It was stiff work getting the poles out of the hems in the wet canvas, but everybody helped. The tent was loosely rolled up. The poles were taken to pieces, and made into a bundle, and wrapped in the groundsheet.
The Swallows and Amazons looked sadly round their camping ground. There was now nothing but the fireplace with its feebly burning fire, the square pale patches where the tents had been, the parrot’s cage in a patch of sunlight, and Susan’s kettle and a few mugs and the pemmican tin and the bunloaf and John’s tin box, to show that it had ever been the home of the explorers and their pirate friends.
“When we’ve gone,” said Titty, “someone else may discover it. They’ll know it’s a camp because of the fireplace, but they’ll think the natives made it.”
“If anybody takes it, we’ll barbecue them,” said Nancy Blackett. “It’s our island, yours and ours, and we’ll defend it against anybody.”
“We’re going to school at the end of the summer,” said Peggy.
“So are we,” said Susan.
“Well, we shan’t be at school for ever,” said Nancy. “We’ll be grown up, and then we’ll live here all the year round.”
“So will we,” said Titty, “and in the winter we’ll fetch our food over the ice in sledges.”
“I shall be going to sea some day,” said John, “and so will Roger. But we’ll always come back here on leave.”
“I shall bring my monkey,” said Roger.
“And the parrot shall always come,” said Titty.
“Well, it’s no good hanging about,” said Nancy. “Let’s put to sea.”
Everything left was carried down to the harbour and stowed in the ships. Susan emptied the kettle on the fire. Titty took the parrot all over the island, so that when they got home it would remember her favourite places. At the last minute John thought of the rope for hoisting the lantern on the lighthouse tree. He ran back there and loosed one end of the rope, so that it ran over the bough high overhead and came down with a thump on the damp ground. He coiled it and brought it to the harbour.
Then they put to sea. The waves had gone down and so had the wind, but there was still a strong swell.
“Wind’s from the south,” said Captain Nancy. “We’ll beat into it. We know a fine place for a landing down the lake. And then we’ll have the wind with us for the run home.”
“We’ll follow you,” said Captain John. He wanted Swallow to be the last to leave.
In Swallow, Roger was in the bows, Able-seaman Titty and the big parrot-cage in the bottom of the boat just aft of the mast, and Susan and John in the stern. John was steering.
Soon after they had worked Swallow out of the harbour and she was sailing on the port tack, Titty, who had been talking to the parrot, said, “Captain John, how are we to put Polly on the Ship’s Articles?”
“We’ve got a captain and a mate, and an able-seaman and a boy. I’ll sign him on as ship’s parrot,” said Captain John.
“Have you got the ship’s papers here?” asked Titty. “It would never do for him to sign on after the voyage was over.”
John handed the tiller to the mate, opened his tin box, and dug out the Articles that had been signed by everybody, so long ago, on the Peak of Darien. There was plenty of room for another hand. He wrote, “Polly, Ship’s Parrot.” Then he gave the paper to the able-seaman.
“You’ll have to sign for him,” he said.
But the able-seaman had opened the parrot’s cage, and the parrot came out in a stately manner, as if he knew he was wanted on business.
“You can’t exactly sign,” said Titty. “But lots of sailors can’t. You must wet your dirty claw and make your mark.”
“Pieces of eight,” said the parrot.
“He’s asking about his pay,” said John.
The able-seaman wetted the parrot’s very dirty claw and put the paper under it. The parrot stepped firmly in the right place and left a good print of his claw, though he did put the point of one toe through the paper.
Titty wrote beside it, “Polly: his Mark.”
“Ready about,” cried Susan, and John and Titty ducked their heads as the boom came over, and Swallow slipped round and off on the other tack, hesitating for hardly a moment and then butting cheerfully through the waves.
“Doesn’t Amazon look fine?” said Susan, looking at the little white-sailed boat ahead of them, with her fluttering black and white flag and her two red-capped sailors.
“Swallow must look just as fine,” said Captain John.
“Finer,” said Titty. “We’ve got a brown sail.”
They sailed on, tacking from one side of the lake to the other and back again, till they were within a mile of the steamer pier at the foot of the lake.
Here they were passed by one of the big lake steamers, crowded with passengers, who came to the side and pointed. The captain, who was steering her, took out his binoculars, and looked through them at the little Swallow. By now the news had run all over Rio, and up and down the lake, about the way in which the Swallows had found the box that had been stolen from Mr. Turner’s houseboat.
Suddenly a loud cheer sounded over the water, and again and again. The passengers waved their hats, and shouted.
“What is the matter with the natives in the steamer?” said Roger.
Then one of the sailors ran aft to the flagstaff at the steamer’s stern, and the big red ensign dropped to half-mast, and then rose again.
