Secret Water by Arthur Ransome
“Keep your arms down,” said the skinny savage.
Another savage was busy at her feet.
They drew back. Bridget, standing against the post, was roped to it, with a rope round her middle and another round her ankles.
“Grab her and hold her,” sang the Eels.
“Grab her and hold her,
Bind her tight.
The noble Eels
Feed well tonight.”
The skinny savage darted away and came back with the lid of a tin. She was stirring something in it with a finger. She danced up to Bridget, one finger dripping red. Bridget felt something cold on her forehead, as the skinny savage drew a wriggling eel on it. The others danced before her, pointing at her.
*
The gloating of the Eels was violently interrupted.
Roger, from the moment he had been dumped beside the other captives, had been working to free himself. He had held his wrists as far apart as he could while that strong savage tied them. Now he was holding them close together and was working one against the other.
The rope was already a little slack. From where he lay he could see the savages closing round Bridget. He wanted to shout to her to hold out, but changed his mind in time. That would have served only to warn the savages.
He whispered to John, “I’ll have this hand loose in a minute.”
John, who had been better roped than anybody, tried to turn over and failed.
“What are they doing?” he whispered.
“They’ve got Bridgie,” said Roger.
Susan struggled in her ropes.
“I’ll go for them in another ten seconds,” said Roger.
“Don’t be a donk,” said John. “What can you do against the lot? You must untie Susan and me first.”
“And me,” whispered Titty.
“All right,” whispered Roger.
“What are they doing to her?” said Susan. “Singing …”
“They’ve put something round her neck,” said Roger. “They’re roping her to the post. They’re going to sacrifice her right away. … I’m out. … at least one hand is. … And the other. Oh gosh! He’s tied my legs with a granny and it’s stuck. …”
“Cut it.”
“It’s one of our ropes.”
“Never mind that,” said Susan. “They’ll frighten her.”
Roger, in spite of the granny, got his hands free. Keeping as still as he could, for fear a savage should be looking, he freed his feet, worked himself inch by inch nearer to John, and in a moment had untied John’s wrist. The savages had laid their captives side by side, and John, after he had got the stiffness out of his elbows, was busy with Susan’s ropes before Roger had had time to free his feet.
“Now,” said John.
“Oh look here,” said Titty. “I’ve got one arm out.”
“Keep still,” said Susan. “I’ll cut it. I don’t care whose rope it is.”
“Any of them looking?” whispered John.
“They’ve tied her to the post,” said Roger.
“They’re doing something to her face,” said Titty.
“Come on,” said John, leapt to his feet and charged at the savages.
“A rescue. … A rescue,” shouted Roger, bowling a savage off his feet, stumbling himself, and going head first into the arms of the strong savage who had tied him up.
“Swallows for ever,” shouted Titty, and threw her arms round the skinny savage with the red paint. The lid with the paint flew out of her hands and plastered itself on Bridget’s white frock.
A huge splash of red paint on her white frock, and the red mark of the eel on her forehead made Bridget look indeed as if she were being slaughtered at the stake.
“All right, Bridget,” cried Susan. “It’s all right. We’ll cut you free. You’re going to be rescued.”
“Oh go AWAY,” shrieked Bridget. “Go AWAY. They’re just in the middle of it. I don’t WANT to be rescued.”
*
Just for one moment the explorers wavered. But their rally, so far, had been successful. The very strong savage had had all the breath knocked out of him by Roger’s head, which had hit him in the middle like a cannon ball. He was doubled up, gasping, unable to speak. The smaller savage was still on the ground. John was struggling with two savages, one of whom exclaimed, “Jibbooms and bobstays!” and hurriedly put it right, by shouting “Congers!” Susan, with two savages hanging on to her, was forcing her way towards the post to which the human sacrifice was tied.
The strong savage, recovering his breath, panted the word, “Karabadangbaraka!” The other savages echoed him.
“A rescue!” cried the explorers.
“Go AWAY,” cried the human sacrifice.
“Karabadangbaraka!” shouted Nancy, and then, “you idiots, are you Eels or aren’t you?”
“Akarabgnadabarak,” said Titty, clinging firmly to the skinny savage who was doing her very best to get her arms free.
“Akarabgnadabarak,” said John. “Go on, Susan, say it too.”
“Akarabgnadabarak,” said Susan.
“Akarabgnadabarak,” said Roger. “I say, I’m awfully sorry I winded you.”
The battle stopped. Explorers and savages, now all savages, stood breathless and panting, looking at each other.
*
“What about lighting the fire?” said Nancy. “The whole tribe’s here. Eels and blood sisters … and brothers. Daisy lights it, of course. Go on, Mastodon, and bring the sacred stew. Roger’ll give you a hand.”
