Arthur Ransome - Swallows and Amazons (Complete Series)

James Turner.”

“But we’ve never touched his houseboat,” said Susan.

“Of course we haven’t,” said John.

“He’s a beast,” said Roger.

“That must have been his boat we saw,” said John, “the one I thought was a fisherman. First he goes and tells the natives we’ve been bothering him. And now he creeps into our camp when we’re not there. . . .”

“We ought to have gone with the Amazons and sunk him at once,” said Titty. “It’s the proper thing to do. You take the treasure out and sink the galleon or burn it to the water’s edge. We could have saved the parrot.”

“What are we to do about it?” asked Susan.

“We must hold a council with the Amazon pirates,” said Captain John. “They know him. He’s their enemy as well as ours.”

“Let’s go and row round him and shout, ‘Death to Captain Flint,’ ” said Titty, “that’ll show him what we think of him.”

“We were doing nothing to him at all,” said John. “We were even bringing a message for him from the charcoal-burners . . . the one they gave us for the Amazons. I wish there was a wind. We can’t go to them and they can’t come to us. I don’t know what we ought to do.”

He read the letter again. Then Susan and Titty read it.

“He doesn’t even sign his real name,” said Titty. “That shows he’s up to no good.” She ran into the other tent and came out with a pencil. “Let’s put his proper name on it,” she said. Susan gave her the letter and Titty wrote after the words “James Turner” “Captain Flint” in even larger letters.

“We can’t do anything about it now,” said Captain John gloomily. “Let’s bathe.”

In two minutes all Swallow’s ship’s company were splashing about by the landing-place. Captain Flint’s letter was forgotten in the water, but Captain John remembered it long before he was dry. He hardly listened at supper while the others were talking of the snake and the charcoal-burners. Last thing at night he went up to the look-out station. The sun set in a clear sky behind the sharp edges of the western hills. The stars as they came out were reflected in still water. There was not a sign of wind. He went down to the camp, undressed and wriggled into the blankets on his haybag. Roger in the blankets on the other haybag was already asleep. John heard Susan say, “Half a minute before lights out. I want to damp the earth over my fire.” He heard the hiss of water on hot ashes. He heard Susan come back into her tent. “Ready now,” she called. “Right. Good-night. Lights out,” he replied, and blew out his lantern. For a long time he could not sleep, and when at last he did disturbing thoughts of Captain Flint bothered him even in his dreams.

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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.