Читать книгу Swallows and Amazons (Book 1-12) - Arthur Ransome - Страница 56

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“Come on, Roger,” said Mate Susan. “You’ll be left behind.”

“It’s quite safe here,” said Roger. “It’s not like being in the jungle, where there might be savages behind the trees. Here you can see as far as ever you want. Hullo, where’s Titty? And where’s John?”

“Out of sight,” said the mate. “They’re up at the top of the waterfall already. If we can’t see them, there might be lots of other people we can’t see. Come on, quick, and catch up with the rest of the expedition.”

The ship’s boy hurried along. He had been held up by finding one of the big red-and-black velvet fox-moth caterpillars that feed on the heather. He turned now to more serious things and hurried along to catch up with the main body of the explorers. Susan was right. It would not do to be a straggler. Besides, Captain John and the able-seaman were already up the waterfall and in the secret valley that was his discovery as well as Titty’s.

In a few minutes Susan and Roger reached the bottom of the waterfall and began climbing up the rocks. They, too, disappeared over the top. From below no one could have seen them. There was the white water pouring over, and on each side of it rock and heather. But no one looking up from the stream below the waterfall could have guessed that just up there, only a few yards away, there was a valley in which a hundred explorers could have camped unseen.

“Hi, hi! Wait for us!” shouted Roger, as he scrambled, breathless, up into the valley.

Titty and John looked back. They were already nearly at the upper waterfall.

“Come along,” shouted Titty.

But now it was Susan who found hurrying difficult. One glance had shown her what a perfect place for a camp the valley was, and now, looking at the steep, sheltering sides of it, and the flat spaces by the stream, she was thinking of just where she would lay out the tents, and where would be the place for the fire, and where the washing-up could best be done.

“That’s the place for a fire,” she said when they were half-way up the valley, “and there couldn’t be a better basin for washing-up in than this pool.”

“Which pool?” said Roger.

“This one.”

“There’s a trout in it,” said Roger. “Titty and I saw him. But perhaps he wouldn’t mind the washing-up. He might even like it.”

“It would depend on what was left on the plates,” said Susan.

“We don’t have mustard,” said Roger.

“Come along,” called the able-seaman again.

“Come along,” said Roger. “She’s waiting to show you the secret.”

“Coming, coming,” said Susan, but she had small belief in secrets, and she could not hurry much. “There’s room for all four tents on this side of the stream, and the stores tent, too, if we wanted,” she was saying half to herself and half to Roger. “Or we could put the stores tent on the other side.”

“Do come along,” said Roger.

“Hurry up,” said Titty.

At last the mate and the boy joined the able-seaman and the captain.

“Boy!” said the able-seaman, “did you say anything about it to the mate?”

“No,” said Roger, “except that we were just going to show it.”

“Did you see it?” she asked Susan.

“See what?” said Susan.

“John didn’t see it either. And you both walked close past it.”

“Close past what?” said John.

“Peter Duck’s cave,” said Titty.

“Not a real cave?” said John.

“That’s why we had to bring torches, and why it’s such a good thing Susan’s didn’t get wet.”

“Well, where is it?”

Titty and Roger went back to the place where Susan had said she would like to put the tents.

“It’s here,” said Titty.

John and Susan looked about them, but there was nothing to show where the cave was.

Titty walked up to the steep wall of grey stone with the clumps of heather growing in the cracks of it, and there, close under the heather, showed them the opening, which, unless you looked closely, might have been no more than a cleft in the rock.

“If it hadn’t been for a butterfly perching on the heather no one would have seen the cave at all,” said Titty.

“Have you been into it?” said John.

“No,” said Titty.

“Not yet,” said Roger.

John twisted himself out of his knapsack straps and dropped the knapsack on the ground. Susan wriggled out of hers and rummaged in it for her torch. How lucky it was that in the hurry of starting on the day of the shipwreck she had left it behind. She gave it to John.

“Go on, John,” she said.

John, stooping and flashing the torch before him, disappeared through the opening.

“Can I come too?” asked Roger.

“Wait a bit,” said Susan. “I say, John, have a look at the roof of it. Is it all right?”

“Solid rock,” said John, “and high. I can only just reach it. I’m standing up. Pouf, it’s awfully dusty.” For years and years the dust had been settling in the cave, and now, when John moved, it rose in clouds about his feet.

