“Hullo! He’s signalling,” said Nancy. “Awfully slow,” she added. “You ought to have given your ship’s boy a bit more practice.”
On the little mound that topped the hill Roger was standing, clear, with blue sky behind him. He was signalling letters by semaphore, with an interval between each one, after a bit of waving at large to get the attention of the Sea Bear.
“H,” said Nancy. “E … A … D … Get on with it … I … Heading. Go on. N … G … end of word … F … O … R … end of word … A … R … C … T … I … C.…”
Working her arms like a windmill in a gusty breeze, Nancy signalled back, “G … O … O … D …”
Roger disappeared.
“Well, that’s all right,” said Captain Flint. “I thought it was. But it’s just as well to know for certain.”
“Well done, Roger,” said Titty.
“Useful for once,” said Nancy. “Look here. Who’s going in the folding boat now?”
Everybody looked at Dick. After all, it was he who was going to use her on the loch.
“I’ve never tried,” said Dick.
“The sooner Dick gets the hang of it the better,” said John. “Don’t try rowing in style. Take very short strokes. If you don’t you’ll find yourself spinning.”
“Round and round,” said Peggy.
“And if you catch a crab, she’ll capsize,” said Nancy.
“Go on down into her, Dick, and see what you can do,” said Captain Flint. “We’ll have the other boat handy to pick you up if you turn her over.”
“All aboard the dinghy first,” said Nancy. “Who’s coming?”
“We all are,” said Titty.
“Pile in then and we’ll get her out of the way, and stand by to pick up Dick before he’s gone under the third time.”
“Do be careful,” said Dorothea to Dick.
“Just one minute,” said Dick, and dashed below for the bird-book and his telescope.
“Please bring your big binoculars,” he said as he came up again.
“Got ’em,” said Captain Flint. “I want to see those birds.”
“With the binoculars we might even be able to see the eggs.”
The dinghy, loaded so that there was no more than an inch or two to spare, was lying a few yards from the ship, with Nancy at the oars. The folding boat floated empty, tied to the accommodation ladder.
“We’ve Susan and John and Peggy and Titty and Dot and myself and Uncle Jim Turner and all,” chanted Nancy. “Lucky we haven’t Roger as well.”
“There he is, signalling again,” said Titty.
They looked up and saw the sentinel on the top of his Pict-house, now a coastguard station.
“You wave, Titty. I daren’t stand up to signal back,” said Nancy. “What’s he got to say this time … G … O … N … E … end of word. O … U … T … end of word. O … F … end of word. Out of sight of course.” They had the message long before Roger had finished semaphoring the letters.
“Good luck to him,” said Captain Flint.
“Not too good,” said Titty. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
Dick went gingerly down the accommodation ladder and felt for the folder with a foot … It was rather like stepping into a floating saucer. He sat down quickly with a hand on each gunwale.
“Well done,” said Nancy. “Better row for the place where the stream comes out. See how straight you can keep her.”
Dick, thanks to Roger’s last signal, had been able to put the egg-collector clean out of his mind. He was free of that worry at least. What he had to do now was to prove first to himself and then to Captain Flint and the others, and finally, by taking his pictures, to naturalists for all time, that he had been right about the birds. To reach the island he would have to use the folding boat. To use the folding boat, he must find out how. So, for the moment, he thought about nothing but that. He put out the little short oars, dipped the blades and pulled.
The folding boat, he found, was like a saucer in more ways than one. She simply would not go straight. The faster you tried to hurry her forward the more she seemed to want to turn round. He steadied her and tried again. Again she started turning. He gave a quick pull with one oar to straighten her, and at the next stroke all but missed the water with his other oar. There was a dreadful lurch and, from the dinghy, a squeak of “Do take care!” Dick heard that squeak, knew it was Dorothea, and did his best to smile with proper calm.
“You’re doing all right,” said Nancy. “I nearly upset her first time.”
“Mac ought to be ashamed of her,” said Captain Flint. “There are perfectly good folding boats to be bought, but he must go and make his own. Says she’s quite good for fly-fishing. I’d like to see him get hold of a salmon in her.”
“Pull salmon, pull Mac,” said Nancy. “I bet the salmon would win.”
“It’s just finding out how,” said Dick who, if he had been on dry land, would have been taking off his spectacles and giving them a wipe while thinking about it. With an oar in each hand in this little boat, he could not do that. So he tried again, taking very short strokes indeed, just dipping the oars and never giving her time to get properly spinning.
“You’ve got it,” said John.
“We’ll go on and find the best place to land,” said Nancy. “As near the mouth of the stream as we can.”
The dinghy went on ahead, and, as soon as it was behind him, so that he could not see it and the waiting crew all anxious to pick him from the water, Dick and the folding boat began to get on better terms with each other. That was the way, short strokes, not hard, and never let her have a chance to play tricks. He made slow but more and more steady progress towards the top of the inlet, where the little stream from the lochs above came trickling out among the stones.
The others landed, pulled up the dinghy and laid an anchor out. They turned to watch Dick struggling after them.
“How are we going to bring her to the lake … loch?” asked Dorothea. “Even above the waterfall there are rocks and not enough room for rowing.”
