“I simply can’t see,” said John. “There’s such a tangle round the bows with the broken mast and the sail settling down there. I know she’s stove in, but we can’t tell how badly she’s hurt until we get her out.”
“Can we get her out?” Nancy, Peggy, Titty, Susan and Roger all asked that question at once. Indeed, looking at the rippled water, with nothing showing above it but the wicked point of the Pike Rock, it was difficult to believe that the Swallow had not disappeared for ever.
“I don’t know,” said John.
“They often do get up sunk boats,” said Peggy.
“It’ll be all right,” said Nancy. “Captain Flint’s coming to-day, and he’ll howk her up in two jiffs.”
That settled it. It was bad enough to have lost the ship, but for Captain Flint to come for the first time this year to join the explorers and to find the Swallow at the bottom of the lake would be altogether unbearable. John climbed up out of the water and sat on a rock to rest and consider what he would do next.
“We mustn’t let the fire go down,” said Susan. “Come on, you two. I want all the wood you can get. And you must keep moving and not hang about while the clothes are drying. Let’s see if we can do anything with the seed-cake.”
“It might get all right if we dried it by the fire and then fried it in slices,” said Peggy.
The two mates, the able-seaman and the boy went back to the fire.
When they had gone, Captain Nancy looked at Captain John. “Have you got a plan?” she said.
“It may not work,” said John.
At the very moment of Swallow’s sinking, with the shore so near and yet out of reach, the plan had come into his head. Somewhere in some book, someone had done something like it. It was this plan, so shadowy that it could hardly be called a plan, that had made him at the last moment use all the strength he had in throwing Swallow’s anchor towards the shore. He had often wished she had a heavier anchor. To-day he had been glad that it was light. But, after all, what had he done? Not much. But he had been down to Swallow under water. The water was not as deep as he had feared. There was no doubt in his mind that Captain Flint and a few other strong natives could get her up. But he wanted more than that. He wanted to get her up without them, and thanks to that anchor, lying somewhere between the wreck and the point, he thought he could. For the anchor rope was fastened to a ring-bolt in Swallow’s bows, and it was just there that he could not safely go without the risk of being mixed up in sail and ropes. If he had had that rope to fasten there, he might have had to give up his whole plan. But, it was fastened already, and if he could get hold of the anchor and bring the rope ashore … He was almost glad the others had gone back to the fire. He almost wished Nancy had gone too. But someone would be wanted if the plan worked at all.
DIVING FOR THE ANCHOR
He swam off again and, carefully judging his distance from the Pike Rock and from the shore, dived down once more to the wreck. Dim and misty she lay down there. It was only when he had his eyes close to a bit of her that it looked solid and he could be certain what it was. It had been easy enough getting kettle and saucepan and knapsack. He knew where they were in her, stowed in the broadest part of her, by the middle thwart. He could hold on to that and find what he wanted as much by feel as by sight. It was different now. He dared not go too near that tangle of mast and ropes and sail about her bows, and yet he wanted the rope that led there, the rope with the anchor at its other end. Down he went, down to the stern of the wreck. Then swimming with his legs and using his hands to keep him close to the stones on the bottom he tried to swim in a half-circle round the wreck and between the wreck and the shore. Somewhere in that half-circle he must find the anchor rope. This was harder than picking saucers off the bottom of the swimming-bath at school. He counted to himself … Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen … at twenty he would have to come up … eighteen, nineteen, twenty … twenty-one … There! There was the rope, but he was already shooting upwards, and a moment later was spluttering and blowing on the surface.
He got his breath again and dived once more. There was the wreck. No need now to begin his semicircle from the stern. The rope was more than half-way round it. It would be close to him now. Now … there it was … a long, grey, thin snake squirming away into the brown shadows. He grabbed it, lifted it off the bottom and swam along it, letting it run between his thumbs and first finger … He saw the anchor just before he came to it. He let go the rope, took the anchor by a fluke, and, using his feet on the bottom now, shifted the anchor a yard, two yards, three yards, until the rope drew taut and he could hold his breath no more.
