“It is the native,” he said, “and he’s got Mother with him.”
“Do let me have the telescope,” said Titty. John gave it her, and she stared through it.
“Mother is a native too,” she said at last.
“Let me have it,” said Roger.
He fixed the telescope to his eye, and pointed it the right way.
“I can’t see anything at all,” he said. “It’s all black.”
“You’ve got the cover over the eye-place,” said Titty, who knew all about telescopes. “Twist it round, and it’ll come open again.”
“I can see them now,” said Roger.
The native, who was Mr. Jackson from the Holly Howe Farm, was rowing his boat with long steady strokes. It looked like a water spider far away. But through the telescope it was easy to see that it was a boat, and to see the big lumps of the haybags and to see that Mother was sitting in the stern.
Roger and Titty took turns with the telescope as the boat came nearer. The captain and the mate went down to the camp to make sure that everything was ready to show the visitors. The captain put his tin box, the big one, against the back of his tent in the middle. He took the little barometer out of it and hung it on the fastener in front of the box. There was nothing else in the tent, so that it was very neat indeed. Titty and the mate had made their tent much more home-like. In the middle of it were the biscuit tins, with the food in them. These tins made two seats. Then at each side of the tent, where their beds were going to be, they had spread out their blankets and folded in the tops of them. The cooking things were neatly arranged in one corner, just inside the tent. Outside the tent, on the rope on which the tent was hung, two towels were drying. Captain John looked in and then went back to his own tent and spread his and Roger’s blankets in the same way. They certainly made the tent look more as if it had been lived in. And, after all, it would be no bother to put the haybags under them when they came. Mate Susan put a few more sticks on the fire, to make a cheerful blaze. Then they went back to the others.
“The natives will soon be here,” said Titty. “Shall we show them the harbour?”
“No,” said Captain John, “you never know with natives, even friendly ones. We’ll keep Swallow hid. It isn’t as if Mother were by herself.”
“Besides,” said Susan, “they are bringing the haybags, and the landing-place is close to the camp. It’ll be much easier to carry them from there than through the thicket at the low end of the island.”
All the crew of the Swallow stood up and pointed to the east. Mother, the female native in the stern of the rowing boat, pointed between the island and the mainland on the eastern side, to show that she knew what they meant. She said something to the native at the oars, and he glanced over his shoulder, and, pulling strongly with his left for a stroke or two, altered his course.
They were passing the head of the island. Roger had already run to the landing-place. The others of the Swallow were close behind him and when the native ran his boat ashore, the whole ship’s company were on the beach, ready to help him to pull the boat up.
“But what have you done with your ship?” asked Mother. “Where is the Swallow?”
“Allawallacallacacuklacaowlacaculla,” said Titty. “That means that we can’t possibly tell you because you’re a native … a nice native, of course.”
“Burroborromjeeboomding,” said Mother. “That means that I don’t care where she is so long as she is all right.”
“She’s in a splendid place,” said Captain John.
“Shall I interpret for you?” said Titty gently.
“As a matter of fact,” said Mother, the female native, “I’ve picked up quite a lot of English what with talking to you, but I’ll wallacallawalla instead if you’d rather I did.”
“If you know English there’s no need,” said John.
“Glook,” said the female native. “That means, all right. Now I hope you are going to let the natives see your camp, so that we can help to carry up the haybags.”
Mr. Jackson, the farmer from Holly Howe, had taken all four haybags out of the boat. He was a very powerful, strong native, and he picked up three of the haybags together and hove them up on his shoulders. John and Susan carried the fourth. Roger took the female native by the hand and Titty showed the way to the tents.
“Well, you have got a lovely camp,” said the female native.
“Isn’t it?” said Susan. “Would you like to come inside this tent?”
The female native stooped and went in. Mr. Jackson dumped down his haybags.
“Come on, Roger,” said John, “let’s get our tent all ready before she comes in.”
John took hold of one end of a haybag. Roger helped, and between them they pulled first one and then another haybag into their tent. They put one on each side of the tent, punched them and shook them until they were fairly even and covered them with their folded blankets. Then they lay down, each on his bed.
Meanwhile Susan and the female native were making up the beds in the other tent. Mr. Jackson had gone back to his boat.
Presently the female native put her head into the captain’s tent.
“You look comfortable enough in here,” she said, “but what are you going to do when it gets dark?”
“We ought to have brought two lanterns,” said John. “I forgot about that. We’ve only got the big lantern for the whole camp.”
“I’ve brought you two small candle-lanterns, one for each tent if you promise to be careful with them and not set the tents or yourselves on fire. Where is the oil for the big lantern?”
“Just outside the tent,” said John.
“You ought to keep it in a safe place well away from the camp and from the fire.”
Just then that powerful native, Mr. Jackson, came back with another load from the boat.
“Come along out,” said the female native. “I am not going to stop here now, because Mr. Jackson must be getting back to his farm. But there are several things to be settled. First of all, about the milk. There are no cows on your island, so you will have to go to the mainland for milk. I have arranged with the farm over there, Dixon’s Farm, to let you have a quart of milk every morning. If you want more in the evening, Mrs. Dixon will let you have it. But every morning you must row over there to bring your milk. You can see their landing-place by the big oak tree. Thank you, Mr. Jackson.”
