“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 to-day.”
“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.
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.
“What’s he doing?” said Roger.
“The parrot?” said John.
“No,” said Roger, “the pirate.”
“Probably making treasure charts,” said John. “Look out. I’m going about now.”