“Is there room for more of us?” asked Susan.

“Lots,” said John, from far inside, and his voice sounded as if he were shouting from the bottom of a deep, echoing tunnel. “But look out for your heads till you’re well in.”

The others crawled in, and stood up one by one, feeling with their hands in the blackness and watching the splash of light flung by the torch now here, now there, on the rough walls and roof, all cut in solid rock.

“It’s not really so very big,” said John.

“But it’s big enough for Peter Duck,” said Titty, “and he would let us come in if we were attacked by savages or pirates or anything like that.”

“But why Peter Duck?” said Susan.

“Well, we haven’t a tent to spare for him, for one thing, and anyhow it’s just the sort of cave he ought to have.”

“It’s a fine place for keeping the stores,” said Susan. “As cool as anything. You couldn’t have a better larder.”

Roger began to cough.

“Out you go,” said Susan. “It isn’t fit for you to stay in until we’ve got rid of the dust.”

Roger blundered out into the bright sunlight, flapped his arms and blinked his eyes. Just for the moment he was being a bat disturbed at midday, but he was an explorer again and a ship’s boy before the others had noticed that he was being a bat.

Titty and Susan followed him out and John was close behind them. All their throats were tickling from the dust.

“It wouldn’t do to live in,” said John, “but there’s plenty of room in it for all our tents and everything we’ve got.”

“We could put Peter Duck on guard,” said Titty. “We could live in our tents and supposing we saw an enemy coming we could hide everything in the cave and no one would ever know where our stronghold was. It’s a great place.”

“It’s a pity we haven’t got any enemies,” said Roger.

“We may have lots,” said Titty.

“You never know on the mainland,” said John. “And the Amazons are sure to want some sort of war or other.”

“Look at the way they attacked us last year,” said Titty, “when they said it was their island, not ours. Anyhow, they can’t say it’s their valley. And no one knows about the cave. In that way it’s even better than Wild Cat Island. There’s not even a fireplace to show anyone’s been here before. We discovered it for ourselves.”

“Somebody must have made the cave,” said John.

“It may have been here for ever. And anyway it’s Peter Duck’s cave.”

“But Peter Duck’s only in a story,” said Susan. “It can’t be really his cave.”

“Well, anyhow, he’s one of us. And if we make it his cave, then it’s all right, anyway. Whose else is it?”

John agreed. Peter Duck was one of the things on which it was not safe to disagree with Titty. Anyhow, even for John, he was very nearly real. He had become very real indeed in the story they had made up in the Christmas holidays. There was no reason at all why he should not have a cave.

“Besides,” said John, “if we call it Peter Duck’s cave, then when we want to talk of it when there are natives about, or enemies, we can say, ‘Go to Peter Duck’s,’ or ‘Fetch it from Peter Duck’s,’ or ‘I left it at Peter Duck’s,’ or ‘We’ll meet at Peter Duck’s,’ and no one would ever guess we meant a cave. Peter Duck’s cave will do very well. But what are we going to call the valley?”

“I’ve got a name for that, if it’ll do,” said Titty. “Let’s call it Swallowdale. Places get called after kings and princes and all kinds of people. It’s much more fun to call a place after a ship. Let’s call the valley after Swallow.”

Nobody had a word to say against that. And now, with such a valley to camp in, and such a cave to think about, even John did not mind so much hearing of the little ship. After all, she would soon be mended, and meanwhile there was all this. . . .

“Does everybody agree?”

Everybody agreed.

“Right,” said John. “Swallowdale shall be its name.”

“For ever and ever,” said Titty.

“We’ll shift the camp up here to-morrow,” said John.

“There’s only one bad thing about Swallowdale,” said Susan (and Titty was very pleased to hear her use the name). “There’s plenty of water, but there’s no wood. We shall have to carry all our firewood from the forest below the moor.”

BREAKFAST ON THE WAY

“Whenever we go to fetch milk, we’ll bring back as much wood as we can carry,” said John.

“I don’t believe it’s much farther to the farm from up here than it is from Horseshoe Cove,” said Susan. “Getting milk will be easy, but it’s much harder work carrying wood than bringing it in a boat like we did last year.”