“Portage,” said Titty.
“She doesn’t weigh anything if we all lift her at once,” said Peggy.
“Here’s the place, Dick. Bring her in here.”
“Not too hard. Remember she’s only canvas.”
Dick brought her in. It was still early morning, and the sun had hardly begun to warm things up, but his spectacles were blurred, and he felt a trickle of sweat between his shoulder-blades.
“Sorry I was so long,” he said.
“You’ll be all right when you’re not in a hurry,” said Captain Flint, giving him a hand out. “Now then. What next? Your show, Ship’s Naturalist. Do you think we’ll frighten your birds if we all go up to your loch together?”
“What about the boat?” said Dick.
“Don’t you worry about the boat,” said John. “We’ll do that. Hadn’t you better go on and see if the birds are still there?”
“Let’s see you under way with that boat,” said Captain Flint. “Easy there, Nancy. Don’t rip her up on a stone in getting her out.”
Dick, putting a hand to camera and telescope and the bulge in his pocket that was made by the bird-book, to be sure he had them all, watched the folding boat brought ashore. John and Nancy lifted her bows, Susan and Peggy her stern.
“All right,” said Nancy. “We’ll be there as soon as you or all but.”
“Now then, Ship’s Naturalist,” said Captain Flint. “Let’s make sure you haven’t brought us all back here for nothing.”
“They won’t have gone if they’re nesting,” said Dick, and set out, climbing up at the side of the stream.
“Do you want help with the portage?” asked Titty.
“No,” said John.
“Skip along,” said Nancy.
Dorothea, after one glance at the four who were already on the move with the folding boat, was already hurrying after Captain Flint and Dick.
“Listen!” Dick stopped su
ddenly, as he was climbing up past the waterfall.
“Hoo … hoo … hooo …”
The loch was still out of sight, but there could be no mistaking that weird, laughing cry that he had heard the day before.
“They’re still there. That’s them.” Dick hurried on, dodging round rocks, and clumps of heather, eager for the first glimpse of the island on the loch. Dorothea and Titty hurried after him and Captain Flint, after a backward glance to see how the others were managing the portage of the folding boat, hurried, not quite so fast, after Dorothea and Titty.
Dick looked over his shoulder to see that they were coming. The water was in sight now. He could see up to the far end of the loch. He could see the island. Where the stream ran out of the loch there was a belt of reeds. John and Nancy would be able to launch the boat in the stream, just below those reeds. That would save them from carrying it further along the shore. For one second he thought of waiting for it, but he had not yet seen the birds and so, skirting along the shore, squelching in the damp ground, he hurried on. Then, at last, he saw them, saw one of them at least, the bird whose eerie laughter he had heard, probably, shooting low above the water, and flinging high a long line of white spray as it met the surface.
He stared towards the island, but could hardly see it. When Dorothea and Titty came panting past the reed bed, he was standing, wiping his glasses with fingers that shook. “There’s the island,” he said. “And I’ve seen one of the birds.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Dorothea.
“Nothing,” said Dick. “But I’d been thinking how awful it would be if they’d gone and it was all a mistake.”
“I can’t see the birds,” said Titty.
“They’re a long way off,” said Dick. “I was much nearer when I saw them before.”
“Have a look through these,” said the voice of Captain Flint. “Better make sure.”
Dick took the big binoculars and trained them on the distant island. Yes. There was the sitting bird, close to the edge of the water, and there was the other swimming a little way off.
“It’s them,” said Dick. “The one in the water’s gone under … There it is. Just come up again.”
“Let me look,” said Titty.
PORTAGE
“That black blob,” said Captain Flint.
“But it looks just like a duck,” said Titty.
“It’s not a duck,” said Dick. “Wait till we get nearer. It’s a Great Northern Diver.”
He led the way along the shore, wondering how near he could come with somebody as large and visible as Captain Flint without disturbing the birds and at the same time very much wanting to make sure that the others should see what he had seen. Presently he stopped.
“Look at them now,” he said. “But don’t let’s go any nearer till they come with the boat.”
“Very like grebes,” said Dorothea, when it came to her turn with the binoculars.
“They are a sort of grebe,” said Dick.
“Let’s see that drawing of yours,” said Captain Flint.
“I’ve brought the book itself,” said Dick, and held out the bird-book, open at the page.
“You’re right, so far,” said Captain Flint. “They can’t be anything else.”
“And it’s the first time they’ve ever been known to nest so far south,” said Dick.
“If they are nesting,” said Captain Flint.
“Here comes the boat,” said Titty.
Peggy, Susan and Nancy were in sight, hurrying along the shore of the loch, and John, in the folding boat, was just coming out from behind the reeds.
“He must keep close to the shore,” said Dick urgently.
Titty climbed up the bank, and looked up at the long ridge with the nick in the skyline where the cart track went over to the next valley, and the native settlement.
“Nobody in sight,” she said.
“You forget how early it is,” said Captain Flint. “There’ll be nobody about yet.”
“It’s not the people that would matter,” said Dick. “But if the birds see a whole crowd of us and the boat.…”
But it looked as if John had had the same idea. He was paddling the folding boat along only a few yards from the shore where it was least likely either to frighten the birds or to be seen by any natives.
