be to give the message from the charcoal-burners. Then, when the native business was done with, he could talk about the note, and declare war.

Suddenly he heard the squawk of a parrot and a shout, quite close to him.

“Look out! Where are you going to?”

Captain John backwatered sharply, and looked round. He was a dozen yards or so from the houseboat. He pulled with his right, and backwatered with his left, so as to turn Swallow round. Then, backwatering gently with both oars he brought her, stern first, nearer to the houseboat.

CAPTAIN JOHN BACKWATERED

The houseboat man was on deck, lowering a large suitcase into a rowing boat that lay alongside. In the bows of the rowing boat was a large cage with the green parrot in it. The houseboat man, in very towny clothes, was lowering his suitcase into the stern. A motor car was waiting on the road which ran close to the shore at the head of the little bay. It was clear that the parrot and the houseboat man were presently going away.

John was just going to say “Good morning,” or something like that, but the houseboat man spoke first.

“Look here,” he said, “did you find a note I left in your camp yesterday?”

“Yes,” said John.

“Can you read?”

“Yes.”

“Did you read it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I meant what I said in it. I told you to leave the houseboat alone, and here you come the very next morning. Once is quite enough. Just you lay to your oars and clear out. Fast. And don’t come here again.”

“But . . .” said John.

“And if you’ve got any more of those fireworks, the best thing you can do with them is to drop them in the lake. If you must let them off, let them off in a field.”

“But I haven’t,” said John.

“That was the last one, was it? Well, it did enough damage. How would you like someone to come and let off a firework in your boat and set fire to the sail or something? Look at the mess you made of my cabin roof.”

There was a large burnt patch on the top of the curved cabin roof. The houseboat man pointed to it indignantly.

“But I’ve never had any fireworks,” said John, “at least not since last November.”

“Oh, look here,” said the houseboat man, “that won’t do.”

“And I’ve never been near your boat before, never as near as I am now.”

“Listen,” said the houseboat man. “When you came and lit that beastly thing that made such a mess of my cabin roof, you cleared off round the point. I came up and put the fire out, and guessed at once what you had done. But you may not know that about half an hour afterwards I came on deck again, and saw you sailing across the mouth of the bay. Think I can’t recognise a boat when I see it? You’ve the mast out of her to-day, but I’d seen her several times before, and you in her.”

“We saw you that day. You were shaking your fist.”

“Ah. You saw that, did you?”

“But I didn’t set fire to your boat. I never touched your boat. This is the first time I’ve been near her, except once sailing to Rio, when you were sitting on the deck, and saw us too.”

“Who did set fire to her, then?” said the houseboat man.

John said nothing. It would never do to give the Amazons away.

“There were four of you in the boat,” said the houseboat man. “But you were the biggest. You ought to know better than to let the others do a thing like that, even if you didn’t do it yourself.”

“We didn’t do it at all,” said John.

“Clear out,” said the houseboat man. “I’ve nothing more to say to you.”

“But I came to tell you . . .”

“Clear out,” said the houseboat man. “I don’t like talking to liars.”

“But . . .”

“Clear out, and don’t come near the houseboat again.”

John choked. He went very red and stood up in the boat.

“Go away,” said the houseboat man, “I’m busy.”

John sat down and rowed away out of the bay. He rowed much harder than before, and his rowing was not so regular. He even forgot about navy style. He was out of breath and very hot when he brought the Swallow back to the landing-place at Wild Cat Island.

The others met him there.

“Did you see the parrot?” asked Titty.

“What did he say when you gave him the message?” asked Susan.

“Did you go aboard the houseboat?” asked Roger.

“I didn’t give him the message,” said John. “He wouldn’t let me.”

“Did you declare war on him?” asked Titty.

“No,” said John. He pulled Swallow up on the beach.

“He called me a liar,” he said, and went off by himself to the look-out place. The others looked at each other, but did not follow him.

“I always said we ought to sink the houseboat,” said Titty.