Читать книгу Swallows and Amazons (Book 1-12) - Arthur Ransome - Страница 77

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Susan for a long time had been worried by thinking of the able-seaman and the boy alone in Swallowdale. They would be wondering what had happened to the Amazon. Titty would be imagining her run down by a steamer in the fog. Roger would be hungry. Would Titty think of making a meal for him, or would she go and think it was the proper thing to wait for the captain and the mate. You never knew. And then, when Nancy and Peggy, with their tent rolled up and carried on its tent poles, climbed up out of the wood, there came the first hint that things might be far worse than even her most native fears.

“There’s no smoke,” said Captain Nancy.

“Those two young donkeys haven’t lit the fire,” said Peggy.

Susan and John, heavily laden, hurried up out of the trees. It was true. Not the faintest wisp of smoke was blowing from Swallowdale.

“Had they any matches?” said Captain John.

“No,” said Susan, “but there were plenty in Peter Duck’s cave. Titty was there when I stowed the things. She must know where they were put. If they’ve gone and waited for us all this time, they must be nearly starving.”

“Yes,” said Peggy, “they must be. We are, in spite of the fudge.”

“They had nothing with them but some chocolate,” said Susan. “I thought we’d all be back and have tea together.”

“Is there anyone on the watch-tower?” said John. “Just half a minute while I get out the telescope.”

But Susan hurried on. This was no time for waiting. Nor did Nancy and Peggy want to stand still with the weight of the tent on their shoulders as well as their crammed knapsacks. They wanted to hurry on to Swallowdale and unload.

“Duffers,” said John, a little uneasily, shutting up the telescope with a click, and running after the others. “They haven’t lit the fire and they haven’t even got anybody looking out.”

“Perhaps they’re busy putting up your tents,” said Peggy.

“That doesn’t take two minutes,” said Susan, “and we’ve been ages, because of that fog.”

“What about giving them one of your owl calls?” said Captain Nancy.

John took a deep breath and let it out in one of the best owl calls he had ever made. The long “Tu whoooooooooooooo” was enough to frighten every mouse on the moor. But it brought no answer out of Swallowdale.

He tried again, but his owl call was not such a good one. He caught sight of Susan’s face, just while he was making it. He knew at once that she was feeling much too native for owl calls.

Again there was no answer.

“They’re probably making an ambush for us,” said Nancy.

“Scouting along in the heather,” said Peggy. “They’ll probably come charging down on us in a minute.”

“We never ought to have let them go off by themselves,” said Susan.

“We’re all ready for you,” shouted Captain Nancy to the open moorland. “Make your attack and get it over. We want our tea.”

But nobody leapt up in the heather or dashed out from behind a rock.

“They wouldn’t hear anything if they were in Peter Duck’s,” said John.

“I told Titty to light the fire if we weren’t there,” said Susan.

A few minutes later they were climbing up the side of the waterfall into Swallowdale, Susan first, John next, the Amazons last. The Amazons were bothered by the difficulty of hoisting up their tent, and John and Susan would have stopped to help them if they had not been in such a hurry to know the worst.

“They haven’t even put their own tents up,” said John.

“They aren’t here at all,” said Susan.

A covey of grouse flew up out of the little valley with their startled cry, “Go back! Go back!”

“Nobody’s been here for a long time,” said Nancy as she and Peggy struggled up over the edge, “or the grouse would have been far away.”

Susan and John raced up the valley to the old camp. It was just as they had left it the day before. The heather still covered Peter Duck’s doorway. They pulled it aside and went in, to be met by an angry scream from the parrot. John lit a match and then one of the candle-lanterns that were waiting in a row on the stone ledge. Nothing in the cave had been touched.

Susan looked at John, and he saw that this was worse than the worst that she had feared. He picked up the parrot’s cage and carried it out into the evening light.

“They haven’t been here at all,” he said grimly to Nancy and Peggy, who were just dumping their tent by the fireplace.

“They’ve probably just been held up a bit by the fog, like us,” said Nancy.