“I’ve found it,” he spluttered as he came to the top. “And I’ve moved it a good bit farther in.”
But there was no Nancy. For a moment John thought he had stayed under so long that she had run off to tell the others he had got stuck. But before he had let out a cheering shout to show that he was all right, he saw Nancy hurrying over the rocks to the end of the point. In her hand she had Amazon’s anchor rope.
“Have you found the anchor?” she called.
“Yes,” said John.
“Why not make this rope fast to it, so that we can haul it in from the shore? It’ll be a dreadful job shifting it under water.”
He knew it was. Nancy really was a sailor. That was something he ought to have thought of himself. He came ashore, rested a moment, and then swam off with one end of Nancy’s rope, which she paid out from the point.
“Let’s have a lot loose,” he called, and then, taking the end in his mouth, for he did not think he could swim down with one hand, he dived again, found the anchor, this time without difficulty, made Nancy’s rope fast to it, shot up and swam ashore.
Nancy was already hauling in on her rope. In it came, and then straightened, tautened. There was a jerk.
“It’s coming.”
The rope fell slack and tautened again. She hauled in, and John suddenly splashed under water from the point. Swallow’s anchor was in sight. He seized hold of it and clambered out.
“Well done, Nancy,” he said. “It would have taken ages if you hadn’t thought of that.”
“You’ve got a jolly good crew,” said Nancy. “If they hadn’t coiled your anchor-rope as it should be coiled it would have jammed, as sure as eggs is eggs, and you might never have been able to throw it clear.”
Even to be ashore and to hold Swallow’s anchor and to pull the rope taut and feel Swallow at the other end of it was enough to make things seem more hopeful.
“We could shift her now,” said Nancy.
“It’s an awfully rough bottom,” said John. “All stones. I’m going to try to get the ballast out of her first.”
“How much is there?”
“Six pigs of lead, five little ones and a big one.”
“I wish I could take a turn at the diving,” said Nancy, “but it’s no good. I simply can’t keep under.”
“It’s all right,” said John. “I’m not tired a bit. I’ll take your rope and make it fast to a pig of ballast. You start hauling when I give two jerks.”
He fixed Swallow’s anchor among the rocks on the point, unfastened Nancy’s rope and swam out, towing the rope behind him. Down he went, grabbed the thwart of the Swallow with one hand, got a grip on it with his legs, and quickly, as quickly as ever he could, counting to himself as he did it, pushed the end of the rope through the loop on the top of a pig of ballast, tied two half-hitches, lifted the pig over the side, jerked twice on the rope and shot up in a hurry.
“How many did you say there were?” asked Nancy.
“Five more,” he panted. “But the rest’ll be easier. I know how to do it now.”
“Tie two of them together,” said Nancy. “They don’t weigh much under water.”
But it was just the tying that was the trouble. The little bit of extra work, in threading the rope through two of the stiff rope-loops on the pigs of lead instead of through one, was just too much, and he had to come to the top to breathe without maki
ng the rope fast at all. So he gave that up and they were content with one pig of lead at a time.
Five more times he went down. Five times Nancy felt two eager jerks on the rope and was hauling a pig of lead ashore as John’s dripping head shot up out of the water.
“Now then,” he said, as he swam ashore after making fast the last pig. “It’s no good trying to free the mast and sail. If the sail gets torn we’ll have to mend it. Let’s try if she’ll come now. Her bows aren’t pointing this way though. Let’s try, gently.”
They took hold of Swallow’s anchor rope and pulled, gently at first, and then harder. Something stirred far down and sent a quiver through the rope into their fingers. They pulled again and it was almost as if they could hear Swallow move on the bottom of the lake.
“Steady now,” said John. “I’m going down to have a look.”
He was gone with a splash, but was up again in a moment or two.
“Her head’s come round a lot,” he said. “It’s all right.”
