Secret Water

by Arthur Ransome

“Mou … ffffff …” said Bridget.

  “Don’t choke her,” said Titty. “That’ll do. She can carry it like that.” Bridget, gagged with a cream bun, and with Sinbad in her arms, twisted her head away from Roger who was afraid the bun was not far enough in, and started along the path.

  “Don’t go and bite it,” said Roger, “or you’ll lose more than half.”

  Titty, lugging the knapsack and Sinbad’s empty basket, hurried after them. A pity she hadn’t got John’s compass. But of course John had never guessed she would find a new bit for the map on the way home. She stopped, dumped basket and knapsack, and pulled out of her pocket her rather crumpled copy of the map. She put a cross to mark the place where they had turned off the lane, and dotted in a bit of the footpath. Did it really lead to a creek? She picked the things up again and hurrried on.

  An old man in a blue fisherman’s jersey was working at a boat. Roger and Bridget were already talking to him. Sinbad was on the ground licking milk from a dock leaf that made a very good saucer. As Titty came up to them she saw a narrow ditch at her feet. A duck-punt and a small boat with a mast and a bit of rag at the masthead were lying on the mud. But there was not a drop of water to be seen.

  “Oh well,” said Titty to herself, “those boats didn’t walk here.”

  The old fisherman swept his brush to and fro, spreading shining black tar on the bottom of his boat. The air was full of its pleasant smell. He dipped his brush in an old paint tin. Drops of tar fell on the ground.

  “Don’t put your feet in it, Sinbad,” said Bridget, much as if she had been Susan talking to Roger. “Oh! He has. I was just too late to pick him up.”

  “Oh, Bridgie,” said Titty. “He’s smeared the front of your frock. And there’s that tear as well.”

  “It would have been much worse if he’d rolled in it,” said Bridget.

  The old fisherman was talking to Roger, who had asked just the question that Titty was going to ask herself.

  “Swim in it when the tide’s up,” he said.

  “Where does it go to?” asked Titty.

  “That join the main channel, that do,” said the old man. He pointed. “If you walk along to that hedge end, you’ll see the tide acoming in.”

  Titty considered a moment. “I’d better just go and make sure,” she said. “I’ll be back by the time you’ve finished giving Sinbad his milk.”

  “May I put some tar on?” asked Roger.

  The old fisherman handed over his dripping brush, and began to fill his pipe. He winked at Titty. “Always glad to see someone doing a bit of work,” he said. Titty smiled. Roger busy with the tar and Bridget stuffing cream buns and feeding Sinbad, were likely to stay where they were. She hurried off along the side of the ditch, to make sure of things before putting them down on her map. That hedge did not look a long way off, and it wouldn’t take a minute to fill in the map if she could see the mouth of the creek from there.

  Time slipped on. She could not walk fast along the slippery path above the ditch. She came to the hedge end. The ditch had widened. It really was a creek. Sinbad’s Creek, it should be, because if Sinbad hadn’t needed a dock leaf for a saucer it would never have been discovered. Lumpy tussocks stood up out of the mud, with belts of green weed showing how high the water would come. And there was water, creeping along the bottom of the creek, which stretched before her, widening and widening, till it came to the main channel where she could see boats lying at anchor. If only she had a compass to make sure of its direction. She looked for a bit of dry ground, sat down, and began to sketch it on her map. It was not a very good map, she thought, as she looked at it, but it was a beginning. Even the best of explorers cannot make perfect maps at first glance. Later, perhaps, she would be able to come with John and correct it. Anyhow, there it was, Sinbad’s Creek, and, looking back past the hedge end and forward to where it opened into deep water (deep, because otherwise those boats would not be lying afloat), she was sure she had got it pretty well right. And then she noticed two things. First, that those anchored boats in the distance were all pointing north. Second, that the water at her feet was fast spreading out over the mud. When she had sat down to make her map the water had hardly come so far. Now, there was quite a lot of it, and as she looked down at it, she could see little white flakes moving with it, working their way inland.