“Or Roger’s got interested in something,” said Peggy.

“They’ve got lost,” said Susan.

“Pretty Polly, Pretty Polly,” said the parrot.

“I bet they’ll show up before we get the tents pitched,” said Nancy. “Let’s get on with it. It’s got to be done, anyhow.”

“I’m just going up to the watch-tower,” said John. “They may be in sight from there.”

“Good idea. We’ll have the tents up in no time. What about starting the fire, Mister Mate?”

“Make a good pillar of smoke so that they can see it from wherever they are,” said John, and climbed up the side of the valley to see what could be seen from the top of the Watch Tower Rock.

Susan did not feel at all like being Mister Mate. Her thoughts were all native thoughts, as she built her fire and lit it and then piled it higher than she ever did when all was well and she wanted a fire just for cooking. One dreadful scene after another came into mind. The able-seaman and the boy were lost, had fallen down a precipice, had been swallowed up in a bog. She had hardly a word to say as she brought the four tent bundles out of the cave and began putting the tents up, while Nancy and Peggy were busy marking out the place for theirs and making holes for their tent-pegs. And with these pictures of horror came others, of mother and Bridgie and nurse. At Holly Howe they were probably giving the ship’s baby her supper. Mother and nurse were happy and at peace, quite sure that nothing could be wrong with Titty and Roger so long as Susan was there to look after them. And there was Susan putting up tents for the able-seaman and the boy, and not even sure that there was anyone to sleep in them. And it made things even worse, somehow, to hear Nancy whistling cheerfully through her teeth, as she shoved the tent-poles into the long canvas tubes at either side of her tent door, and hove the whole tent up into its place, and took in the slack in the long guy ropes.

“Cheer up, Mister Mate,” said Nancy suddenly. “It’s all right. I know what’s happened to those two galoots. They went straight down to Swainson’s for milk, and Mary Swainson’s given them tea, and then the old man’s started singing at them and they haven’t had a chance to get away.”

“Of course that’s it,” said Peggy. “And Mary Swainson’s stuffing Roger with cake.”

Susan looked almost hopefully at Nancy. That really did sound possible. Quite wise, too. Titty had known the milk would be wanted and had not liked to light a fire and leave it burning, and so had gone down to the farm first of all, and then, well, she knew how hard it was to get away from the old people.

“It’s just what I ought to have thought of myself. We haven’t any milk, anyway. Only I was so bothered about us being late.”

John came back into Swallowdale to say that nothing was moving on the moor, and now it was Susan herself who comforted him.

“Nancy thinks they’re down at the farm,” she said, “and they probably are.”

“Milk,” said Peggy, “and listening to the old man’s songs.”

“Lend a hand here, Captain John,” said Nancy, “and then we’ll go down and bring them up.”

In a few minutes Swallowdale looked itself again, and better than it had looked before, now there was the Amazons’ big tent as well as the Swallows’ four little ones. Susan had built a huge fire and then put a lot of bracken on it, so that a thick curling column of bitter grey smoke climbed up into the evening sky. In the smoke hung the kettle, so that there would be boiling water by the time they came back. Susan damped the sods of earth that she kept by the fireplace and built them in round the edge of her fire.

“It’s safe enough really,” she said, “but perhaps someone ought to wait here, in case they miss us.”

Nobody wanted to stay, and besides there were still the things to fetch up from Horseshoe Cove. Susan got out a bit of paper from Titty’s box, and Nancy wrote on it in big letters, “STOP HERE TILL WE COME BACK.”

“Where shall I put it so that they’ll be sure to see it?”

“On the parrot’s cage,” said John. “Titty always says ‘Howdy’ to him, even if she’s only been away ten minutes.”

Susan’s hopes suddenly fell again. It was very unlike Titty to leave the parrot a moment longer than she could help. Not even the old man’s singing was likely to hold her when the parrot had been shut up for two days.

The two captains and the two mates hurried down the beck on the way to Swainson’s farm. Just as they dropped into the wood John looked back towards the last of the sunset over the moor, and saw the high cold column of smoke from the Swallowdale fire swaying in the quiet evening.

