Suddenly she heard the splash of water on rocks, quite close to her. It would never do to run Amazon ashore in the dark. She stopped rowing, scrambled forward again, and lowered the anchor over the bows, letting out the rope hand over hand. Down it went, yard after yard. Deep water after all. Then it stopped being heavy. The anchor was on the ground. She let the rest of the rope go. The Amazon drifted back and brought up with a light jerk.
“Anyhow nothing more can happen till morning,” said Able-seaman Titty to herself. “John won’t try to land in the dark with one of the leading lights out. I’ve got Amazon, and Swallow will be flagship after all. Nothing more can happen now.”
She was wrong. It is never safe to say that nothing more can happen.
Now that her prize was safely anchored, she did her best to make things ship-shape, but she could not do much in the dark, even with her little torch to help her. But she rolled up the sail as well as she could. She found a rug and wrapped herself up in it, for it was cold enough on the water now that she was not rowing. She also found a big hunk of chocolate. This she ate. “They always eat everything they find in a captured ship,” she had said to herself when in doubt whether to eat it or not. She settled herself in the bottom of the boat, just aft of the centreboard case, so as to keep warm and get some shelter from the wind. She had eaten all the chocolate, and had begun to wonder how many hours it would be till dawn, when she stiffened suddenly, like a rabbit that has seen a man in a field.
She heard a new noise.
It was the noise of rowing, hard, fast rowing, the noise of two pairs of oars in a native boat, pin oars, and the slap, slap of a boat’s bows into the short waves. She knew that noise well.
It came nearer and nearer. It passed close by her. Plunk, plunk. She could hear the splash of the oars so clearly that she almost thought she could see the boat in the dark.
Able-seaman Titty hardly breathed. These were not Swallows or Amazons, but natives. And what could they be doing in the middle of the night when everybody, except, of course, pirates and explorers, ought to be asleep?
“We must be near it now.” A man’s voice, loud in the wind, came to her out of the darkness.
“Not yet. Look at the light those kids have got on the other island. It must be another hundred yards at least.”
“I can hear something. I bet it’s not far now. Go a bit easier.”
There was a crash somewhere close ahead.
“Told you, you blamed fool. You’ve blooming well smashed the blighted boat.”
“Get out and pull her up, then.”
“Take your hat off the lamp and let’s have a bit of light.”
There was a splash, and then the noise of a boat being pulled up over stones. Then there was a glimmer and a flash of a bicycle lamp.
“Boat’s all right. Lost a bit of paint maybe. Lucky for us she isn’t stove in.”
“Give us a hand with the box, then. Nobody’ll look for it here.”
“They will if you keep flashing that lamp about. Much better take it with us.”
“We can’t carry that thing on a motor bicycle. Have to bring a car for it.”
“Blast it. Why didn’t you bring a chisel to smash it open?”
“Clever. Who’d have thought he’d keep the stuff in a thing like that. It’ll take more than a chisel to get that open.”
“It’s a fool game, anyway.”
“Well, we’ve done it now. And you can tell by the weight it’s something worth having. He wouldn’t keep it in a thing like this if it wasn’t. Give a hand, then.”
There was a noise of scrambling on stones, some curses, and then the noise of heavy stones being thrown down on something made of wood and metal.
Then voices again.
“We’ll come out with fishing rods next time, and catch something worth having. Nobody’ll find it now even if they do come looking. And you grumbling all the time. Wish I’d come by myself.”
“Wish you had.”
“Shove her off now. Sure she doesn’t leak?”
“No, she won’t leak. But it’s not your fault she doesn’t.”
“Shove her off, then, and put your back into it. We’ve got to be far out of this before anyone’s stirring.”
The noise of rowing began again. This time it grew rapidly fainter.
“They didn’t sound at all like friendly natives,” thought Titty to herself. She listened, open-mouthed, till she could hear no more, staring into the darkness. Her eyes closed once or twice. She tried to keep them open with her fingers. “I’m going to sleep again,” she said, “I know I am.”
She was right.
CHAPTER XXI
SWALLOWS IN THE DARK
WITH MATE SUSAN at the oars, Roger on the look-out in the bows, and Captain John at the tiller, the Swallow moved up the Amazon River in the rapidly gathering dusk. There were tall reeds on each side, then a bit of meadowland where they could see the shapes of trees against the darkening sky, then reeds again, shutting them in as if they were in a lane between high walls. Suddenly the river broadened into a wide, open pool, with tall reeds all round it, except where the river entered and left it.
“This must be what they called the lagoon,” said Captain John. “It’s the very place for them to hide their ship in. I wish it wasn’t so dark.”
He put the tiller hard over to starboard, so that the Swallow turned sharply to port.
“It’s awful rowing if you steer with such a jerk,” said Susan.
“Sorry,” said John. “I want to keep close to the edge all round this place. I don’t want to miss her.”
“Something’s pulling at my oar,” said Susan, “I can’t lift it.”
The boat stopped moving.
John peered over the side.
“Water lilies,” he said. “It’s getting most awfully dark.”
“They hang on to my oars like octopuses,” said Susan.