“They’re cheering at us,” said Captain John, turning very red. “How horrible.”
“They’ve saluted,” said Susan. “Oughtn’t we to answer? The Amazons are.”
They could see Peggy at the halyards, busy dipping the Jolly Roger.
Titty shut the parrot in his cage, and lowered Swallow’s flag, and raised it again.
“It’s a good thing we’re going away,” said Captain John. “They’ll have forgotten by next year.”
The big steamer hurried on. The Amazon headed into a little bay on the western shore of the lake. The Swallow followed her. There were woods all round the little bay, and a small stream ran into it. The Swallows and Amazons landed close by the mouth of the stream.
“What a splendid cove,” said Captain John.
“It’s one of our most private haunts,” said Captain Nancy. “Altogether free from natives. The road’s miles away on the other side of the woods. No one ever comes here except us, and no one can see we’re here, even from the water, unless they happen to look right in.”
They made their fire and boiled their kettle by the side of the little beck, noisy after the night’s rain. The jetsam on the shore was very wet, but in the wood they found a few dry sticks here and there. They started the fire with a handful of dry moss. It was not easy to get it going, but, once it was well lit, the fire burned well enough to boil the kettle. Here, away from the island, they spent their last day, until Captain Nancy noticed that the lake was nearly calm.
“It’s going to take us a long time to sail home,” she said. “What orders, Commodore?”
John started. He had been thinking of something else.
“The fleet sets sail and steers north,” he said.
Very slowly the two little ships moved out of the bay into the open lake. There was very little wind, though now and again a catspaw hurrying from the south helped them on their way and darkened the smooth small waves.
“You’d never think it could have blown like it did in the night,” said Roger.
They sailed up the lake with the booms well out. Up in the woods on the high hillside smoke was rising. They could hear the noise of the charcoal-burners’ axes in the now quiet air.
“They’ll still be here when we’re gone,” said Titty.
“Who?” said Susan.
“The savages,” said Titty.
The wind was dropping. The boom swung aft, and the mainsheet now and then caught the water and trailed in it.
“Sit on the lee side, Able-seaman,” said John. “That’ll keep the boom out
.”
Nancy in Amazon was sitting on the lee side for the same reason.
“Hadn’t we better row?” said Roger.
“You want a motor boat,” said Captain John.
“No I don’t,” said Roger. “Sail is the thing.”
Slowly the fleet slipped past Wild Cat Island. The island was once more the uninhabited island that Titty had watched for so many days from the Peak of Darien. And yet, it was not that island. John, looking at it, remembered the harbour and the leading lights and his swim all round it, and the climbing of the great tree. For Roger it would always be the place where he had swum for the first time. For Susan it was the camp and housekeeping and cooking for a large family. Titty thought of it as Robinson Crusoe’s island. It was her island more than anyone’s because she had been alone on it. She remembered the path she had cleared, and waking in the dark, and hearing the owl. She remembered the dipper. She remembered getting Amazon out of the harbour. She looked suddenly across the lake to Cormorant Island and then at Amazon slipping silently through the water a cable’s length away. Had she ever really been anchored in Amazon out there in the dark?
FAREWELL!
As they passed Houseboat Bay, Captain Flint rowed out to them to say goodbye once more.
“Goodbye,” they shouted.
“Till next year,” he shouted back, and rested on his oars and watched the fleet as it sailed slowly on towards the Peak of Darien.
Under the Peak of Darien the fleet broke up.
There were more shouts of “Goodbye,” “Remember the Alliance,” and “Come again next year.” “Three cheers for Wild Cat Island,” shouted John. They all cheered. “Three cheers for the Swallows,” shouted Nancy. “And for the Amazons,” they shouted back. John hauled his wind and stood in for the Holly Howe boathouse. Amazon held on her course. She was soon out of sight beyond the further point of the bay.
“I wish it wasn’t over,” said Roger.
“No more pemmican, anyway,” said Susan.
“What about singing ‘Salt Beef’?” said Titty. So they sang:
“Salt beef, salt beef, is our relief,
Salt beef and biscuit bread O!
Salt beef, salt beef, is our relief,
Salt beef and biscuit bread O!
While you on shore and a great many more
On dainty dishes fed O!
Don’t forget your old shipmate,
Fol-de-rol-de-riddle, Fol-de-ri-do!”
“Susan is the old shipmate,” said Roger.
“We all are,” said John.
“What’s the song they sing at the end of the voyage?” said Susan.
Titty began, and the others joined in at once, for they all knew it:
“Oh, soon we’ll hear the Old Man say,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her.
You can go ashore and take your pay,
It’s time for us to leave her.
Leave her, Johnny, leave her like a man,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her.
Oh leave her, Johnny, leave her when you can,
It’s time for us to leave her.”