Again they pulled. The rope came in and they could feel Swallow lifting over the stones. With her ballast out she weighed very little more than water.
“I can see her,” said John, almost under his breath, as if he were telling of a miracle.
“We can’t do anything with her here,” said Nancy, “with the rocks dropping down so steep. We must get her round into the cove to beach her. Hi, Peggy! Peggy! We must get some of them on the rope, and we’ll go down into the water to fend her off.”
Peggy came running.
“You take the anchor,” said Nancy, “and crawl round the point. Don’t pull too hard.”
“They’ve got her up,” yelled Peggy, at the top of her voice.
“They’ve got her up,” echoed Roger shrilly, dropping the bit of driftwood he was carrying and setting off as hard as he could go for the point. Titty hurried after him, and Susan, after one more look, to see that none of the clothes were in danger of scorching, went after them.
“Half a minute,” said Captain John, who was in the water again up to his neck, feeling round the bows of the Swallow. “I’ll cut the halyard, so that we can get away the mast and sail. Anybody got a knife?”
As everybody was in bathing things, nobody had.
“Get the ship’s knife, Peggy,” said Nancy. “Stir those stumps. I’ll hang on to the anchor while you’re getting it. It’s with our clothes in Amazon.”
“No need,” shouted John, who was feeling about in the water. “I’ve got the yard unhooked from the traveller. It ought to come now. It’s stuck. Oh, bother it, I forgot the boom’s fastened down.” He struggled with the soaked ropes, but was glad at last that Peggy had brought the knife after all. A cut, a tug or two, and yard, sail and boom were free from the rest of the wreckage, while the broken mast, held only by the halyard (neither Swallow nor Amazon have shrouds) bobbed in the water like a tethered log. Nancy came down into the water to help. Susan and Titty slid down the rocks to meet them as they lugged ashore the brown sail heavy with water and almost black, still fastened to its spars. They hauled it up.
“Is it much torn?” asked John, who was now busy freeing the broken mast.
“There’s one awful tear,” said Mate Susan, “and a little one that doesn’t matter. Nothing we can’t mend.”
“Spread it on the rocks to dry.”
The broken mast and the halyard came ashore next. The stump of the mast had somehow jammed and was still in Swallow, under water. But under water though she was, even those who were on the rocks could see that John and Nancy had their hands on her. It was no longer as if she were out of sight by the Pike Rock when, even if in no more than eight or nine feet of water, she had seemed forty fathoms deep and gone for ever. There was hope in all hearts and a more cheerful ring in every voice.
“Tally on to the rope, you two. Give my mate a hand,” cried Captain Nancy, who simply could not help giving orders. “Susan and I’ll keep her from bumping this side, if Captain John’ll look out for any rocks under her bows.”
“Are you ready?” said Peggy.
“Steady. Steady. Not too fast,” called John.
“Heave ho!” cried Nancy.
“She’s coming! She’s coming!”
“Not too fast,” said John again. “Go slow. The bottom’s awfully rough …” He ended in a gurgle, for on the outer side of the wreck he was on the very edge of the deep water, and as he spoke he slipped and went head under.
It was easier going and better footing as soon as they were round the headland and inside the cove, and presently they were towing her along a smoothly shelving bottom.
“I say, Nancy,” said John, “what about lifting her?”
“Steady there, you on the warp,” called Nancy. “Now then, Skipper. Are you ready, Mister Mate?”
She, Susan and John together, lifted the empty hull of the Swallow, which weighed very little while it was under water, and walked it into the shallows.
“She’ll do here,” said Nancy. “If we can get her out. Now then, on the warp. Haul away. Way hay, up she rises. Way hay, up she rises.”
The bows of the Swallow showed, and much of her gunwhale, though her stern was still covered.
“Steady,” said John. “Don’t try to pull her up too fast. The water’s got to run out. Now then.”
“Oh, poor dear,” said Titty.
As Swallow’s forefoot came up out of the water, Titty had seen the dreadful hole in the planking out of which the water was now pouring as fast as it had poured in.