“Perhaps they are octopuses,” said Roger. “Titty read to me about how they put their arms out long, and grab people even out of a boat.”
In Roger’s voice there were clear signs of panic in the forecastle. Captain John took command at once.
“Rubbish, Roger,” he said, “they aren’t octopuses. They’re only flowers.” He leaned over and picked one, not without difficulty. “Here you are,” he said. “Give it to him, Susan. Let him see for himself. They’re only flowers. Only their stalks are horribly tough. Try to pull out into the middle, Mister Mate.”
“All right. Only flowers,” said Roger, fingering the water lily and letting his fingers run down its stout slippery stalk. “But I wouldn’t mind even if they were octopuses.”
Susan did her best. But the blades of the oars caught under the broad, flat leaves of the water lilies and swept them together. The long, fat, smooth stalks of the water lilies tangled together and held the oars like strong ropes. She lost an oar overboard. She picked it up again at once, feeling for it, for it was hard to see Swallow’s brown oars in the dark water. Swallow moved as if she were being driven against something springy, which gave a little and then gathered strength and pushed her back.
“Bother these flowers,” said Roger.
“Let me row for a bit,” said John.
The captain and the mate changed places. John tried rowing without feathering, keeping the blades of his oars on a slant downwards and forwards so that when he pulled they would not go deep in the water and could not catch under the flat leaves. That was better. Presently Swallow was clear of the lilies.
“I can’t move the tiller,” said Susan. “Only a little way.”
“One of those lily stalks must be stuck between the rudder and the boat,” said Captain John. “Let me get at it.” He took off his coat, rolled up his sleeve, and plunged his arm into the water over the stern. Not one but half a dozen lily stalks were jammed together, wedging the rudder. He broke some of them and then pulled the bits through between the rudder and the keel.
“Clear now,” he said, a
nd put out the oars again. He rowed on, telling Susan not to steer too near to the reeds, where the lilies were, and yet not to go too far from the edge. The struggle with the lilies had taken time and it was getting darker and darker.
“I say,” said Susan, “it’s too dark to find the Amazon now. Hadn’t we better give it up and go back?”
“If we waited till the morning we should find her all right,” said Captain John.
“But what about Titty?” said Susan. “Besides, Amazon may not be here at all.”
“She must be somewhere in the river,” said John. “But I forgot about Titty. We’ll go back.”
He turned the Swallow round and went on rowing.
“It’s no good steering,” said Susan, “I can’t see where to go.”
John tugged sharply at one of his oars.
“More lilies,” he said.
He pulled Swallow out of the lilies and she ran her nose into reeds.
“Do keep a look-out, Roger,” said the mate.
“There’s nothing to look at,” said Roger, “until it’s too late.”
It was a long time before they found the place where the river left the pool. They had rowed right across the opening once, being afraid to go too near the reeds. At last they decided that even if anyone saw a light here he would not suspect what it was, and used their electric torches. Roger could not get at his, but he used John’s, as John was rowing. Susan had her own. Even with the torches it was difficult. A pale light lit up, now here, now there, a patch of quivering reeds. But on either side of the patch of light was darkness. As they moved, the darkness turned to reeds when the round circle of light fell on it. At last they found a place where the lights showed a patch of reeds on each side, but nothing but darkness between them.
“This must be the opening,” said John.
He pulled a stroke or two towards the darkness. There was still clear water round the Swallow, but the torches showed reeds on right and left. The reeds were all bent the same way and, though John was resting on his oars, the Swallow drifted on in the direction in which the reeds were sloping. She was in the river at last.
John let the stream take the Swallow with it, using the oars only when she touched the reeds on either side.
“Don’t wave your torch in the air, Susan,” he said, “or someone may see us. We must be getting near the house. Put yours out, Roger. We don’t want to rouse the natives.”
Once or twice they ran into the reeds at bends of the river, but they freed themselves without difficulty.
Presently they saw the lights of the big house, standing away from the water.
“We must be near the boathouse now,” said John.
“Here it is,” said Susan.
John backwatered. “We must look into it again,” he said, “just to make sure.”
Susan flashed her torch into the boathouse. A bat flew out almost into their faces. The big motor launch lay there as before and the rowing boat. The Amazon’s berth was still empty.
“They must have hidden her somewhere up the river,” said John.
Just then the lights in the big house went out one by one.
“Dowse your glim, Mister Mate,” said Captain John. “They could see the light now if anyone were looking from those windows.”
He pulled Swallow into the river again. She drifted on in the darkness.
No one spoke for some time. The plan had failed, and the cutting-out expedition had come to nothing.
Suddenly they began to feel a little more wind.
“We must have reached the open sea,” said Captain John. “You can light up that torch, Mister Mate, and see what you can.”
Susan flashed the torch all round them. There were no reeds to be seen. On every side there was nothing but rippled water.
“Hullo,” cried Roger, “I can see lights far away.”
“Rio lights,” said John. “We’re out. I’m going to hoist the sail. Hold the torch steady while I reef. Even Daddy used to say, ‘Never be ashamed to reef a small boat in the dark.’”
Reefing in the dark, even with the help of a torch held by a willing mate, is not too easy, but it was done at last and John brought the Swallow head to wind and hoisted the sail, while Susan took the tiller and the mainsheet.