The powerful native had put down a big basket that he had brought up from the boat. In it was a milk-can and a lot of other things. The female native began taking them out as if she were digging the presents out of a bran pie.
“Here is the milk-can for you,” she said, “and mind you keep the milk as cool as you can during the day. Keep it out of the sun and do remember to wash the can very clean before you take it up to the farm for more. Then, for tomorrow, I’ve brought you a meat pie Mrs. Jackson cooked today. You will soon get tired of living on corned beef.…”
“Pemmican,” said Titty.
“Pemmican,” said the female native. “So if I were you I should only open a pemmican tin when you haven’t anything else that you can eat without cooking. By the way, Susan is the chief cook, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” said Captain John.
“Then I’ll give the stores over to her. There is the pie. Then I’ve brought a box of Force for breakfast. Susan is going to have a busy time without having to cook porridge in the mornings.”
“I like cooking,” said Mate Susan.
“If you want to go on liking it,” said the female native, “take my advice and make the others do the washing up.”
Mr. Jackson came up again from the boat, carrying a big sack.
“Mrs. Jackson has been good enough to let you have your pillows here,” said the female native. “You can sleep without them, I know, but a pillow makes such a lot of difference that I’m sure Christopher Columbus himself always took his own pillow with him.”
The pillows were taken out and two were taken into each tent.
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“Did you see the pirate with the parrot?” asked Titty when she came out after stowing her pillow.
“What pirate?” asked the female native.
“The one on the houseboat. We saw him. And his parrot.”
Mr. Jackson laughed. “So that’s what you call him,” he said. “I dare say you’re right.”
“I saw the houseboat,” said the female native.
“It’s Mr. Turner,” said the powerful native. “He usually lives on the houseboat in summer-time. This year he won’t let anyone go near him. Last year those Blackett girls, nieces of his from the other side of the lake, were always with him. Not this year though. Keeps himself to himself this summer, does Mr. Turner. No one knows what he does there, but they do say he’s got things in that houseboat worth a fortune.”
“That’s his treasure,” said Titty. “I knew he was a retired pirate. Of course he can’t let anybody go near it.”
“Vicky will be wanting me,” said the female native, “so I won’t stay with you. And anyhow you don’t want too many natives about, I’m sure. It’s beginning to get dark and if I were you I should be early to sleep, for the sun will wake you in the morning, even if the birds don’t.”
“Thank you ever so much for bringing the things,” said Susan.
“Specially the lanterns,” said Titty.
“Glook, glook, glook,” said the female native, as she began to walk down to the landing-place. “No, I think I won’t have any tea, thank you. You’ve had yours and day is nearly over. Oh,” she added, “there’s one thing I’d forgotten.” She went for a moment into the captain’s tent and came out again smiling. Then, as she walked down to the boat she said to John, “I’m not going to keep on coming to bother you.…”
“You don’t bother us, Mother,” said John.
“I’m not going to anyhow, but I’m going to ask you to let me know every two or three days – or oftener if you like – that everything is all right. You’ll be wanting provisions, you know, and we natives can always supply them. So you’ll be calling now and then at Holly Howe, won’t you?”
“I’ll come tomorrow, if you like,” said John.
“Yes, I’d like to know how the first night went.”
“What did you do in my tent just now, Mother?” said John.
“You’ll see when you get back.”
The female native stepped into the boat and went to the stern and sat down. Mr. Jackson, that strong native, pushed the big boat off, kneeling on the gunwale of her as she slid away. He had the oars out in a moment and pulled away into the evening.
“Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, Mother,” shouted the Swallow’s crew. “Goodbye, Mr. Jackson.”
“Good night to you,” said Mr. Jackson.
“Drool,” said the female native. “That means good night and sleep well.”
“Drool, drool,” they shouted back.
They ran to the head of the island, to the look-out place under the tall pine and waved as the boat with the natives rowed away into the dusk. Long after they could not see the boat they could see the white flashes as the oars lifted from the water. And long after they could not see them at all, they could hear the sound of rowing, growing fainter and fainter in the distance.
“We’d better be getting to sleep before it’s quite dark,” said Mate Susan.
“Lights out in half an hour,” said Captain John.
“But we haven’t lit our lights yet,” said Roger.
“No, but we’re just going to,” said Captain John, opening his lantern and striking a match. There was still some light outside, though not much under the trees, but in the tents it was quite dark. John lit his lantern and took it into his tent and put it on the tin box, which he moved into the middle so that there should be no danger of setting fire to the tent walls. Then he remembered that the female native had done something in his tent just before she went away. He looked round to see what it was. Pinned to the tent wall near the head of his bed was a scrap of paper. On it was written, “If not duffers won’t drown.”
“Daddy knows we aren’t duffers,” said John to himself.
Susan had put her lantern on one of the two biscuit tins. She and Titty were making their beds comfortable.
The tents looked like big paper lanterns glowing under the trees. Shadows moved about inside them. It always takes some time to get comfortable on a haybag the first night. There were voices.
