Secret Water

by Arthur Ransome

  “Come on then,” said John.

  “What about the Mastodon?” said Nancy.

  “He said we weren’t to wait for him. There’s jolly little water anyway, and you know how it runs out once it starts. We can’t wait. If we don’t get out before the water goes, it means not getting home till tomorrow morning.”

  “And we haven’t even iron rations,” said Roger, coming up and untying Wizard’s painter.

  “He said he was going to do his best to get here,” said Nancy.

  “I’ll run to the lane and see if he’s in sight,” said Titty.

  “Go on, Able-seaman,” said Nancy.

  “But buck up,” said John, dropping down the side of the quay and reaching with a foot for Wizard’s middle thwart. “All aboard!”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” said Roger.

  The Wizard drifted slowly from the quayside.

  Nancy, standing up in Firefly, hung on to the piling.

  Titty came running back. “Not a sign of him. I say, hadn’t one of us better wait? I will. I’ll come back with him overland.”

  “We can’t leave you,” said John. “Susan would only get worried.”

  “Half a minute then,” said Titty, and went to the place where they had found the first eel drawn in the sand, scratched it out and drew another heading out towards the creek. “Just to show him we’ve been and gone.”

  “Look here, we must start,” said John. “It’s dropped inches already.” He began to row. “Come on Nancy. With the wind like this we’ll be able to sail, once we’re clear of those weeds.”

  “Buck up, Able-seaman,” said Nancy. But, even after Titty had dropped into the boat, and she was rowing after Wizard, Nancy did not row as hard as she could. Her eyes were still on the quay and the open space behind it. The thought of getting stuck on the mud bothered Nancy a good deal less than it did John and, while he was thinking mainly of Susan and the camp, she was still hoping against hope that the Mastodon would come running out of the green lane before it was too late.

  “Oh well,” she said at last. “It’s no good waiting any longer,” and bent seriously to her oars. She gave one hard pull and then backwatered so suddenly that Titty nearly shot forward off her seat in the stern.

  “Coming!” she shouted. “Coming!” spun the boat round and headed for the quay. John stopped rowing and waited for them. The Mastodon with an enormous knapsack on his back, a parcel in one hand and a big milk can in the other was staggering to the quayside.

  “Karabadangbaraka,” said Nancy as she brought Firefly back to the quay.

  “Akarabgnadabarak,” panted the Mastodon, but Titty had a queer feeling that he had not wanted to say it. She looked round, wondering if some native was within earshot, someone who ought not to be allowed to hear password and countersign. There was nobody. Perhaps it was not that he had not wanted to say it, but only that he was out of breath.

  “Sorry I was late,” said the Mastodon. “I had to wait in the town till the last possible minute.”

  “Lucky we hadn’t started,” said Nancy. “If we’d got round the corner of those weed banks we shouldn’t have seen you.”

  “Jolly glad you waited,” said the Mastodon. “It would have been an awful job humping this lot overland. I say, you did get the sack, didn’t you, from the hut?”

  “We got it all right,” said Nancy.

  “Did you have much trouble in getting in?” asked the Mastodon.

  “Show him our sketch map, Titty,” said Nancy. “We went aground once or twice at the bends.”

  The Mastodon stared at the map, which looked like a tangled spider’s web to anyone who did not know that the little circles meant rings of corks and the black spots bottles and the letters noted down at the side of each one of the maze of straight lines was a compass bearing.

  “I say, Nancy, John’s putting up his sail.”

  “We’ll do the same,” said Nancy. “And the Mastodon’ll steer. Do you think you’ll be able to read the map?”

  “I’ll manage better without,” said the Mastodon, and grinned, for the first time since he had come aboard. “But you’d better do the steering.”

  “All right,” said Nancy. “Titty, you steer, and the Mastodon’ll be pilot, and I’ll check the marks as we go past them. Hi! John! Wait for us. The Mastodon’s going to pilot, so that we shan’t waste time running aground.”

