Part 15 (2/2)
Luke picked up the lance, pressing it into his friend's paw. ”Aye, that was the idea, mate. Or would you sooner that we were caught nappin' an' murdered like our families were?”
There were loud cries of agreement with Luke. Friends crowded around to shake his paw or pat his back.
Luke glanced up at the clifftops. ”Steady, mates, plenty o' time for that later. Some of you fill in that trench. Dulam, you an' the others roll those vermin carca.s.ses into the sea, the ebbin' tide'U carry 'em out. I don't want the young 'uns to see any of this. Vurg, come with me. We'll have to rig up some means o' haulin' the s.h.i.+p above the tideline, so she don't get carried back out on the floodtide.”
Luke and Vurg hurried to the cliffs, intercepting Drunn, who was climbing down to see the result of the battle.
”Burr, you'm winned, zurr Luke. Oi alius knowed ee wurr a gurt Wurrier, ho urr!”
Luke took the friendly mole's outstretched paw and shook it heartily. ”Drunn my old mate, how are ye at movin' s.h.i.+ps up beaches?”
The mole sized up the situation immediately. ”Et be the least oi c'n do furr ee, zurr!”
Before the incoming tide had arrived Drunn, with the aid of his moles, some mice and the hedgehogs, had dug a shallow channel from the Greenhawk Greenhawk 's prow to a spot above the tideline. This he lined with slabs of cliff shale, well wetted down with seawater. On the vessel's forepeak was a windla.s.s, a simple mechanism for hauling up the s.h.i.+p's anchor, with a horizontally revolving barrel. Welff Tiptip and her hogs helped to carry the anchor up onsh.o.r.e, where they wedged it firmly between two big rocks jutting up out of the sand. Now the s.h.i.+p was attached to the land by its anchor rope. Drunn chose the stoutest creatures to turn the windla.s.s, which they did by ramming home stout poles into the housing. Once the slack of the rope was taken up, they began turning the windla.s.s in earnest. 's prow to a spot above the tideline. This he lined with slabs of cliff shale, well wetted down with seawater. On the vessel's forepeak was a windla.s.s, a simple mechanism for hauling up the s.h.i.+p's anchor, with a horizontally revolving barrel. Welff Tiptip and her hogs helped to carry the anchor up onsh.o.r.e, where they wedged it firmly between two big rocks jutting up out of the sand. Now the s.h.i.+p was attached to the land by its anchor rope. Drunn chose the stoutest creatures to turn the windla.s.s, which they did by ramming home stout poles into the housing. Once the slack of the rope was taken up, they began turning the windla.s.s in earnest.
The young ones and oldsters had come down from the clifftops. Extra paws were needed, so they all joined in. Windred and old Twoola ran back and forth, splas.h.i.+ng more water on the shale slabs as the s.h.i.+p slid forward, up onto sh.o.r.e, creaking and groaning. Martin and young Timballisto pushed with all their might against the windla.s.s spokes, along with the rest.
It was a happy day. A sprightly breeze moved the clouds away, sunlight beat down on the workers. Joyfully they toiled, turning the windla.s.s bit by bit, moving their s.h.i.+p up the sh.o.r.e on its own anchor rope. Some even improvised a shanty to keep up the rhythm of the task, and soon everybeast was singing it.
”Oh don't it make a sight so grand, A s.h.i.+p that travels on the land, Keep that windla.s.s turnin', bend yore backs an' pus.h.!.+
We'll soon have her above the tide, Then we'll clean an' sc.r.a.pe each side, Keep that windla.s.s turnin', bend yore backs an' pus.h.!.+
We've got to find a good tree fast, Then we'll build a new mainmast, Keep that windla.s.s turnin', bend yore backs an' pus.h.!.+
With pitch an' rope we'll make her right, All s.h.i.+ppyshape an' watertight, Keep that windla.s.s turnin', bend yore backs an' pus.h.!.+
You vermin sc.u.m, oh mercy me, Beware when Luke puts out to sea, Keep that windla.s.s turnin', bend yore backs an' pus.h.!.+”
Gradually the s.h.i.+p slid over its runway of wetted shale slabs, finally coming to rest above the tideline, with the bow end firmly wedged between the two standing rocks that had secured the anchor. Luke was smiling broadly, as he patted the barnacle-encrusted hull. ”Well, there she is, a right old slop bucket if ever I saw one, mates, but by winter I guarantee she'll be good'n'ready.” He called to Martin, who was down by the tideline with Timballisto, stowing things behind a rock. ”Ho there, son, what are you doing?”
Martin beckoned his father to join them and explained, ”We collected all the weapons for you, see.”
He unrolled an old length of sail canvas, revealing a jumbled a.s.sortment of swords, daggers and various blades that had been once owned by the crew of the Greenhawk. Greenhawk.
Luke ruffled his young son's ears approvingly. ”Well done, Martin. You, too, Timbal. These are far better than our makes.h.i.+ft weapons!”
Timballisto selected a short sword for himself. Martin picked up a longish curved blade and began thrusting it into his belt. But Luke took the sword from his son and tossed it back with the other weapons.
”No, you're far too young to carry a blade yet, son. Timbal, you may keep your blade. ”Tis about time you had oneyou'll be fully grown in another couple o' seasons.” Seeing the disappointment on Martin's face, Luke threw a kindly paw about his son's shoulders. ”Martin, you don't need the blade of any seasc.u.m. My sword is yours by right. It was pa.s.sed on to me by my father and one day I will give it to you.”
The young mouse's piercing gray eyes searched his father's face. ”When?”