“Who was Johnny?” said Roger. “Hullo, there’s Mother and Vicky coming down the field.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I have often been asked how I came to write Swallows and Amazons. The answer is that it had its beginning long, long ago when, as children, my brother, my sisters and I spent most of our holidays on a farm at the south end of Coniston. We played in or on the lake or on the hills above it, finding friends in the farmers and shepherds and charcoal-burners whose smoke rose from the coppice woods along the shore. We adored the place. Coming to it, we used to run down to the lake, dip our hands in and wish, as if we had just seen the new moon. Going away from it, we were half drowned in tears. While away from it, as children and as grown-ups, we dreamt about it. No matter where I was, wandering about the world, I used at night to look for the North Star and, in my mind’s eye, could see the beloved skyline of great hills beneath it. Swallows and Amazons grew out of those old memories. I could not help writing it. It almost wrote itself.
A.R.
Haverthwaite
May 19th, 1958
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Arthur Ransome was born in Leeds in 1884 and went to school at Rugby. He was in Russia in 1917, and witnessed the Revolution, which he reported for the Manchester Guardian. After escaping to Scandinavia, he settled in the Lake District with his Russian wife where, in 1929, he wrote Swallows and Amazons. And so began a writing career which has produced some of the real children’s treasures of all time. In 1936 he won the first ever Carnegie Medal for his book, Pigeon Post.
Also by
ARTHUR RANSOME
SWALLOWDALE
PETER DUCK
WINTER HOLIDAY
COOT CLUB
PIGEON POST
WE DIDN’T MEAN TO GO TO SEA
SECRET WATER
THE BIG SIX
MISSEE LEE
THE PICTS AND THE MARTYRS
GREAT NORTHERN?
THE ARTHUR RANSOME SOCIETY
The Arthur Ransome Society was formed in 1990 with the aim of celebrating Ransome’s life and works, and of encouraging both children and adults to take part in outdoor pursuits – especially sailing and camping. It also seeks to sponsor research, to spread Ransome’s ideas in the wider community and to bring together all those who share the values and the spirit that he fostered in his storytelling.
The Society is based at the Abbot Hall Museum of Lakeland Life and Industry in Kendal, where Ransome’s desk, favourite books and some of his personal possessions are kept. There are also close links with the Ruskin Museum at Coniston, where the original Amazon is now kept. The Society keeps in touch with its members through its journal, Mixed Moss, and its newsletter, Signals.
Regional branches of the Society have been formed by members in various parts of the country, including Scotland, the Lake District and North, East Anglia, the Midlands, the South and South West Coast, and contacts are maintained with overseas groups in America, Australia and Japan. Membership fees are modest, and fall into four groups – for those under 18, for single adults, for whole families, and for those over 65. If you are interested in knowing more about the Society or would like to join, please write for a membership leaflet to The Secretary, The Arthur Ransome Society Ltd, The Abbot Hall Gallery, Kendal, Cumbria LA9 5AL, or email to
[email protected] THE ARTHUR RANSOME TRUST
“I seem to have lived not one life, but snatches from a dozen different lives.”
Arthur Ransome wrote twelve adventures about the Swallows and Amazons and their friends. He also wrote many other books and articles. He had a lot to write about, because in “real” life he was not only an author, but also a sailor, journalist, critic, story teller, illustrator, fisherman, editor, bohemian, and war reporter, who played chess with Lenin, married Trotsky’s secretary, helped Estonia gain independence and aroused the interest of both MI6 and MI5.
The Arthur Ransome Trust (ART) is a charity (no: 1136565) dedicated to helping everybody discover more about Arthur Ransome’s fascinating life and writings. Our main goal is to develop an “Arthur Ransome Centre” in the Lake District. If you want to know more about Arthur Ransome, or about ART’s projects, or think you would like to help us to put Ransome on the map, you can visit us at:
www.arthur-ransome-trust.org.uk
[email protected] SWALLOWS AND AMAZONS
AN RHCB DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 47889 9
Published in Great Britain by RHCB Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Books
A Random House Group Company
This ebook edition published 2011
Copyright © Arthur Ransome, 1930
First Published in Great Britain in 1930 by Jonathan Cape
The right of Arthur Ransome to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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SWALLOWDALE
978 0 099 42715 5
‘There was nothing of the Swallow to be seen, except a couple of floating oars and one of the knapsacks, drifting in between Pike Rock and the island.’
John, Susan, Titty and Roger return to the lake for another summer camping on their island with their old allies, Nancy and Peggy, otherwise known as the Amazon pirates. But immediately disaster strikes when the Swallows find themselves marooned ashore by the shipwreck of their boat. But if they can’t have the island, there’s always Swallowdale, the secret valley, hidden from the world and containing an extra secret concealed within it …