  “All right,” shouted John, with relief in his voice. “I’ll follow you close astern.” He kept Wizard’s sail flapping loose in the wind till Firefly, with Titty at the helm, the Mastodon sitting on the middle thwart, and Nancy, map in hand, sitting on the bottom boards, sailed past with the water bubbling under her bows. Titty, glancing over her shoulder, saw him haul in his sheet. The sail filled, and Wizard came foaming after Firefly a couple of boat’s length astern.

  “Sorry we started,” called John. “But I got in a bit of a stew about not being able to get out. The water’s going down like anything.”

  “Quite all right,” said the Mastodon. “You wouldn’t have had any time to spare if you’d made any mistakes, and if you did go aground you might be high and dry before you could get off again. Starboard a bit. …” He pointed with his right hand. “There’s a shallow patch here. … That’s right. … Port again. …. Now starboard. … Straight for those corks. …”

  John gave Roger the tiller and settled himself in the bottom of the boat with the compass, checking the courses from mark to mark, and now and then making small corrections on his map. Nancy was doing the same. The Mastodon just waved the map away when she wanted to point something out to him. He was a pilot on his own ground, and had no need for maps. Also the tide was pouring out, and the boats were sailing fast and he had no time to spare to look at anything but the marks he knew. First one hand lifted, then the other. “Port. … Starboard again. … Straight for the withy. … Not too close … Now for that bottle. …” This was very different from the slow careful way in which John and Nancy had felt their way up the winding channel. The Mastodon never even bothered to test the depth with an oar. He knew. As they came to one mark he had already got his eyes on the next. He never had to look for it.

  “Giminy,” said Nancy, when, at last, they reached the open water of the Red Sea, and could see the withies marking the road that still lay under water, and the four posts just showing in the middle. “You must know it pretty well.”

  “I was born here,” said the Mastodon.

  “What about the Eels?” asked Titty, and it was as if a shadow crossed his face.

  “Oh yes. They know it too.”

  “Really well?”

  “Daisy did it in the dark once.”

  “Great Congers!” said Nancy, looking back at that puzzling maze of water and weed patches.

  “What?” said the Mastodon.

  “Jolly good work,” said Nancy.

  “But what was it you said? Something about congers?”

  “She’s been getting eelier and eelier,” said Titty. “Ever since last night.”

  “What’s the matter?” exclaimed Nancy, looking at him.

  “Keep her as she’s going,” said the Mastodon. “Don’t turn yet. It looks deep there but it isn’t.”

  “The map’s pretty well right,” called John. “There was just that one place where I’d got muddled. Did you tick off all the marks?”

  “Yes. But it’s going to be an awful job getting it clear for the final copy.”

  “We’ll do it in Speedy after supper,” said John.

  “He’s got a grand lantern,” said Roger.

  Again Titty saw that odd unhappy look on the Mastodon’s face.

  “What do you call that place where we met you?” she asked.

  “Witch …” The Mastodon stopped short. … “It’s got two names, really.”

  “What’s its Eel name?” asked Titty. “Never mind about the other one.”

  “Witch’s Quay,” said the Mastodon, and then, “I don’t see how it can matter your kn
owing that.”

  “Of course it doesn’t now we’re Eels,” said Nancy, and again that queer shadow crossed the Mastodon’s face. Titty saw it but Nancy was busy writing “Witch’s Quay” on her map.

  It was not until they were already in the narrows coming round the island into Goblin Creek that anybody mentioned the Eels again.

  “No news of the rest of the tribe?” asked Nancy.

  “Well there is, really,” said the Mastodon. “They may be here any time. They may be here now. That’s why I was so long. I thought they might be coming to the town for stores at high water. But they hadn’t got there when I left.”

  “Three cheers,” said Nancy. “An extra three savages’ll make a lot of difference. Specially as each of them’s got a boat.”

  The Mastodon did not answer.

  “I say,” said Titty. “There isn’t really any bad news, is there?”

  The Mastodon looked at her, and even the cheerful Nancy saw that he was worried.

  “It’s my fault if there is,” said the Mastodon.

  “Native trouble?” said Nancy consolingly. “We know. It’s often practically impossible to keep clear of it.”

