Swallowdale. Arthur Ransome

stood up with Swallow’s little anchor and threw it as hard as he could throw towards the headland. The effort of throwing it overbalanced him, and he slipped. At that moment the boat lurched sideways as the water came over the gunwale. John tumbled out, and kicked himself off with a foot against the sinking Swallow. He was not a second too soon.

      SHIPWRECK

      Nancy, as soon as she had seen what had happened, had rushed round to the Amazon, which lay, beached, in the cove, had grabbed a coil of rope that she used as a stern warp when mooring in the harbour on the island, and had come racing back to the southern of the two headlands, opposite the rock on which the Swallow had run. She had hoped to throw the rope as far as Swallow, so that John could catch it and between them they could pull Swallow ashore before she sank. But the wind was against her, and the rope did not reach the Swallow. However, it fell close to Roger, who caught hold of it and was rescued in the most proper way, Nancy and Peggy together hauling him in hand over hand. Susan and Titty splashed their way ashore close behind him. After them came Captain John.

      There was nothing of the Swallow to be seen, except a couple of floating oars and one of the knapsacks, drifting in between the Pike Rock and the headland.

      “She’s gone,” said Titty, standing dripping on the rocks and looking at the place where Swallow had been.

      “We had to swim for our lives,” said Roger.

      “It was horrible,” said Peggy.

      Captain Nancy looked at Captain John. For once she had nothing to say.

      “I’ve got the telescope,” said Titty at last.

      “Good old Titty,” said Captain John.

      Captain John knew all the bitterness of a captain who has lost his ship. Now that it was too late he was telling himself that he ought to have guessed that the wind would be so much stronger. Yes, it was clear that he ought to have reefed. If he had reefed, the jibe would not have mattered so much. Besides, it was not as if they had been racing. He could quite well have sailed some distance down the lake with the sail out to starboard and then jibed carefully or even come up to the wind and gone about so as to reach the entrance to Horseshoe Cove with the sail out to port just as he wanted it for running in. It was all his fault. And now Swallow was gone and it was only the third day of the holiday. What was it his father had said about duffers? Better drowned. John thought so too. And then a new flock of black, wretched thoughts came crowding in like cormorants coming to roost. Swallow belonged to the Jacksons at Holly Howe. What would they say? It was all very well for Peggy and Roger to chatter about shipwrecks. He knew what Titty was thinking as she stood there dripping, looking at the waves breaking on that hateful rock. For Titty and himself, Swallow was something alive. And now, with Swallow gone, how could they live on Wild Cat Island? How could anything lovely ever happen any more? What would mother say? After all, they might easily have been drowned. Mother was very good at understanding things, but wouldn’t even she put an end to exploring for this summer at least? Things looked worse and worse whichever way he looked. It was as if the summer itself had been the cargo of the little ship and had gone with her to the bottom of the lake.

      “Hullo, what’s become of Susan?” said Peggy suddenly, looking round for the other mate.

      And just then they heard her whistle, shrill, but not quite as clear as usual, from inside the cove.

      CHAPTER VI

      SALVAGE

      MATE SUSAN ALWAYS knew the right thing to do, and she knew now that even if it were the end of the world nobody who could help it ought to hang about in wet clothes. The right thing to do was to make a fire and to make it at once. While the others were still thinking about what had happened, Susan had gone at once to yesterday’s fireplace on the beach, where the stream ran out into the cove. There were dry, charred sticks left there from yesterday’s fire, and she gathered a few dead leaves and built her usual little wigwam over them of dry twigs and scraps of reed as if this had been a picnic instead of a shipwreck. She couldn’t help dripping wherever she moved, but she kept the twigs as dry as possible. Then she felt in the pocket of her shirt for the box of matches which she carried there, together with her mate’s whistle. The matchbox came to pieces in her fingers. The matches were soaked. The wetting did not hurt the whistle, though there was a good deal of water in it, but it was no good even trying to strike wet matches. Susan blew the whistle instead.

      “Go and see what the mate wants,” said Captain John. Roger went off as hard as he could go.

      The others were still out on the point, watching to see if anything else would float up from the wreck and drift ashore. Both the oars had been rescued in this way, and Peggy was using one of them to catch another piece of flotsam, the knapsack full of towels and bathing things. It was waterlogged and almost sinking. Peggy scooped it towards the shore with the oar and as soon as she could reach it picked it up and went off with it after Roger.

      “Captain John,” said Nancy Blackett at last, “why was it you threw the anchor out just before she went down?”

      “Because I want to try to get her up,” said John. “If we can get hold of it, it’ll help us to get her into shallow water.”

      “She wants matches,” they heard Roger shout.

      Nancy felt in her pocket, but they heard Peggy call out, “I’ve got some.”

      As soon as she had lit the fire and seen the first flames licking up among the sticks, Susan took the rescued knapsack from Peggy and emptied the wet bathing things and towels out on the beach. “That’s lucky,” she said. “Off with your things, Roger, and get into your bathers. Then you can go on getting as wet as you like while I’m getting your clothes dry. We’ll all change. What are the others doing?”

      “They’re out on the point,” said Peggy.

      Susan blew her whistle hard two or three times.

      “She wants us too,” said Titty.

      “Coming,” shouted John and Titty. Nancy and he hurried over the rocks from the point and joined the others by the fire.

      Roger was already struggling out of his wet clothes.

      “You’d both better change,” said Susan.

      “I’m going to, anyway,” said John. “I’m going down to have a look at her.”

      “And you must, whatever you’re going to do,” said Susan to the able-seaman. “And then turn to and get more wood.”

      “That’s the way, Mister Mate,” said Nancy Blackett. “Keep your crew on the jump and there’ll be no time for mutiny.”

      In the end the Amazons changed too, for company’s sake, and then, running about like savages, they gathered wood and built up a fire big enough for a corroboree. Susan took the rope that had been used for rescuing Roger, and made it into a clothes-line. They squeezed as much water as they could out of their sodden clothes and then hung some of them on the line, and spread others on the stones near the fire.

      Presently Susan said that the fire was big enough, and John and Nancy went off again to the point off which Swallow had gone down.

      “Can we go too?” asked Roger.

      “The moment you begin to feel cold,” said Susan, “go into the water and swim as hard as you can.”

      Titty and Roger went off after the others, leaving the two mates with the fire. They reached the point in time to see John dive in, bob up again, and swim towards the Pike Rock. Suddenly he turned half over and went under without a splash. The wind was veering to the south now, and not as