“But we’re shipwrecked,” said Titty. “We ought to have some hardships or it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Well, the sooner you begin the hardships and fetch some wood, the sooner there’ll be a fire for dinner.”

“Let’s go at once,” said Roger.

“We must explore a bit more first,” said John. “We must find a good look-out place. We must have somewhere to put sentinels so that they can see all round and give us warning if natives are coming down over the fells or coming up from the woods.”

“All right,” said Susan. “I’m going to make a fireplace.”

“And as soon as the fireplace is ready, we’ll go down into the forest to bring wood. We’ll explore now.” John knew very well that the mate liked making fireplaces her own way and that helping her was never much use. “Come on, you two. You can leave your knapsacks here, but bring the telescope.”

The able-seaman and the boy left their knapsacks by the door of Peter Duck’s cave, and followed the captain up the northern side of the valley.

There were loose screes to avoid, where the stones slipped from under their feet, rocks to climb round, and clumps of heather to hold on by, and then at the top they came out on the open moorland, heather, bracken and grass cropped short by the black-faced fell sheep and burnt brown by the hot summer sun. Farther up they could see where the beck wound its way over the moor. And beyond the moorland in the north and west they could see the big hills.

“That one with the peak at one end of it is Kanchenjunga,” said Titty. “There isn’t any snow on it now, but there must be lots in winter.”

“That’s the hill above the valley the Amazon River comes from,” said John. “I’ve seen it on the map. Its name is . . .”

“Let’s have it for Kanchenjunga,” said Titty. “And then we can explore the sources of the Amazon and climb Kanchenjunga at the same time. Real exploring. . . .”

“Kanchenjunga’s a gorgeous name, anyhow,” said John.

“We’ll have ropes to climb with. If only there was snow on him we’d have ice-axes.”

“Hullo, there’s Rio,” said Roger.

They had been so taken up with the moorland and the big range of blue and purple hills stretching away into the distance that they had not looked back towards the lake below them. Now they turned and saw it, far away below, a blue and silver ribbon of water, with dark green wooded islands on it, and steamers, and the white sails of yachts, and the black spots that were the rowing boats of the natives, and the grey roofs of Rio town clustered about the bay. Looking down from the high moors, through gaps in the woods below them, they could see all this, though from where they were they could not see Wild Cat Island, which was too close below them and hidden by the forest through which they had climbed.

“Where’s the telescope?” said John.

Titty gave it him.

“We can see Holly Howe. I thought we could.”

“Let me see,” said Roger.

They looked in turns. Sure enough, far away on the other side of the lake, not far from Rio, there was the dark, pine-clad Peak of Darien, and beyond it a green field sloping up from a tiny bay, and at the top of the field the whitewashed, grey-roofed farm nestling among its damson trees.

“That white speck moving about there must be nurse’s apron,” said Titty, “or perhaps it’s Bridgie.”

“It’s fine,” said John. “We could even signal to mother if we wanted anything, or she could signal to us. And that rock over there ought to make a good watch-tower, though it’s a bit far from the valley.”

About a hundred yards away a big, square, flat-topped rock rose out of the heather.

But there was no time to look at the rock that day. Looking down towards the lake, they could see where the stream that ran through Swallowdale left the moor and dropped into the trees on its way down to Horseshoe Cove. Something was moving down the beck. Roger had the telescope.

“What’s the mate doing down there?” he said suddenly.

“Where?”

“There. She’s just going into the forest.”

“Oh, bother!” said John. “She’s been too quick over the fireplace and now she’s gone to get wood. She probably thinks we’ve forgotten all about it. Come on. We’ve got to catch her up. Anyhow, that rock’ll do all right for a watch-tower. Come on. Follow the sheep-tracks through the heather, and look where you’re going, if you can.”

“Why?” said Roger.

“Adders,” said John.

“Loose?”

“Yes,” said Titty, “of course loose. And very poisonous.”

“Is it safe?” said Roger.

“Not if you tread on one,” said John, “but they get out of your way if you give them a chance. But if there’s one curled up in the sun and you go and stick your hoof down on the top of him, he doesn’t like it. But come on now, and show the mate how much wood you can get together before she brings her own lot back.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Titty.

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Roger. “Who’s going in front?”