  John hailed from the other boat. “What about landing?” he called. “Will there be enough water for us to bring the boats round to Speedy, or shall we have to put the things ashore at the mouth of your creek?”

  “We’ll get to Speedy all right,” shouted the Mastodon, “if you’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “Eels for ever!” said Nancy. “Don’t be so polite.”

  Sails were lowered, and John and the Mastodon rowed Wizard and Firefly up the narrow winding little creek that led behind Mastodon Island to the old barge. The tide had gone down a long way, but there was still water for them to come alongside.

  “Too late to get right round,” said John, seeing mud ahead further up the creek.

  “Never mind,” said Nancy. “We’ve got a fearful lot for the map already.”

  The Mastodon climbed up his ladder, and they hoisted up his knapsack and the big bag and, more carefully, his parcel and the milk can.

  “Coming aboard!” said Nancy, without waiting to be asked. She swung herself up and over the rail to the deck. Roger was beside her in a moment, then John.

  “Come on Titty,” Nancy called down. “I’ve made fast. I say, Mastodon, what a lovely place you have.”

  “You haven’t seen what it’s like down below,” said Roger. “It’s as good as a real ship.”

  “Shall I go down first?” said Nancy, lifting the knapsack. “Or will you go and we’ll pass the things down?”

  The Mastodon dropped his parcel down the hatch, and then went backwards down the ladder, holding on with one hand, and carrying the milk can in the other. Nancy lowered the knapsack after him. Roger lugged the sack across the deck. John and Nancy lowered it between them.

  “Got it?” called Nancy.

  “Got it,” said the Mastodon.

  “All clear?” said Nancy, and came down the steps, followed by the others.

  “Pretty good, isn’t it?” said Roger.

  “Giminy,” said Nancy. “I don’t wonder you don’t bother about a tent.”

  The Mastodon stood there silent, looking oddly bothered and unhappy.

  “Aren’t you going to unpack?” said Nancy.

  “Only provisions,” said the Mastodon glumly.

  “Do let’s see,” said Roger.

  “Never mind if you don’t want to,” said Nancy. “And don’t you worry about native trouble whatever it is. You’ve only got to give them time. We’ve got a Great Aunt who makes things fairly awful but we always bounce up again somehow, and we manage to do things right under her very nose. …”

  THE EELS’ LETTER

  “It isn’t that sort of trouble,” said the Mastodon. “Look here, you’ll have to know. I ought never to have let out about the Eels. I got a letter from the rest of them this morning. And it’s about you.”

  “But we don’t know them yet,” exclaimed Titty.

  The Mastodon was fumbling in his pocket. He pulled out an envelope.

  “Hullo,” said Nancy. “Are those eels in the corner? We always put a skull and crossbones.”

  The Mastodon did not answer. He took a folded sheet of paper from the envelope. “You’d better read it,” he said.

  “But I can’t,” said Nancy, staring at meaningless letters and words in an unknown language. “I say, have the Eels got a language of their own?”

  “It takes a bit of practice,” said the Mastodon. “It’s easy really when you’re accustomed to it. There’s a looking glass on that wall. You hold it up to that.”

  Nancy held the bit of paper up and, in the looking glass, it turned into ordinary English. They could all read it.

  “DANGER BEWARE LOOK OUT INVADERS ENEMIES THE MAN WHOS BEEN PUTTING A PATCH IN THE MISSION SHIP SAYS HIS FATHER TOOK TWO FEMALES ROUND TO OUR ISLAND. HE TOOK THEM IN HIS MOTOR BOAT AND HE SAYS THERES A WHOLE LOT MORE THERE IN TENTS. FEND THEM OFF DRIVE THEM AWAY THEYLL SPOIL EVERYTHING GET RID OF THEM SOMEHOW. SHIPS READY WERE COMING TOMORROW OR THE NEXT DAY THREE ROCKETS AT DUSK IF WE GET THERE.”

  There was no signature, except a lively drawing of three eels. Underneath the eels there were another two lines of writing:

  “PS. THE MISSIONARIES SAY YOU MUSTN’T SET FIRE TO THEIR TENTS BUT DO GET RID OF THEM BEFORE WE COME.”

