Swallows and Amazons

Roger, aged seven, and no longer the youngest of the family, ran in wide zigzags, to and fro, across the steep field that sloped up from the lake to Holly Howe, the farm where they were staying for part of the summer holidays. He ran until he nearly reached the hedge by the footpath, then turned and ran until he nearly reached the hedge on the other side of the field. Then he turned and crossed the field again. Each crossing of the field brought him nearer to the farm. The wind was against him, and he was tacking up against it to the farm, where at the gate his patient mother was awaiting him. He could not run straight against the wind because he was a sailing vessel, a tea-clipper, the Cutty Sark. His elder brother John had said only that morning that steamships were just engines in tin boxes. Sail was the thing, and so, though it took rather longer, Roger made his way up the field in broad tacks.

“Let’s have tea where we can see the island,” said Titty.

They carried their mugs and the kettle and the tin plate piled with thick slabs of brown bread and marmalade to the edge of the cliff. The island lay about a mile away towards the lower, southern end of the lake, its trees reflected in the glassy water. They had been looking at it for ten days, but the telegram had made it much more real than ever it had been before. Looking down from Titty’s Peak in the evening of the day on which they had come to the farmhouse where their mother had taken lodgings, they had seen the lake like an inland sea. And on the lake they had seen the island. All four of them had been filled at once with the same idea. It was not just an island. It was the island, waiting for them. It was their island. With an island like that within sight, who could be content to live on the mainland and sleep in a bed at night? They had gone back and told their mother of their discovery, and begged that the whole family should leave the farmhouse the next day, and camp on the island forever. But there was little Vicky, a fat baby, like the pictures of Queen Victoria in old age, full of all sorts of needs. Mother could not take Vicky and the nurse to camp even on the best of uninhabited islands.

In the little boat were two girls, one steering, the other sitting on the middle thwart. The two were almost exactly alike. Both had red knitted caps, brown shirts, blue knickerbockers, and no stockings. They were steering straight for the island.

“Lie down everybody,” said Captain John. “We don’t know whether they are friends or enemies.”

Roger, the button now fixed to his shirt, dropped flat. So did Titty. So did Susan. Captain John rested the telescope on the edge of the rock so that he could see through it while his head was hidden by a clump of heather.

“I can read her name,” he said. “AM am, AZ az, O⁠ ⁠… N⁠ ⁠… Amazon.”

The others, hiding in the heather, looked out as much as they dared. The little boat came nearer and nearer. The girl who was steering (they could see now that she was the bigger of the two) pulled something from under the stern sheets. The other reached aft to take it, and then went forward, and was busy with something about the mast.

Suddenly the Amazon, now only twenty yards from the island, went about. They heard the girl who was steering say, “Ready about,” and saw the other duck to let the boom pass over, when she stood up again at once, holding some halyards in her hands. She began to haul downwards, hand over hand, and a little flagstaff with a flag on it went bobbing and jerking up to the masthead.

“They’re hoisting a flag,” said John.

At that moment something hit the saucepan with a loud ping, and ashes flew up out of the fire. A long arrow with a green feather stuck, quivering, among the embers.

The four explorers started to their feet.

“It’s begun,” said Titty.

Roger grabbed at the arrow and pulled it out of the fire.

Titty took it from him at once. “It may be poisoned,” she said. “Don’t touch the point of it.”

“Listen,” said Captain John.

They listened. There was not a sound to be heard but the quiet lapping of the water against the western shore of the island.

“It’s him,” said Titty. “He’s winged his arrow with a feather from his green parrot.”

“Listen,” said Captain John again.

“Shut up, just for a minute,” said Mate Susan.

There was the sharp crack of a dead stick breaking somewhere in the middle of the island.

“We must scout,” said Captain John. “I’ll take one end of the line, the mate the other. Titty and Roger go in the middle. Spread out. As soon as one of us sees him, the others close in to help.”

They spread out across the island, and began to move forward. But they had not gone ten yards when John gave a shout.

“Swallow has gone,” he shouted. He was on the left of the line, and as soon as he came out of the camping ground he saw the landing-place where he had left Swallow when he came back with the milk. No Swallow was there. The others ran together to the landing-place. There was not a sign of Swallow. She had simply disappeared.

She was just going to call out joyfully to welcome the Swallows, when she heard a voice that was not John’s, or Susan’s, or Roger’s.

The voice said, “Jolly good idea of theirs, putting lights on the marks.”

For one moment Titty thought of blowing the lights out. But it was too late. The boat was close in. In another second it grounded in the harbour not six yards away.

Titty crouched down on the ground behind a rock. Why had she ever gone to sleep? It was a real owl she had heard and not the signal from the Swallows. If only she had been awake she would have known. And now, left on guard, she had lighted the Amazons into the harbour, and the Swallows would come back to find the island in the hands of the enemy. Would they ever forgive her?

Nancy Blackett was on the beach.

“What beats me,” she was saying, “is how ever they managed to get here before us. I’m sure I heard them go up the river. They must have rowed like smoke. They couldn’t do it sailing. And I would never have thought they could do it rowing, even though we were beating all the way. Funny we didn’t see them or hear them on one tack or the other. Come on, Peggy, step lively, and show a light.”

“Matches are damp,” said Peggy, but just then there was a flicker in the boat, and a moment later she was coming ashore with a lantern in her hand.

“Why aren’t they here?” she said.

“They just lit the lights for us and scooted back to camp,” said Captain Nancy, “pretending they’ve been back for hours. Come along. Let’s have that lantern.”