  She jumped to her feet, put the map in her pocket, and hurried back.

  Roger, Bridget and the old fisherman were admiring the tarred boat.

  “We’ve finished it,” said Roger.

  “Find your way all right, Missie?” asked the fisherman.

  “Yes, thank you,” said Titty. “Come on you two. Where’s Sinbad? I’ve been a lot longer than I thought I would be.”

  “There’s a short way back to the road over that field,” said the fisherman.

  “We’re not going back to the road,” said Titty. “We’re going across to the island.”

  The old man glanced at the water creeping up along the ditch.

  “You’ll have to jump to it, Missie,” he said, “if you’re going to cross the Wade without getting wet.”

  “Gosh!” said Roger.

  “Where’s Sinbad?” said Titty.

  “He’s somewhere close to,” said Bridget. “He was here a minute ago.”

  THE MAP: WITH THE ROAD TO THE TOWN AND SINBAD’S CREEK

  “There he is,” said Roger. “Skip along, Bridgie. I’ll get him.”

  But Sinbad had no idea of hurry, except to keep just out of Roger’s reach.

  “Got him,” said Roger, at last, and bundled the mewing ship’s kitten into his basket. Titty swung the knapsack on her shoulder, and started back along the narrow footpath.

  “You’ve no time to lose,” they heard the voice of the old fisherman. “That old tide come in quick, that do.”

  “Go it, Bridgie,” cried Roger, as they caught up the ship’s baby.

  “He’ll be seasick. I know he will if you shake him up like that.”

  “Can’t be helped,” said Titty. “Run, Bridgie, run.”

  They came panting out of the footpath into the lane.

  “Good,” said Roger. “They’re not in sight yet.”

  “It isn’t good a bit,” said Titty. “We’ve stayed in there much too long. I say, Roger, did you kick my patteran out of the way?”

  “Sorry,” said Roger.

  Titty’s two sticks were lying just anyhow. She set them again in the middle of the lane, this time with the long one pointing down the lane towards the Red Sea, so that John and Susan should know that the advance party had gone on.

  “Come on, Bridgie,” she said. “Keep going. Stick to it. We may be only just in time. And if the others aren’t quick they’ll be too late.”

  “What for?” said Roger.

  “Tide,” said Titty. “We’ll be Egyptians ourselves if we don’t look out.”

  PATTERAN

  CHAPTER XXVI

  RED SEA CROSSING: EGYPTIANS

  “STOP,” SAID BRIDGET. “Stop. I can’t run any more.”

  “Only a few more yards,” said Titty. “Keep going. We’ll stop as soon as we’re in sight of the Wade.”

  They came out of the lane and ran up to the top of the dyke. Before them stretched the desert of brown mud with the road running across it to the island. The road looked clear, but on either side of it, almost meeting across, two wide tongues of water were spreading over the mud.

  “The tide’s come in a long way already,” said Roger. “I bet the road’s pretty wet where it dips in the middle. Shall I run on and make sure?”

  “John knows about it,” said Titty. “They’re sure to be here before it’s too late to cross.”

  Bridget sat down panting on the top of the dyke.

  Titty stood beside her. Should she go on, or wait for the leaders of the expedition?

  Roger went slowly down the dyke on the further side and a little way out on the road over the mud.

  “What’s Roger doing?
” said Bridget.

  “Looking for worms, probably,” said Titty.

  But at that moment, Roger, who was staring at something in the mud, suddenly turned. “Quick. Quick!” he shouted. “Titty! Bridget! Come on. They’ve crossed already.”

  “They can’t have,” said Titty, with a sudden tightening of the chest. “They can’t have,” she said again, as she ran down the slope. But in her heart she knew they could. How long had she been off the road, getting that creek to put on the map? It had not seemed more than a few minutes. But minutes go fast when you are exploring. They, or at least Bridget and Roger, had never been very far from the place where the footpath turned out from the lane. They had heard nobody go by. But would there have been anything to hear? John and Susan, hurrying home, would not have been singing or even talking. They would have been just walking as fast as they could, expecting every moment to see the rest of the expedition somewhere in front of them. They must have passed the patteran without seeing it.

