"Ransome, Arthur - Swallows and Amazons 05 - Coot Club 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ransome Arthur)

'The next place ...' Simple words, but glowing with glorious meaning. No mere houseboat after all. Here today and gone tomorrow. Mrs Barrable had gone into the cabin to see that no jampots full of paint-brushes were going to upset. Dick and Starboard were both ashore. Tom was getting the quant ready. Dorothea, alone in the well, laid a daring hand upon the tiller. This, indeed, was life.
'That's right,' Starboard was saying to Dick. 'Coil it up so that you bring it aboard all ready to stow. Hang on, half a minute. Hi, you, what's your name, Dorothea, just tell the Admiral we're all ready ...'
'The Admiral?'
'Well, just look at her fleet.'
Dorothea laughed happily. There certainly was a fleet, what with the Death and Glory, and the Teasel, and the Teasel's little rowing dinghy, and the Titmouse out in the river with a twin at the oars.
'Admiral,' she said, through the low cabin door. 'Port ... I mean Starboard ... says they're all ready.'
'Good,' said the Admiral, coming out, 'then we're only waiting for the tug.'
'Cast off forrard!' That was Skipper Tom on the foredeck.
'Quick, you. Give her a bit of a push off. Now's your chance. Hop aboard.' That was Starboard, who was moving along the bank with the stern rope amid a great rustling of bent reeds. Dick jumped, grabbed a shroud and landed on the deck.
'Stern warp aboard,' called Tom, and then, glancing aft to see Starboard leap down into the well, where Dorothea eagerly made room for her at the tiller, he waved a hand forward.
'Half ahead!' called the skipper of the tug-boat, Death and Glory.
The tow-rope tightened with a jerk. The Teasel answered it. She was moving.
'Full ahead!'
Dick and Dorothea looked at the little dinghy brushing the reeds where only a minute ago they had been able to step ashore. Wider and wider was the strip of water between the Teasel and the bank. The tow-rope that at first had tautened and sagged, and tautened and sagged again, dripping as it lifted, now hardly sagged at all. With quick short strokes, Bill and Pete, those two engines of the tug, kept up a steady strain. And there was Tom, lifting the long quanting pole, finding bottom with it, and hurrying aft along the side deck, leaning with all his weight against the quant's round wooden head. A jerk as he came to the stern, and back he went on the trot, lifting the quant hand over hand, finding bottom with it and again leaning on it, forcing the Teasel along, so hard that if the engines of the tug had eased up for a moment he would have taken the strain off the tow-rope.
'She's moving now all right,' said Starboard. 'If only we can get round the corner in time.'
'Where is the corner?' asked Dorothea.
'You'll see it in a minute,' said Starboard.
'But here they are!' said Dorothea. 'We're too late.'
'That's not the Margoletta,' said Starboard. 'That's only a little one.'
A small motor-cruiser, making a good deal of noise for its size, but nothing like the noise of the Margoletta, was coming down river to meet them. It slowed up on seeing the fleet, the Death and Glory towing the Teasel and the little Titmouse, rowed by Port, acting as encouragement and convoy.
'Decent of them,' said Tom. 'Keep an eye on the tug,' he added, jerking the quant from the mud and running forward again.
A single, shrill whistle sounded from the Death and Glory. It was answered on the instant by a single hoot from a motor-horn on the little cruiser.
'Good for Joe,' said Tom.
'What does it mean?' asked Dick.
'He's telling everybody that he's directing his course to starboard,' said Tom, 'and they're going to do the same.'
The little motor-cruiser passed them, and the people on board waved to them, going full speed again as soon as they could see that their wash would not bother the rowing-boats. 'They're not all like the Hullabaloos,' said Starboard.
'Wouldn't it be awful if they were?' said Dorothea.
'Feathers for Ginty!' called Starboard suddenly. 'Pick them up, Twin!' She was pointing at a little fleet of curled white swan's feathers, some in mid-stream, and some close against the reeds. 'Mrs McGinty looks after us,' she said, seeing Dorothea's puzzled face. 'She always wants swan's feathers. For a cushion or something. She's been collecting them for years.' Port, in the Titmouse, dropped astern, rowing from feather to feather.
Port was a long way astern of the fleet when, just as they were turning into the long straight dyke that leads to Ranworth Broad, Dorothea heard again the noise of a motor-cruiser. This time she said nothing, but looked at Starboard. Starboard had heard it too. Mrs Barrable turned round.
Starboard nodded.
The captain of the Death and Glory was looking over his shoulder. He, too, had heard.
Tom, for a moment, stopped quanting as they turned the corner.
'They're a long way off,' said Starboard.
'They come at such a lick,' said Tom, racing forward with the quant. 'They'll see us for certain,' he panted as he came aft again. 'We'll never get to the Straits in time.'
Dorothea looked ahead to where the long narrow dyke disappeared among the trees, over which, far away, showed the grey square tower of Ranworth Church. The Straits must be those trees, if the Broad was beyond them.
''Titmouse ahoy!' shouted Tom suddenly, but there was no answer, and they could no longer see the river except just where the dyke left it.
'She's all right,' said Mrs Barrable. 'They're looking for you in a punt. They aren't looking for a girl. Or for the Titmouse.'
'We'll be all right too, if we can get to the Straits,' said Starboard. 'Let me have a go at the quant.' But no. Tom would have felt even worse if he had not had the quant to push at, to feel he was doing something in driving the Teasel along. As for the engines of the Death and Glory, their panting could be heard by everybody.
'If only there were two quants,' said Starboard.
'They're simply bound to look down the dyke,' said Tom, 'and they'll see the Death and Glories towing, and if they've got any sense at all they'll come and have a look.'
Nearer and nearer behind the reed-beds came die noise of the Margoletta. Everybody except Starboard - and even she glanced over her shoulder every other moment - was looking back towards the river, watching for the Margoletta to show in the opening at the mouth of the dyke. Who would show there first, Port or the Hullabaloos? And, oh, how far it seemed to those trees.
'There she is,' said the Admiral.
'But she's rowing quite slowly,' said Dorothea. 'She can't not have heard them. And she's not turning in. She's at the other side of the river, picking feathers ... But there weren't any feathers there ... Or were there?'
'Well done, that Port of yours,' cried the Admiral. 'I should never have thought of it. Dick, where are those glasses? Well done, Port,' said Mrs Barrable again. 'Well done! Well done!'
There was the huge bulk of the Margoletta passing the mouth of the dyke. The Teasel and the Death and Glories were all in full view of them. But not a single one of the Hullabaloos was looking their way. Mrs Barrable was silently clapping her hands. 'They're wondering what on earth that girl is doing. And they can't look both ways at once.'
The Margoletta passed the mouth of the dyke, and went roaring on down the river. And the crews of the Teasel and the Death and Glory saw Port in the Titmouse, taking short lazy strokes with her oars, disappear behind the reeds as if she were going on upstream.
'Dodged them all right this time,' said Tom, 'thanks to Port.'
In another minute or two the Teasel was in the Straits, with trees on either side of the narrow dyke. The dyke bent to the left, and divided into two, one branch blocked with posts and chains, the other slowly widening towards a sheet of open water, still as glass, except for birds swimming and stirring the reflections of the reeds.
'Where do you want to stop?' asked Tom. 'The staithe?'
'Much quieter here,' said Mrs Barrable.