John had already answered that question by running full tilt along a narrow sheep-track that wound down towards the woods, and looked like joining the stream some distance below the waterfall at the lower end of Swallowdale. He ran, sometimes jumping over tufts of heather, as hard as he could go. Titty hared after him. Roger hurried after her, but not so fast. Serpents were all very well in cigar-boxes belonging to old charcoal-burners who knew all about them, but there was no point in being careless and getting bitten right at the beginning of an expedition. Roger, though he lost no time, took good care to tread on no snakes.

In the forest they found all that they wanted. In the oak and hazel wood there were fallen saplings that had dried after falling and broke almost like tinder. In the larch wood just below there were thousands of old dead branches, thin, with little knobs on them, very good for starting fires. It was the mate who went down as far as the top of the larch wood. The others gathered their sticks close to the edge of the moor. John and Roger had string in their pockets, and made good bundles to carry on their backs. Titty had got a big pile together and was wondering how she was going to carry it when she saw the mate climbing up from the larch wood and staggering under a tremendous load.

“Do you want some string?” panted Susan. “There’s some in my pocket, but I haven’t a hand to spare.”

Titty pulled the string out of the mate’s pocket and tied up her own bundle so that she could carry it without losing more than one or two sticks by the way.

“Did you all come?” asked Susan.

“Yes,” said Titty, “the others have just started back.”

When the mate and the able-seaman left the trees they could see two great bundles of sticks, the captain’s and the boy’s, moving slowly up beside the stream. They hurried after them. There was no talking. When all four of them had climbed the rocks by the waterfall and were again in Swallowdale they were pretty hot, but they had enough wood to boil the kettle two or three times over without anybody having to make a second journey to the forest.

The mate, as usual, had built a first-rate fireplace. The dry sticks lit easily, and in a very short time the explorers were eating their first meal in Swallowdale. It was already rather late. Then, while the beck was doing most of the washing-up for them (for they had put the dirty mugs and spoons and the knife and the fork that did for everybody in a little whirlpool among the rocks), they stored all the wood they had not used in Peter Duck’s cave. “It’s just as well to make sure of keeping it dry,” said Susan, thinking as mate and cook of the explorers.

“We might be besieged in Swallowdale and not able to get out for more wood,” said Titty, thinking more like an outlaw.

“Let’s go and look at that rock now,” said Titty.

But Captain John was already thinking of the move and was in a hurry to go down into the woods to cut the carrying-poles on which to sling the baggage.

They found just the poles they wanted in the hazel wood, and John and Susan cut them, and everybody helped to round their ends. All four knives had been sharpened by the blacksmith before the explorers had left the south of England, and this was a very good chance of trying how sharp they were. As soon as the two poles were ready, the explorers slung their knapsacks on them for practice, John and Susan carrying one pole and Titty and Roger carrying the other, with the knapsacks swinging from the middle of each pole. The whole party went quickly down the steep woods, having a little trouble on the way, because the knapsacks would keep slipping forward down the poles unless the two carriers were on the same level. But they were already nearly at the bottom of the larch wood, and within sight of the road, when John, who was in front with Susan, dropped suddenly on the ground.

“Lurk!” he said, “lurk for your lives!”

“Lucky the knapsacks are pretty empty,” said Susan, putting down her end of the pole.

“Sh! Sh!” said John.

All four explorers crouched low and kept perfectly still. On the road below them there was the noise of a horse’s hoofs.

“Trotting or walking?” whispered Roger. Again it was hard to tell.

“Walking,” whispered Titty, but she was wrong.

A black horse was moving at a solemn trot, pulling an open carriage. Two grown-up people and two girls were sitting in the carriage.

“One of them’s Mrs. Blackett,” said Susan.

“The other must be the great-aunt,” said Titty, “but those can’t be the Amazon pirates.”

A very prim elderly lady, holding a small black parasol over her head, was sitting stiffly beside Mrs. Blackett. In front of them on the little narrow seat behind the driver, facing the grown-ups, were two girls in flounced frocks, with summer hats, their hands in gloves, clasped on their knees. It was a dreadful sight. As the carriage disappeared, the explorers looked at each other with shocked eyes.

“That’s much worse than being shipwrecked,” said Titty at last.

“I don’t believe it was Captain Nancy,” said Roger.

But there was not really any doubt about it.