  “Look,” said Roger, pointing at the muddy road. “There are the tracks we made coming across … all our boots going the same way. And there are theirs going back. … Two pairs of boots. Two pairs. John’s and Susan’s. You can see the crisscross pattern on the sole.”

  “Oh Gosh!” said Titty. “Bridget! Come on!”

  Titty looked out ahead over the Red Sea of mud at those two arms of water creeping in, and the long low line of the island at the other side. The native kraal, red in the sunlight among its few green trees, looked very far away. There was no one on the island dyke. John and Susan must be already in the camp. Already they must know that Titty, Able-seaman, in command, had made a mess of things. Oh bother the ship’s kitten. Oh bother Sinbad’s Creek. If only they had never left the lane. If only there had been a dock leaf nearer at hand for Sinbad’s milk. If only they had not come on the old fisherman. If only she had not tried to add that creek to the parts explored. If only. …

  “They might have left us a patteran,” said Roger. “Just to show they’d gone on.”

  “They thought we were ahead of them,” said Titty. “They never saw ours.”

  They set out to cross once more that long road over the mud. Titty carried the knapsack, Roger the basket with the ship’s kitten in it, and Bridget, the ship’s baby, carried nothing at all and did not seem inclined to hurry.

  Titty caught Roger’s eye, looking at her doubtfully.

  “We’re in plenty of time,” he said cheerfully, but she knew he meant it as a question.

  “Lots,” she said shortly, and Roger instantly slackened his pace.

  “We’ve got to hurry just the same,” she added quickly. “John and Susan must be in camp already and wondering where we are.”

  “They’ll be jolly pleased when we show them we’ve got a new creek,” said Roger.

  “We oughtn’t to have gone to look for it,” said Titty. “It’s my fault, but we ought to have kept to the road. Then they wouldn’t have missed us.”

  “We wouldn’t have found the creek if we had,” said Roger.

  “We had to stop somewhere,” said Bridget. “I say, need we go so fast?”

  “Remember the Eels are coming,” said Titty. “And you mustn’t be late, must you?”

  “They’ll wait for me,” said Bridget. “They can sacrifice Daisy any time.”

  “You don’t want them to have to wait?”

  “No,” said Bridget.

  “Come on then,” said Titty.

  She glanced over her shoulder towards the mainland and then forward again to the low line of the island dyke at the other side of the Red Sea. The mainland already looked a long way behind them, but the island seemed hardly any nearer than it had seemed before they had started over the mud. It was going to be all right, so long as those two did not get frightened. But already there was water in those curling channels in the mud. And out in the middle of the Red Sea she could see that the water was close to the narrow brown line of the road. Away to the east where in the morning the mud had stretched almost to the opening of the Straits of Magellan there was water. Away to the west a wide river stretched to Goblin Creek. Gosh! If only they had not gone off along the footpath. If only they were more than half way across. She looked back again. Suppose they were too late and the waters met across the road, would they be able to get back to the mainland? If only she knew how fast the tide came in.

  “Shall I go on ahead?” said Roger, “and signal if the water’s beginning to meet?”

  Titty looked at him. So the same ideas were in his mind too.

  “We can easily go back if we have to,” he said.

  “We shan’t have to,” said Titty stoutly. “Go ahead if you like.”

  “Perhaps we’d better stick together,” said Roger.

  It was no good trying to go any faster. Bridget, a human sacrifice not wanting to be late for the ceremony, was doing her very best.

  *

  They were nearly half way across. The mainland behind them and the island before them looked equally far away. On either side of the cart track was water now instead of mud. The track was like a narrow bridge over the sea.

  “The tide’s a lot higher than it was when we came across,” said Roger. “We’ll be coming to the channel soon, where we had to splash through.”

  “It was only an inch or two deep,” said Titty.