“Mother’ll be able to see that from Holly Howe,” he said. “She’ll know we’ve got back.”

Susan said nothing, but hurried on with the milk-can down into the wood.

The farm seemed very quiet as they came down the path towards it.

“The old man isn’t singing,” said Susan.

“Out of breath,” said Nancy.

“I don’t believe they’re here,” said Susan. “We’d hear Roger’s laugh if they were.”

THE MEDICINE MAN AND HIS PATIENT

“Not if he’s stuffing,” said Nancy.

But before they came to the farm gate they saw Mary Swainson coming from the dairy with a bucket.

“Ah, you’re back, are you?” she said.

“Have the others been here long?” asked Susan anxiously.

“What others?”

“Titty and Roger.”

“Nay, they’ve not been here. Weren’t you all away together? I was up this afternoon with the letter, before the fog came on, and there was none of you about then and the cave all shut up.”

“What letter?”

“It’s for you,” said Mary, and she put down her bucket and took an envelope from the pocket of her apron. “I didn’t leave it. I knew one of you’d be down for the milk as soon as you got back.”

On the envelope “Native Post” was written in very small writing in one corner, and then, in large writing that she knew at a glance was mother’s, Susan read the address, “Mate Susan, The Camp, Swallowdale.” She tore it open and read:

“My dear Mate and Cook,

I’m coming over to-morrow morning with Bridgie to hear all about Kanchenjunga. Don’t do too much cooking. We’ll bring our own rations. This is just in case you might all be exploring if you didn’t know we were coming. Expect us about eight bells of the forenoon watch (John knows when).

Love to the Captain and the Crew,

The Mother of the Ship’s Baby.”

Tears filled her eyes and she could hardly read the last words. Mother was so sure that everything was as it should be. And she, Susan, who should have been taking care of the others, did not even know where they were. . . . Blindly she pushed the letter at John. The others looked at her gravely.

“What’s ado?” said Mary. “Don’t take on.”

“They’re lost. They’re lost,” sobbed Susan, “and mother’s coming to-morrow and Bridgie. . . . She doesn’t know.”

“Nay, don’t take on,” said Mary. “They’ll not be far.”

“It was in the fog,” said John.

Susan made up her mind.

“We must go and tell mother at once. We must go and tell her now.” She started off down the cart-track to the road.

“Susan’s right,” said Nancy. “The sooner we do it the better. The sun’s gone down and it’ll be getting dark. Something’s got to be done.”

Mary Swainson agreed with Nancy. She plumped her bucket down by the gate, and hurried after Susan. “I’ll row you over,” she called. “There’s no wind for sailing and our boat’s quicker for rowing.”

The others caught them up just before they came to the road.

“Nay,” said Mary, “there’s no call for all to go. Some of you’d best bide in your camp. It’ll be bad for them, poor lambs, if they find their way in and nobody to give them something hot and put them to bed.”

Just then they heard the noise of horses’ hoofs coming nearer in the dusk.

“Lurk,” said John, from habit, but added at once, almost as if he were ashamed, “What’s the good of lurking?” The whole party walked out into the road, in full view of any natives, friends or enemies—who cared which?—who might be coming along.

“Carting trees,” said Peggy.

Three great horses were coming round the bend in the road under the steep woods, and after them the enormous tree chained firmly down on its two pairs of big red wheels. Dusk was falling, and for a moment nobody saw anything but the horses, the log, and a woodman walking beside the leading horse.

Mary Swainson half stopped.

“Whoa, Neddy,” came the voice of the woodman. “Whoa, there! Steady now.” The three horses came to a standstill.

“Evening, Mary.”

“Evening, Jack.”

“We’ve a friend o’ yours here,” he said, and then they saw Titty slip down from the high-tilted end of the great log into the arms of the other woodman, who was standing below her in the road. They ran towards her.

“Thank you very much indeed,” Titty was saying, and then, “Hullo, Susan! Roger’s hurt his foot, but everything’s quite all right.”