“Put her on the starboard tack,” said John, as soon as she was sailing, “and keep her very full. We want to be sure that we are well clear of the rocks off the point.”
Even with the reef down there was enough wind to send Swallow fast through the water with a steady rippling noise under her bows.
“We’re sailing due east,” said John presently.
“How do you know?” asked Susan.
“Look,” said John.
A broad patch of clear sky showed overhead, and in it the larger stars.
“Look,” said John, “there’s the Saucepan. There’s its handle. There’s its pot. And those two stars that make the front wall of the pot point to the North Star. There’s the North Star. It’s broad on our port beam, so we must be sailing east. And Rio lights are broad on the starboard beam away in the south.”
“Why do the natives always call the Saucepan the Great Bear?” said Susan.
“I don’t know,” said John. “It isn’t like a bear at all. It’s more like a giraffe. But you couldn’t have a better saucepan.”
“She’d go a lot nearer the wind,” said Mate Susan.
“Keep her full,” said the captain, “Keep her sailing. But we must be well clear of the point now. I’m going to use the compass and chart.”
The spirits of the Swallow’s crew had risen very much now that they were at sea once more and not fumbling in the dark with reed-beds and water lilies. There is nothing like sea-room to cheer a sailor’s heart.
“Are you cold, Roger?” asked the mate.
“Rather,” said the look-out.
“Get down below the gunwale and wrap yourself up in this blanket,” said the mate, passing a blanket forward by way of the captain.
John, too, crouched in the bottom of the boat. He got out the guide-book, and found the chart in it with the help of his torch. Then he laid his compass on the middle thwart, so that the black line marked on the rim inside it was nearest to the bows. That was no good, because Swallow was heeling over and the compass was on a slant so that the compass card could not work. He had to hold it in his hand. Even then the card swung a good deal. He held the compass as steady as he could in one hand, while with the other he threw the light of the torch on it and watched to see what point on the card was opposite the black line. It did not keep still, but swung first one way and then the other.
NIGHT SAILING
“Almost exactly east,” he said at last. “Now bring her closer to the wind.”
The mate put the tiller down a little at a time and Swallow pointed nearer and nearer to the wind.
“East, east by south, East-south-east, south-east by east, south-east,” he said rapidly.
“She won’t go much nearer than that,” said the mate.
“Keep her so,” said Captain John. “South-east it is, or jolly near it.” He looked at the chart in the book. “That’ll take her to about here and then she’ll go perhaps a bit better than south-west on the other tack. But the trouble is, we don’t know how far we go on a tack. We’ll just have to sail fairly short tacks and try to keep them about the same length. Then we shan’t be going near the shore on either side. We’ll be able to see by the Rio lights when we are getting near the islands. I’m going to count a hundred, and then we’ll go about. Then I’ll count a hundred on the other tack before we go about again.”
“Rio lights are going out,” said Mate Susan.
They were. One by one the lights on the hill above Rio Bay disappeared.
“It must be awfully late,” said Susan.
The clouds swept over the stars again. There were no lights to be seen anywhere. The little Swallow rushed along in the darkness, Susan keeping her close to the wind, facing directly for
ward and putting the tiller up a little when she felt the hint of a cold breath on her left cheek.
“Ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred.… Ready about,” said John. Susan put the Swallow about. For a moment the water was silent under her keel, and then, as she gathered speed, the pleasant, galloping noise of the waves began again.
“You take the tiller, John,” said the mate, “I want to get out some chocolate for that boy.”
John took the tiller, counting steadily and slowly. He had the compass with him, and sometimes lit the torch and fixed it between his knees, and held the compass in its light. But it was really not much good, though he would have liked to think it was. The best he could do was to keep the ship sailing and to see that she sailed about the same distance on each tack. And then – what if the wind had shifted a little?
The mate got out the cake and the chocolate. She and the captain found that they could do with some just as well as the boy. The boy, warm in his two sets of clothes and his blanket, was enjoying himself enormously.
“Wouldn’t Titty have liked it?” he said.
“Liked what?” said Susan.
“Sailing like this in the dark,” said the boy.
Susan said nothing. She did not like thinking of Titty alone on the island for so long.
John said nothing. For one thing, he was counting to himself and getting near a hundred. For another, the light of Susan’s torch in the bottom of the boat, where she was cutting hunks of cake and breaking up chocolate, and the light of his own torch, when he used it to look at the compass, made the darkness of the night even darker than it really was. It was better than being stuck in the river, much better, but Captain John knew very well that he could not really tell how near they might be to the shore. He was the captain of the Swallow and must not wreck his ship. Daddy had trusted him not to be a duffer and, sailing in this blackness, he did not feel so sure of not being a duffer as he did by day. And there were no lights in Rio to help him. Everything was black. He could only keep on tacking against the wind, and he was wondering what he should do when Swallow came near the islands off the bay. And how would he know when she was coming near them? It would not do to let his crew know that he was worried. So he said nothing, except that he went on with his counting. Perhaps he counted a little louder than before. He reached a hundred, put Swallow about, and began again: “One, two, three,” as she went off on the other tack.