“Well?” said Nancy. “Here it is,” as John brought it in and found a place where he could step ashore.
“There they are,” said Dorothea. “Dick was right.”
“Of course he’s right,” said Nancy. “But are those them? They look just like any other ducks. A bit big, perhaps.”
“But they aren’t ducks at all,” said Dick. “Great Northern Divers.”
“Off you go,” said Captain Flint. “Get your photographs and we’ll be away out of this in a couple of hours.”
“I don’t think I can,” said Dick.
“You try,” said Captain Flint.
Dick stepped into the folding boat, and paddled away. This was all wrong, he knew before ever he had started. Nobody could row straight up to wild birds and photograph them as if they were trees. They wouldn’t wait to be photographed. But he hoped he might come near enough to the island to be sure that they were indeed nesting. On the thwart in the stern he had his camera and Captain Flint’s binoculars. He was finding the folding boat not quite so unruly as when he had first tried it, but not at all easy to manage, unless he was content to go slowly. Well, the slower the better. There was one dreadful moment when he thought the shore party were trying to walk along keeping pace with him. He stopped and urgently signalled to them to keep still. They sat down. That was better. He paddled on, looking over his shoulder every few strokes, to see how far he had yet to go. Then, gingerly, he turned the folder round, and backwatered instead of pulling, so that he could keep his eyes on the birds and the island all the time.
He was still a long way from the island, though much nearer to it than he had been when he had watched from the shore, when he knew that it was not safe to go nearer.
The bird that was swimming dived and vanished. That would not have mattered, if it was fishing. But the other bird, sitting on the island shore was suddenly floundering into the water. A moment later he saw it, swimming fast, flapping with its wings, beating the water again and again, until at last it rose clear and flew with quick wing-beats, and then brought his very heart into his mouth by a wild, mournful shriek … “Heuch! Heuch! Heuch!”
He stopped paddling at once. It was not safe to go an inch nearer. He took up the binoculars and trained them on the place the bird had left. He very nearly upset the folding boat by a sudden jerk. There, on the shore, was an untidy circle of broken bits of reed, and in the middle of it was something that could only be eggs.
He began paddling back to the others, anxiously watching to see the bird come splashing down again along the water, and presently go back to the nest.
“Eggs,” he said, as he brought the boat in to the shore.
“What about your photographs?” asked Captain Flint. “Got them?”
“No,” said Dick. “It’s no good that way. I was sure it wasn’t. I’ve got to have a hide.…”
“Well, how long will it take you to make it?”
“It can’t be done like that,” said Dick. “I’ll have to make it and get it to the island tonight, to let them get accustomed to it before I take the photographs tomorrow.”
“Another whole day,” said Captain Flint. “You take your chance now, with the egg-collecting fellow miles away and heading for the Pole, and nobody to bother you.”
“The birds won’t stay to be photographed,” said Dick.
“Photograph the eggs and be done with it.”
“It wouldn’t be any good without the birds.”
“You do it properly,” said Nancy. She turned firmly to her uncle. “He’s got to get the photographs, and the Sea Bear won’t go till he’s got them. “It’s no good mutinying now.”
“Don’t spit at
me,” said Captain Flint. “Who’s the mutineer? He’s going to get them. But the sooner he does it the better.”
“He’s got to do it the right way,” said Nancy.
“There’s nothing on the island to hide him,” said John who, now that Dick had come ashore, was looking at the island through the binoculars.
“Not even a bush,” said Dorothea.
“We could disguise him as a sort of tree,” said Peggy.
“Great Gannets and Guillemots!” said Nancy. “What’s the good of disguising him as a tree when there isn’t a tree for twenty miles? If his birds saw a tree suddenly sprout on their island they’d be scared out of their lives.”
“I’ve thought of a way,” said Dick. He was looking about on the shore for stones, found what he wanted, and scraped a rough circle to stand for the island. “There are some big rocks on the island, like this. The nest’s here, and the rocks are just behind the bit of smooth shore at the water’s edge. If I could hang something over the rocks and creep in behind it.…”
“What about a sail?” said Peggy.
“He would have to cut a hole through it for the camera,” said John.
“No cutting holes in Mac’s sails,” said Captain Flint.
“Netting would be best,” said Dick. “So that I could see out and the Divers couldn’t see in.”
“Like muslin curtains in windows,” said Titty.
“It’s a pity Mac took his tremmel nets ashore before we sailed,” said Nancy.
“If that’s the only trouble, there’s plenty of marline in the locker.”
“Marline’s string,” Susan explained to Dorothea.
“But how do we make it into netting?” asked Titty.
GREAT NORTHERN DIVER
“Peggy’s a dab at it,” said Nancy. “She’ll show you. We made our own hammocks.”
“It needn’t be a very small mesh,” said Dick hopefully. “If I had a big bit of netting I could take it out to the island late tonight and hang it over the rocks in a moment. Then, tomorrow, I could get ashore on the island from the other end very early and the birds would have forgotten it by the time I was ready to take the photographs.”
Great Northern? Page 15