  They read it and read it again with lengthening faces.

  “But who are the two females?” said Nancy. “We haven’t seen any grown-ups about at all.”

  “They mean you and Peggy,” said Titty.

  Nancy turned suddenly red. She was just going to burst out with something, but stopped herself and swallowed indignantly.

  “Two females indeed!” she said at last, under her breath.

  The Mastodon was looking at them miserably.

  “It’s going to be awful,” he said. “They’ll never understand. If only they’d been here it might have been all right. But now they’ll come and I’ve gone and spoilt everything. Nothing’s secret any longer. I’ve gone and told you everything … even the passwords. And I’ve been helping instead of driving you away. I don’t know how it all happened. They’ll think it was simply treachery.”

  “Oh look here,” said Nancy. “It doesn’t matter. When they come you can just try to turn us out. We’ll put up a stockade and defend ourselves. It’ll be as good a war as anybody could want. If there aren’t enough of you, some of us’ll help on your side.”

  “It’s not that,” said the Mastodon. “Daisy won’t want anybody here at all. I ought to have kept right away. I would have done if I hadn’t gone and thought you were them, and then coming to your camp, and letting out one thing after another, and what can I tell her about the blood brotherhood business?”

  “Great Congers and Lampreys,” burst out Nancy. “We can’t deblood ourselves now.”

  “I can’t either,” said the Mastodon. “That’s just it.”

  John had listened, in silence.

  “Look here,” he said at last. “If you think they wouldn’t like it, you’d better not let us come here for supper.”

  The Mastodon looked at him gratefully.

  “If I could only have explained to them,” he said.

  “Let’s put it off,” said John. “We’d better go and tell Susan now.”

  “I’m most awfully sorry,” said the Mastodon. “I’d got everything ready. Mother gave me a ham when I told her how many you were. And she’s put in an extra lot of stores.”

  “I thought that sack was pretty heavy,” said Roger.

  “It’ll keep,” said Nancy.

  “It’s all my fault,” said the Mastodon. “I don’t know how it all happened. Everything just slipped out. … Of course, Daisy doesn’t know you were marooned,” he added hopefully.

  “Cheer up, Mastodon,” said Nancy. “We won’t come. But I don’t see why you shouldn’t come to supper with us instead. Savage spy in pal
eface camp. Nobody could object to that.”

  “Better not,” said the Mastodon. “Look here. You take the ham. …”

  “Oh we can’t do that,” said Titty.

  Silently they climbed up through the hatch and came on deck. Silently they went down into their boats.

  “You’ll explain to the others,” said the Mastodon, looking down from Speedy’s deck.

  “Come on, Mastodon,” said John suddenly. “You come to supper with us, even if it’s the last time.”

  “I’d really better not,” said the Mastodon. “I say, you know I am most awfully sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault at all,” said Titty.

  “Anyway, thank you very much for all you’ve done,” said John. “Showing us channels and things.”

  “I oughtn’t to have done it,” said the Mastodon.

  They rowed silently away. The Mastodon stood for a moment watching them from the deck of the old barge. The bright colours of her name, Speedy, in the painted scroll-work on her rail, seemed almost to mock them. The gaudy bit of painting looked so much more cheerful than they felt.

  Nancy stopped rowing to give the Mastodon a parting wave. The others waved too. The Mastodon waved back and then turned sharply round and went below. For a few minutes they could see the old barge, a wreck, with nothing to show that it was the lair of a savage. Then, as the creek twisted, it was hidden by the high banks.

  *

  Not a word was said by anybody as they rowed down Goblin Creek to the landing place.

  Bridget came running to meet them as they walked up the path across the saltings. “Hullo!” she said. “We’re all ready.”

  Peggy was close behind her. “Is it time to start?” she said. “We’ve made a huge lot of blackberry and banana mash. My wrist’s nearly bust with mashing them. And Susan’s got a saucepan full of mushroom stewing now. We went to the kraal and she got a jug of cream.”