In his mind Luke saw himself asking the same question of his own father. He gave Martin the same answer he had received long ago.
”When I think you are ready.”
Throughout the remainder of summer and all of autumn, the tribe of Luke worked long evenings, after their day's ch.o.r.es of farming food and foraging the sh.o.r.es was done. Gradually the once rickety Sea Rogue s.h.i.+p took shape. The hull was careened, ridding it of weed, barnacles and other salt.w.a.ter debris. Unsound and rotten planking was torn out and replaced with good stout oak, which they traveled far to find and haul back. Cauldrons of pitch and pine resin bubbled continuously. Lengths of rope were woven and hammered in between the s.h.i.+p's timbers. Then the pitch and resin were poured into the joints, sealing them and making the vessel watertight. Any spare food was cooked and preserved in casks for s.h.i.+p's stores, along with new barrels for fresh water to be carried in. Luke oversaw everything, paying careful attention to the slightest detail.
”Do it proper and 'twill serve you well!” Everybeast in the tribe became familiar with their Chieftain's constant motto.
Winter's first icy breath was coating the northern coast with rimefrost when the new mainmast was raised. Vurg and Drunn had chosen a good tall white willow, which would bend with the wind where other wood might crack and break. Newly patched and hemmed, the wide single mainsail was hoisted, fluttered a moment, then bellied proudly out in the cold north breeze. A cheer went up from the creatures who had worked so hard to repair the vessel. Luke stood back upon the sh.o.r.e with Martin and Windred, surveying the new craft. It had three curving sails from the bowsprit to the mainmast, with the big triangular sail and a tall oblong one either side of the new willow. At the stern was a smaller mast with one other triangular sail. It obviously met all Luke's requirements. He smiled at Martin. ”She'll have to have a new name, son.”
Martin, like all youngsters, always had a question. ”Why do they always call s.h.i.+ps 'she'?”
Luke had to think about that one for a moment. ”Truth t'tell, son, I'm not sure, but I think they call s.h.i.+ps she because, well, she's like a mother to her crew.”
Another inquiry followed immediately from the serious-faced young mouse. ”I haven't got a mother. Will she be my mother?”
Luke's eyes were sad as he replied, ”No, son, I'm afraid not.”
Windred stared reprovingly at Luke. ”D'you mean you're not taking Martin along with you? He's your son, Luke!”
The Chieftain nodded. ”Aye, he is, and that's why I'm not goin' to risk his young life out there on the seas. Beside that, Windred, you're his grandmother, so he'll have to look after youthe only family I have left in this world is you two. Now let's hear no more of it. Would you like to name the s.h.i.+p, son?”
Martin would not let anybeast see tears in his eyes, so he rushed off along the sh.o.r.e, calling back to Luke, ”Call her Sayna Sayna after my mother!” after my mother!”
Windred watched her grandson dash down to the sea, where he stood throwing pebbles into the waves. ”I'm sorry, Luke, I should have kept my silly mouth shut.”
Luke rested a paw gently on her shoulder. ”Don't be sorry, Windred, I'd have had to tell him sooner or later. Martin's made of tough stuff. He'll grow to be a fine warrior, though the only way he'll learn is to be told the plain truth. 'Twould be no good telling him lies.”
That night, a feast to mark the completion of the vessel Sayna Sayna was held in Luke's cave. Autumn's harvest had been good and the cooks had excelled themselves. Martin cheered up as he and Timballisto joined a young hog-maid called Twindle and Drunn's nephew Burdle. The four sat together, giggling and joking beneath a lantern at the rear of the cave, ruddy firelight twinkling in their eyes. They had never seen such a sumptuous spread. ”Yurr, lookit ee gurt plum pudden!” was held in Luke's cave. Autumn's harvest had been good and the cooks had excelled themselves. Martin cheered up as he and Timballisto joined a young hog-maid called Twindle and Drunn's nephew Burdle. The four sat together, giggling and joking beneath a lantern at the rear of the cave, ruddy firelight twinkling in their eyes. They had never seen such a sumptuous spread. ”Yurr, lookit ee gurt plum pudden!”
”Oh, an' see those likkle tarts, they've got cream on top that looks like a twirl. Bet my mum Welff made those!”
”Mmm! Have you tasted the soup yet? 'Tis full o' rockshrimps an' veggibles!”
”I want a slice o' that big cake, the one with honey an' redcurrants all over the top!”
They sipped Drunn's fizzy apple cider and munched hot wheat scones that contained chunks of candied pear. The elders drank special barley beer and cut off slices of celery and onion cheese to go with it. Old Twoola raised his beaker and broke out into song.
”Oh the weather's cold outside outside, But we're all snug in here, With thee an' me, good company, An' lots o' barley beer!
Oh the snow comes down outside outside, An' winter winds do moan, But sit us by a roarin' fire, An' you'll not hear one groan!
Oh the night is dark outside outside, But the soup is good an' hot, Good food, fine friends an' happy hearts, I'd say we've got the lot!”
Amid the laughter and applause that followed, old Twoola poured himself another beaker, crying out, ”That's the stuff. 'Tis a feast an' we be here to enjoy ourselves. Who's got a song?”
Drunn began using a gourd as a drum, beating out a rhythm on it with two wooden spoons. ”Goo urr, missus Welff, show 'urn 'ow ee can sing!”
Goodwife Welff was immediately up, ap.r.o.n swirling as she danced a jig, clapping her paws and singing.
”Two plums grew on a pear tree, A wise old owl did say, Oh dearie me I'm certain, They shouldn't grow that way.
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