They rested a moment, and then hauled again, all pulling together, and brought her half out of the water. The bottom boards had shifted but had jammed under the thwarts and had not floated out. John pulled them out now. The baler was still in her, and Roger hopped in and began to bale the water out over her stern. Susan found the milk-bottle and emptied out of it a little cloudy grey liquid that was all that was left of the thick fresh milk she had put into it before they started. She found the lid of the kettle. Then, all working together, they turned Swallow on her beam ends to empty out the last of the water, and at last turned her over altogether to see what could be done in the way of repairs.
This was careening that really mattered, and no pirates ever looked more anxiously over the bottom of their ship, beached on gold sand on some Pacific island, than the explorers searched now to find what damage had come to Swallow. There were a good many scratches in her paint, but, so far as they could see, no serious hurt except the gaping hole in her bows, where two planks had been stove in by the Pike Rock.
“Well,” said Nancy, “you’ve got her up, and that’s the main thing.”
“It’s only the beginning,” said Captain John.
At this moment, just when they had the wrecked Swallow bottom upwards on the beach, and were looking at the broken planking, a shout from the mouth of the cove made them all turn round. A rowing boat was shooting in between the heads. There was nobody in her but a big man who had hitched his oars under his knees while he took off his broad-brimmed hat and mopped his head with a large red-and-green handkerchief.
“Hullo, Uncle Jim,” Peggy called back to him.
“It’s Captain Flint at last,” said Titty.
“Hurrah,” said Roger.
“You needn’t mind now,” said Nancy, looking at John. “It isn’t as if she was at the bottom of the sea.”
CHAPTER VII
CAPTAIN FLINT: SHIP’S CARPENTER
“Gae fetch a web o’ the silken claith,
Anither o’ the twine,
And wap them into our ship’s side,
And let nae the sea come in.”
The Ballad of Sir Patrick Spens
“HULLO,” said Captain Flint. “What’s happened? Lost a mast?”
He had just seen the sail spread on the rocks at the point, and the broken mast beside it.
“Much worse than that,” said Roger cheerfully. “We had to swim ashore.”
This was not at all the way in which the Swa
llows had hoped to meet Captain Flint. They had not seen him since the Christmas holidays and the making up of the story in the cabin of the wherry. They had hoped to find him aboard his houseboat, flying the elephant flag at the masthead, ready once more to fire his cannon, fight for his life and walk the plank into a sea crowded with the largest kinds of sharks. He had not been there to welcome them with a salvo as they sailed by on their way to Wild Cat Island, though Roger had discussed the question beforehand with Titty and decided that if he did it would not be waste of gunpowder. He was not living in his houseboat at all, but, for the time, had sunk into a mere landsman. There was this queer native trouble about a kind of aunt. He had not even been with Nancy and Peggy yesterday and now, at last, here he was, only to find them with their ship wrecked and the future black as ink, except perhaps for Roger, who took things as they came and was content so long as things kept on coming.
Captain Flint did not bother about asking them all how they were. As soon as he saw that something serious had happened, he rowed in to the shore, stepped out, pulled his rowing boat a little way up out of the water and joined the others by the wounded ship.
“Lost a mast? Holed her too? Well, these things will happen.”
As Nancy Blackett always said, one of the best things about her Uncle Jim was that he never asked you why you tumbled down.
He looked carefully at the hole in Swallow’s planking, but asked no questions except about the parrot.
“He’s quite all right,” said Titty. “He’s looking after the island. He doesn’t know yet about Swallow.”
“And you’ve left old Peter Duck behind.”
Titty looked at him and for a moment was not very pleased. But, after all, everybody there knew all about Peter Duck.
“You know he’s only for a story,” she said.
“I know,” said Captain Flint, bending down and working his hand through the hole to feel if the ribs had been damaged. “I know. But has he been up to much since he steered us home from the Caribbees when the waterspout came just in time and licked up the pirate ship?”