Brian Jacques - Redwall #05 - The Legend of Luke

Chapter 20

Somewhere on the clifftops a small bird raised its beak to herald the dawn, as day's first pale streaks washed the sky outward from the east. The crew of the Greenhawksweated and cursed as they pushed their craft onshore with makeshift paddles. She rose on a swell and forged forward, scraping her hull into the sand and listing to port, keeling slightly as the ebbing water dropped her on the beach. Roaring and shouting, Chopsnout urged his vermin over the side. "Grab 'em, mates, I want those two alive!"

Luke shrugged off his cloak. Raising his sword, he watched the savage-looking Sea Rogues pounding up the beach. Vurg took up his position, spear at the ready, steeling himself against the wild war cries of the charging foe.

"Haharr, let's see the color o' yer innards, mice!"

"Lop off'n their footpaws so they can't run away!"

"Gimme a cloak made out o' mouse's skin!"

"Eeeeeyaaaaargh!"

Chopsnout could scarce believe his eyes. Leaping down from the prow to bring up the rear, he saw the first wave of ten or so crewbeasts vanish into the ground.

Halfway up the beach, Luke's fighters had dug a trench, lining it with sharpened stakes and covering it with rush mats strewn thinly over with sand. Vermin screamed in shocked agony as they plunged into it. Luke gave the signal, letting his swordpoint dip as he bellowed aloud to his companions, "Now! Strike now!"

Both Luke and Vurg dropped into a crouch. Arrows hissed angrily overhead, thudding into the vermin who were hovering on the edge of the spiked trench. Two more flights of shafts followed speedily, then Luke leaped upright, wielding his sword as the archers dropped their bows and seized fire-hardened lances.

"Chaaaaarge!"

They dashed forward, with Luke and Vurg out in front, leaping the trench and hurling themselves upon the enemy.

Chopsnout had lost his pitchblob nose as soon as he hit the sand. He stood yelling hoarsely at his vermin crew. "Retreat, back to the ship, retreat!"

However, they were suddenly outflanked. The rest of Luke's small force thundered out from a cave situated on the far edge of the point, armed with long cudgels and slings. Rocks whistled through the morning air, cutting down several of the routed vermin, then they were hit from both sides by Luke's lances and the swinging clubs of grim-faced, ruthless mice. Reynard Chopsnout leaped ineffectively at the high beached bulwarks of the Greenhawk.He slid awkwardly back to the moist sand, half raising his scimitar as Luke's battlesword found him. It was over in less time than it had taken for the vermin to beach their boat.

Luke was now every inch the Warrior Chieftain of his tribe. Sheathing his blade, he nodded curtly at the stunned faces of the fighters surrounding him. "Well done, we've gained ourselves a ship!"

Cardo let his lance drop, obviously shocked. "Luke, they're dead. We've slain them all."

Luke picked up the lance, pressing it into his friend's paw. "Aye, that was the idea, mate. Or would you sooner that we were caught nappin' an' murdered like our families were?"

There were loud cries of agreement with Luke. Friends crowded around to shake his paw or pat his back.

Luke glanced up at the clifftops. "Steady, mates, plenty o' time for that later. Some of you fill in that trench. Dulam, you an' the others roll those vermin carcasses into the sea, the ebbin' tide'U carry 'em out. I don't want the young 'uns to see any of this. Vurg, come with me. We'll have to rig up some means o' haulin' the ship above the tideline, so she don't get carried back out on the floodtide."

Luke and Vurg hurried to the cliffs, intercepting Drunn, who was climbing down to see the result of the battle.

"Burr, you'm winned, zurr Luke. Oi alius knowed ee wurr a gurt Wurrier, ho urr!"

Luke took the friendly mole's outstretched paw and shook it heartily. "Drunn my old mate, how are ye at movin' ships up beaches?"

The mole sized up the situation immediately. "Et be the least oi c'n do furr ee, zurr!"

Before the incoming tide had arrived Drunn, with the aid of his moles, some mice and the hedgehogs, had dug a shallow channel from the Greenhawk's prow to a spot above the tideline. This he lined with slabs of cliff shale, well wetted down with seawater. On the vessel's forepeak was a windlass, a simple mechanism for hauling up the ship's anchor, with a horizontally revolving barrel. Welff Tiptip and her hogs helped to carry the anchor up onshore, where they wedged it firmly between two big rocks jutting up out of the sand. Now the ship was attached to the land by its anchor rope. Drunn chose the stoutest creatures to turn the windlass, which they did by ramming home stout poles into the housing. Once the slack of the rope was taken up, they began turning the windlass in earnest.

The young ones and oldsters had come down from the clifftops. Extra paws were needed, so they all joined in. Windred and old Twoola ran back and forth, splashing more water on the shale slabs as the ship slid forward, up onto shore, creaking and groaning. Martin and young Timballisto pushed with all their might against the windlass spokes, along with the rest.

It was a happy day. A sprightly breeze moved the clouds away, sunlight beat down on the workers. Joyfully they toiled, turning the windlass bit by bit, moving their ship up the shore on its own anchor rope. Some even improvised a shanty to keep up the rhythm of the task, and soon everybeast was singing it.

"Oh don't it make a sight so grand,

A ship that travels on the land,

Keep that windlass turnin', bend yore backs an' push!

We'll soon have her above the tide,

Then we'll clean an' scrape each side,

Keep that windlass turnin', bend yore backs an' push!

We've got to find a good tree fast,

Then we'll build a new mainmast,

Keep that windlass turnin', bend yore backs an' push!

With pitch an' rope we'll make her right,

All shippyshape an' watertight,

Keep that windlass turnin', bend yore backs an' push!

You vermin scum, oh mercy me,

Beware when Luke puts out to sea,

Keep that windlass turnin', bend yore backs an' push!"

Gradually the ship slid over its runway of wetted shale slabs, finally coming to rest above the tideline, with the bow end firmly wedged between the two standing rocks that had secured the anchor. Luke was smiling broadly, as he patted the barnacle-encrusted hull. "Well, there she is, a right old slop bucket if ever I saw one, mates, but by winter I guarantee she'll be good'n'ready." He called to Martin, who was down by the tideline with Timballisto, stowing things behind a rock. "Ho there, son, what are you doing?"

Martin beckoned his father to join them and explained, "We collected all the weapons for you, see."

He unrolled an old length of sail canvas, revealing a jumbled assortment of swords, daggers and various blades that had been once owned by the crew of the Greenhawk.

Luke ruffled his young son's ears approvingly. "Well done, Martin. You, too, Timbal. These are far better than our makeshift weapons!"

Timballisto selected a short sword for himself. Martin picked up a longish curved blade and began thrusting it into his belt. But Luke took the sword from his son and tossed it back with the other weapons.

"No, you're far too young to carry a blade yet, son. Timbal, you may keep your blade. "Tis about time you had oneyou'll be fully grown in another couple o' seasons." Seeing the disappointment on Martin's face, Luke threw a kindly paw about his son's shoulders. "Martin, you don't need the blade of any seascum. My sword is yours by right. It was passed on to me by my father and one day I will give it to you."

The young mouse's piercing gray eyes searched his father's face. "When?"