Arthur Ransome - Swallows and Amazons (Complete Series)

“Better get ashore and boil.”

“Aye. There’ll be nothing doing with this fog on the water.”

There was a squeaking of oars on pin rowlocks.

“Fishermen,” said Peggy. “Going ashore to make their tea.”

“That motor boat’s left such a wave that I can’t see if we’re moving,” said Nancy. “Anyhow, stand by to go about. Mind your heads.”

The others bobbed their heads down, but the boom was a very long time in coming over. Indeed they presently lifted their heads again and found that the boom was idly jerking as the Amazon rolled in the wash left by the motor boat. Captain Nancy impatiently brought her ship’s nose round by waggling the rudder.

“It’s only that there’s so little wind,” she said. “Amazon’s a beauty at coming about, really, but of course even she can’t do it in a dead calm.”

With the help of the rudder, Amazon was put on the starboard tack, and then, thanks, perhaps, to the will-power of two captains and two mates, she began to move again, very, very slowly back towards the Rio shore. It must have been will power that moved her, because there was now no wind that anybody could feel on the back of a hand even if licked first. But move she did, because another scrap of the paper on which cook had sent her love, dropped overboard by Peggy amidships, drifted slowly astern and after some time was to be seen close to the rudder.

“If only there were a lot of wind instead of a calm,” said John, “and if only the fog was black instead of white, this would be like the sail we had in the dark last year when Rio lights went out and everything went pitch black and I tried to steer by compass but couldn’t really because the compass wouldn’t keep still.”

“It’d keep still enough now,” said Peggy.

“Shiver my timbers for a tame galoot,” said Captain Nancy, “what’s the good of having a compass and not using it? We’ve got one. It isn’t a good one like yours, but it’s better than nothing. It’s in the pocket of my knapsack. Dig it out, Peggy, and hand it over.”

“We’re going backwards now, aren’t we?” said Susan, looking at that last scrap of paper which had drifted back and was now close under the bows.

“Howk up the centre-board,” said Captain Nancy, as soon as Peggy had given her the little pocket compass.

“Up it is,” said John.

“Make fast with the peg so that it doesn’t slip back. You show him, Peggy. Lower away the sail. It’s no good waiting about like this. We’ll row, and get down to Horseshoe Cove by compass.”

“I’ll row,” said Peggy, as she unhooked the gaff and laid it down in the boat.

“We’ll take turns,” said Nancy. “There’ll be rowing enough by the time we get down there, if the wind doesn’t come first.”

Rowing was not very easy. The boom was a little in the way, for one thing. Then the space on each side of the centre-board case was stuffed with sleeping-bags and knapsacks and the long roll of the Amazons’ tent, to say nothing of smaller things like the pie. The rower could not get a proper pull on the oars, but, as Captain Nancy said, that did not matter, because it wasn’t as if they were wanting to behave like a motor boat and try to sink an island.

Susan went forward to balance the boat, and sat on the cargo aft of the mast. Peggy did her best with the oars. Nancy held the compass, a small scout compass, and, watching the needle, pointed in the direction in which the boat ought to be going. John took the tiller and steered, keeping his eyes on Nancy’s hand.

“South-east’s our course,” said Nancy. “We must be more than half-way across the lake, and that’ll bring us to the eastern shore. Then we’ll know where we are for getting through the islands. It’ll be easy enough to strike across when we’re the other side of Rio. You’ll have to keep a look-out, Susan. I’ve got to watch the compass and John’s got to watch me.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Susan, as readily as if she had been the ship’s boy.

For a long time Peggy pulled away at the oars, while Nancy’s hand, moving a little to right or to left, signalled the course to the helmsman, and Susan stared into the thick white fog. The only noise was the tinkle of the water under Amazon’s bows, the faint splash of the oars in the water, the dripping of the lifted blades, and the squeak of the rowlocks.

“Trees. Trees on the port bow,” suddenly called out Susan and John together.

“Don’t look round, Peggy, you goat,” said Captain Nancy. “It’ll be your turn to keep a look-out when one of us is rowing. I was thinking we must be nearly across.”

A few yards away in the fog they could see a row of ghostly blue-grey trees.

“We’ll follow the shore for a bit,” said Nancy. “We’re bound to come to a tree or a boathouse that we know.” She stared at the shadowy trees as they slipped slowly by.

John steered so as to keep the trees in sight, which he could do by keeping the boat about ten or a dozen yards from the shore.

“This must be a pretty deep bay,” he said at last. “I’ve been giving her an awful lot of starboard helm.”

Nancy opened her hand and looked once more at the little compass.

“Easy!” she cried. “We’re heading nearly north. This must be one of the islands and we’ve been following the trees all round it.”

The two captains looked at each other with some shame.

“Somebody ought to have been looking at the compass,” said Peggy and, though this sounded almost like mutiny, even Captain Nancy had nothing to say.

“What’s the course?” said Captain John.

“South-east again,” said Captain Nancy.

It was rather like letting go of a rope, to turn away and lose sight of the trees and be alone once more in the white fog. But there was no point in rowing round and round an island, so Nancy once more kept her eyes on the compass, and John watched Nancy’s hand and steered, and Peggy rowed, and Susan tried to see through the whiteness that shut them in.

Suddenly they heard voices, close ahead of them.

“By gum, but it came on sharp.”

“It did that.”

“What’s yon?”

Ghostly in the fog they saw the figures of men on a low landing-stage.

“What’s yon? What boat’s that?”

“Amazon.”

“Pretty thick it’s come on. Better tie up.”

But already the Amazon was slipping along by the shore, and the men and the landing-stage had vanished.

“Couldn’t have hit a better place,” said Nancy, confident again. “There’s a field here. That’s why we can’t see any trees. When we see trees it’ll be the beginning of Rio Bay. Then we can follow the shore right round by the pier, or, yes, much better, we’ll steer due south right across the mouth of the bay. That’ll bring us to the boat-building shops.”

“Where they’re mending Swallow?”

“Yes. We’ll have to look out for the Hen and Chicken on the way across the bay, but we ought to see them easily enough with the lake being so low. And we’ll go slow anyhow.”

“Rocks?”

“Yes. The Hen is the big one where the gulls paddle, right out in the middle of the bay. The Chicken’s just a little one.”

“Here are the trees,” said Susan.

“Now then,” said Nancy, “don’t row too hard. Keep your eyes skinned, Susan. The rocks are only just above water.” She looked at the compass and pointed south.

The trees faded astern, and once more there was nothing to be seen all round the boat but thick, white, woolly fog and a ring of steaming, oily water.

“Rock on the port bow.”

“All right, Mister Mate, we can clear it,” said John to Peggy, who had lifted her oars, waiting for orders. She rowed again and the rock was swallowed up astern in the fog.