Arthur Ransome - Swallows and Amazons (Complete Series)

The sun was already dropping low towards the sea when the Wild Cat came sweeping round the northern headland. The wind was slackening. Bill, unable to hold in his fears, with all those others chattering about this and that they saw on the island shores, had gone aloft once more to the foremast cross-trees. If there were a vessel at anchor behind the island . . . at least he would know the worst and get it over.

Round the headland came the little green schooner. The sails were jibed over, and she slipped along in smoother water, sheltered by the high ground, though Captain Flint was keeping her pretty far out for fear of shoals and sunken rocks. Captain Flint had taken the wheel himself. Peter Duck was carefully searching the shore with the big telescope. He had been thinking of going up to the foremast-head to get a better view of rocks and shallows, but he had seen that Bill was up there already and had shouted to him to sing out if he saw a shoal patch. John and Nancy were on the foredeck ranging a dozen fathom of chain clear. During the afternoon they had been helping Mr. Duck to get the big anchor shackled to the chain, and all ready to let go. Titty and Roger, Gibber and the parrot were with Captain Flint at the wheel. The monkey was running backwards and forwards on the roof of the deckhouse, running on all fours, as he often did when he was excited about anything. The parrot was in his cage.

Susan had swept Peggy with her into the galley.

“Don’t let’s spoil things by being late with supper,” she had said, and the two of them were hard at it, cooking an extra good one, and watching the island shores slip by, one strange, wild picture after another framing itself in the galley doorway.

The sun went down in a blaze of fire just as Mr. Duck turned quietly to Captain Flint and said: “I can see where the stream comes out. I mind it well enough now. The Mary Cahoun them fellows took me off in was laying just south of that bit of a head. There. Between that one and the next.”

“Haul in sheets,” called Captain Flint.

At the word Bill came hurrying down by the foresail halyards.

“Black Jake ain’t here yet,” he said happily, as he joined Mr. Duck in hauling in the mainsheet.

“Who thought he would be?” said Mr. Duck. “You stand by now and be ready to take the wheel if the skipper wants to leave it.”

The Wild Cat headed in towards the shore in the swiftly falling dusk.

“I won’t take her too close in,” said Captain Flint, “though most of these islands have deep water on the western side. Will you stand by to take a sounding, Mr. Duck?”

The others watched, breathless, while Mr. Duck, after swinging the lead in long, easy swings, whirled it round and round and suddenly let it fly forward so that it dropped into the water well ahead of the ship.

“By the mark ten,” called Peter Duck, hauling the line taut and looking at a little strip of leather with a hole in it fastened to the line. “Cap’n John, fetch me that tin of tallow I made ready just inside the deckhouse door.”

John was back with it in a moment, and Peter Duck pushed some of the tallow into a hole in the bottom of the lead, using his thumb as if he were pushing down tobacco in his old pipe.

The Wild Cat was slipping on. Again the lead whirled and flew forward and dropped with a splash.

“By the deep, eight, and sand,” called Peter Duck, feeling between his fingers the stuff that had stuck to the tallow under the lead.

“Eight,” called back Bill, standing beside Captain Flint. Again a splash forward. A silence while Mr. Duck was hauling taut the line and feeling that it was touching the bottom.

“By the mark five. . . . And sand.”

Captain Flint headed the Wild Cat into the wind.

“Haul down jib and staysail!”

The headsails fluttered down.

Peter Duck went on steadily sounding.

“Five.”

Again.

“And a half. Five.”

Again.

“Five.”

“Let go!”

There was a heavy splash, and then the rattle of chain, as John and Nancy let go, and then began paying out fathom after fathom as the Wild Cat gathered sternway.

“Fifteen fathom out, sir,” called John.

“Give her another five,” called Captain Flint.

The Wild Cat had made her ocean passage and was anchored in the New World.

Dark was falling fast. There was busy work on deck, as Captain Flint and Peter Duck, John, Nancy, and Bill brought down the great sails that had brought them so far. Then the davits were rigged, and the dinghy was lowered over the side.

“No, no,” said Captain Flint. “No one’s going ashore to-night, but Mr. Duck’s going to lay out a kedge anchor while we’re stowing these sails. Bill, you can go with Mr. Duck. John, have you got those tiers handy? Let’s get at it.”

Ten minutes later, the Wild Cat was snug for the night. On either side of her were low headlands with tall palm trees dark against a darkening sky. There was a sudden screaming flight of parrots, that brought an answering scream from Polly, who was being given a last look round on deck before being taken below. Gibber was already in his bunk. Everybody was speaking in a whisper, so as to hear the noises of the land. Palm trees were creaking, and rustling their dry, feathery leaves. There was the whistling of tree frogs, and the sharp crac-crac of the grasshoppers. And then, suddenly, millions of lights showed along the edge of the forest, moving all the time. It was as if millions of small bright sparks were dancing there in the dusk.

“Fireflies,” said Captain Flint.

“It can’t be,” said Titty.

“This is the real thing at last,” said Nancy.

And then the silence of the ship was broken by the loud, cheerful clanging of the bell inside the galley door.

“We’re a bit late after all,” said Susan, “but supper is ready now.”

“Come on,” said Peggy. “She’s made a regular thumper.”

“Well, I think we deserve it,” said Captain Flint.

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