  “Weren’t there two channels?” said Roger. “We splashed through one and the other was nearly dry. Gosh! Look at it!…”

  The road dipped before them, only a little, but even a little was enough to bring it below the level of the incoming tide. They had come to the first of the channels. For twenty or thirty yards the road was under water. It was not deep under water. Ripples over the ruts made the road still plain to see.

  Titty looked back and forward and made up her mind.

  “Keep along the middle where it’s shallowest,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t splash more than you need.”

  “Come on, Bridget,” said Roger. “We’re more than half way.”

  He set out, with Bridget close behind him and Titty close behind Bridget. The water on the road was an inch deep round the soles of their boots. After the first few yards it rose to their ankles.

  “Which channel was the deepest?” said Roger over his shoulder.

  “Both about the same, I expect,” said Titty. “This one’s all right.”

  “Look out, Bridgie,” said Roger. “Don’t put your foot in the rut. You’ll have it over the top of your boot.”

  Close ahead of them now were the four stout posts between which Wizard had sailed. There the road was still dry. It rose inch by inch out of the water, firm honest cart-track. In another few moments they would be on it. The water was already not so deep. It was well below the tops of their boots. It was lapping round their ankles. It hardly covered the road, though of course it was deeper in the ruts. Roger broke into a run, sending mud and water flying.

  “Roger!” exclaimed Bridget. “You’ve splashed me all over.”

  “Never mind,” said Titty. “Come on. Once we get across the next channel we’ll be all right. …”

  “I say,” said Roger. “I believe the next one’s the deep one. Look at it.”

  Beyond the place with the four posts the road dipped again and disappeared and here there were no ripples marking the ruts. The road simply went down into the water as if it ended there. Only, nearly fifty yards away, they could see where it came up once more and ran straight over the mud to the island.

  “It really is a Wade,” said Roger.

  Titty looked back. They were more than half way across. If only they could wade through this bit they would be all right. “Poor old Pharaoh,” said Titty to herself. Well, they would have to try it. And if it was too deep they’d just have to splash back and run for the mainland, before it was too late.

  “Careful where you step,” she said. “Keep on the hard part.”

  They went on.

  “It’s all right,”
said Roger. “It’s no worse than the other bit.”

  He was wading on with the water just above his ankles. Bridget was close behind him, and Titty ready to give a hand to Bridget.

  “Ouch!” said Roger suddenly. “Look out for that hole.”

  “You haven’t got it into your boots?” said Titty. “Keep in the middle. Look far ahead where the road comes up again. It’s no good trying to see the road at your feet with all the mud in the water.”

  Roger stopped, standing on one foot and prodding at the bottom with the other.

  “Deeper,” he said. “I’m going to take my boots off.”

  “Don’t waste time,” said Titty. “Do remember the tide’s coming in.”

  Roger took a step forward and one leg went over the knee.

  “There,” he said. “Now I’ve done it. Soft mud. I must be on the edge of the road.”

  “It’s over my boots,” said Bridget. She stood still and looked round at Titty.

  “Never mind if it is,” said Titty. “You’ve often got them wet before. Roger, you stay where you are. Let me feel for the way.”

  “I’m wet anyhow,” said Roger. “And I know where the road is now.” He plunged forward and found the water well above his knees. The next moment the basket with Sinbad swung up in the air and Roger floundered, tried to keep his balance, lost it, and fell with a tremendous splash.

  “Come back,” cried Titty.

  “Lost a boot,” said Roger struggling to his feet. “It’s all right. Sinbad’s basket never even dipped.”

  Titty waded towards him and took the basket. Roger, wet from head to foot, tugged at a boot that was stuck in the mud and wholly under water. It came free with a jerk and Roger took another step and all but fell again.

  “It’s jolly soft,” he said.

  “You must be off the edge of the road,” said Titty.

  “Am I to come on?” asked Bridget.

  “No,” said Titty. “Stand still. Look here, it’s hard where I am.”

  Roger floundered a step or two and stood beside her. “On the road now,” he said. “But the water’s deeper than it was.”