“Are you all right, Titty?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“What about that boy?”
“He’s all right, Mister Mate. Are you ready for lights out?”
“Yes.”
“Lights out!”
The two lanterns were blown out and the white tents were part of the darkness. There was no light now but the glow of the embers on the camp fire. “Good night! Good night! Good night!” There was no noise now but the lapping of the lake on the rocks. In a few moments the captain, the mate, the able-seaman, and the boy were fast asleep.
CHAPTER VI
ISLAND LIFE
THE NEXT DAY was a busy one. It began early. Sunshine in a tent is even more waking than sunshine in a room. Titty woke first and lay awake looking at patches of sunlight and shadow playing on the white walls of the tent as the sun came through the waving tops of the trees. Then she crawled to the door of the tent and put her head out, sniffing the damp morning air and listening to the rustling of the leaves and the noise of ripples on the island shore. Then she heard voices in the other tent. They were waking up there, too. “John.” “Yes.” “We’re on the island.” “Of course we are. Didn’t you know?” “Not till I was properly awake.”
“Hullo,” called Titty. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” “Good morning.”
John and Roger crawled to the door of their tent.
“Where’s Susan?” said Roger.
“Still asleep.”
“No, she isn’t,” said Susan, rolling over on her haybag and rubbing her eyes. “What time is it? Is it time to fetch the milk?”
John disappeared to look at his watch, which was now called a chronometer because John was the master of a ship.
“Three minutes to seven,” he said. He had thought of putting it into ship’s time, but it would have taken him a moment or two to be sure what it was.
“I wonder whether they’ll have milked the cows,” said Susan.
“I’ll row over for the milk,” said John.
“Wait a minute,” said Susan. “Let’s all go this time. Then we shall all know the way and they will know all of us, so that anybody can go for the milk on other days.”
There was some dressing and some washing done at the landing-place, not very much, faces, hands, and teeth. Then the whole crew pushed their way through the undergrowth to the hidden harbour at the south end of the island. There was their ship, moored as they had left her. Her thwarts were still wet with dew, in spite of the morning sunshine, and they dried places to sit upon with their pocket handkerchiefs. They paddled her out through the rocks, hoisted the damp brown sail and sailed across to the landing-place by the oak tree. Here they pulled Swallow’s nose well up on the beach and tied the painter round a big stone. Then they walked up to Dixon’s Farm together.
Dixon’s Farm was not far from the lake, like the farm at Holly Howe, hidden among damson trees at the top of a steep green pasture. They were not sure how they would explain that they were the captain and crew of the Swallow, but Mrs. Dixon saved them that bother, for she said at once, “You’ll be come for the milk. I see you’ve your own can. They’re at the milking now.” She went off with the can and brought it back bubbling and warm with new milk. “There it is,” she said, “and mind now, if there’s anything else you want, don’t be afraid to come and ask for it.” Mr. Dixon came in while they were there, a tall thin farmer. “Grand weather we’re having,” he said, but did not stop for an answer.
They sailed back to the landing-place this time and not to the harbour
. “Wind’s north-west,” said Captain John, “and the landing-place is well sheltered from there.” Then there was the fire to build and breakfast to cook. Mate Susan took charge of that, but the others were too hungry to go far from the fire while it was being got ready. Then there was breakfast. Then they went all over the island again, but made no new discoveries. Then, while Mate Susan and Able-seaman Titty were busy in the camp, the captain and the boy sailed away to Holly Howe with the mails. The mails were only one letter, a very short one, but Titty had not thought of writing it until they were nearly ready to set sail. She would not have had time to write even so much, if it had not been that the wind was blowing rather harder after breakfast and Captain John decided to take a reef in the sail. While he was giving the boy a lesson in how to do it, Titty wrote her letter. Here it is:
“My darling Mother,
We send our love from a desert island and hope you are very well. So are we.
Your loving,
Titty Able-seaman.”
“But Mother was here yesterday,” said Captain John, “she won’t want letters today.”
“Well, I’ve written it anyway,” said Titty.
And so the Swallow carried mails when she sailed for Holly Howe.
The wind was really hard and she made a roaring passage of it, heeling over till the water nearly came in over the gunwale and crashing into the little waves so that buckets of water flew up and were driven in wet spray over the boy and the captain. With the wind from the north-west, they had to beat against it going up the lake to Holly Howe. The little Swallow rushed from one side of the lake to the other and back again, going about at the end of each tack with a shiver and flap of her brown sail, lying down to it as the sail filled and then picking herself up as she gathered speed again and rushed once more across the slapping waves.
THE CAMP FIRE
On one tack John took her right into Houseboat Bay, close by the houseboat and out again. They went beyond the houseboat before going about and had a good look at her. Titty’s pirate was sitting on the after-deck, sheltered from the wind by the cabin and the awning. They sailed close under the stern of the houseboat and saw him, sitting in his deck-chair, writing at something on his knees. The green parrot was perched on the railing and looked down on the Swallow, while the wind ruffled the green feathers on his back. The retired pirate looked up for a moment as they passed and then went on with his work.