“It’s close here,” said the Mastodon. “I ferried it across before the attack. It ought to be still hot. And anyway it has to be finished in the bonfire … with the human bits. …”
“Gosh!” said Roger. “Does Bridget know?”
Daisy made a poor start at lighting the fire. Match after match went out and nothing caught. Susan watched, and then could bear it no longer. She gathered a lot of dry grass, scrumpled it up into a wad and gave it to Daisy. “Try lighting this,” she said, “and then push it well into the middle. Make a hole first.”
The wad of dried grass made a good fire-lighter. Daisy, a skinny, but finely striped savage, pushed it well into the bottom of the huge pile of sticks and logs. There was a sudden heartening blaze. A noise of crackling came from the pile, and little flames could be seen, leaping and climbing in the middle of the pile. There was a roar as dry sticks in the heart of the pile caught fire, and flames shot up into the rising column of smoke.
“Eels. Eels for ever! Good. Here they are!”
Roger and the Mastodon came up from the saltings with a huge two handled cauldron. Daisy darted at them and lifted the lid. Inside the cauldron was a saucepan in water that was still steaming round it.
“It’s been simmering for ages,” said the Mastodon.
“Now for Bridget,” said Daisy.
The cauldron, with its lid off, was put on the ground close to the human sacrifice.
Daisy, with a scout knife, danced up to Bridget.
“A bit from there,” she said, and made to carve a slice from one of Bridget’s plump arms. She danced away, lifted the lid of the stew, and dropped the invisible piece into the saucepan. With the lifting of the lid a smell of stewed eels rose into the air.
“Beauties!” said Daisy. “You’ve never had such a lot.”
“They’ll be better with some Bridget,” said the Mastodon, licking his lips. He too went up to the post, carefully chose his bit, and carried it to the pot, sniffing greedily at it on his way.
Nancy was particular about hers. “No bone,” she said. “Fat and juicy. A good bit for sizzling. Nice crackling to it, like pork.” She picked her spot, and carved out her bit so earnestly that Bridget winced though the knife never touched her.
“Don’t frighten her,” said Titty.
“I’m not frightened,” snapped Bridget.
Everybody in turn carried tasty bits from Bridget and dropped them in the stewpot. Then the cauldron was pushed, not without risk o
Bridget, tied to the stake, a gory victim, watched them for a time. The sacrifice had been made. The best bits of her were cooking in the pot with the Mastodon’s eels, and she began to feel they had forgotten her.
“What happens to me now?” she said, when Titty danced near enough to her.
“Human sacrifices always get rescued at the last minute,” said Titty. “Half a minute and I’ll cut you free. You’ve got to dance the Eel dance and take part in the feast.”
A moment later the human sacrifice was capering with the rest.
“That’s right,” said Daisy. “As eely as you can. Wriggle and leap.”
THE EEL DANCE
“Go it, Eel-baby,” said Nancy.
The water in the cauldron came on the boil again. Susan, shielding her eyes from the flames, lifted off the lid with a towel.
“Nearly ready?” asked the Mastodon. “They ought to be.”
Nancy hurled herself on the ground. “I’m done,” she panted. “Can’t dance another minute.”
“They’ll be satisfied,” said Daisy, dropping beside her.
“Not even congers could keep it up for ever.”
Bridget, who had started last, found herself dancing alone.
“I say,” said Susan. “We haven’t got enough plates.”
“Who wants them?” said Nancy. “Fingers for bits of eel and Bridget, and we’ll share porridge bowls for the juice.”
“We’ll have enough if half of us use bowls and half plates. And some people must use forks.”
“Teaspoons,” said Peggy. “There are six big spoons and six little ones.”
“Roger, what are you doing?” said Susan, seeing Roger diving into the stores tent.
“Getting the grog,” shouted Roger. “Come on, John. I can’t carry enough bottles in two hands. You take the cake, Titty. We’ll come back for the ginger nuts and bananas.”
*
Sitting in the glow of the great bonfire, the blood brothers and sisters of the Eels feasted and drank. Two to a mug, for Mrs Walker had not provided for eleven to a meal, they toasted the sacred eel.
“Deep in the Atlantic he swims,” said Daisy.
“Feasting on corpses,” said Titty.
“Oh I say,” said Peggy.
“Don’t be a mudworm,” said Nancy. “All the best eels feast on corpses. They like drowned sailors best.”
Peggy pushed her plate away.
Nancy glared at her. “Like us feasting on Bridget.”
“But I’m a human sacrifice,” said Bridget. “Not a corpse.”
“Just as good,” said Daisy, licking her lips. “We’ve never had the eels tasting better.”
“It’s the bits of Bridget that make the difference,” said the Mastodon.
“The Mastodon’s got some of our blood in him, and you’ve got some of his,” said Daisy. “And we’re all Eels together, and these eels we’re eating will make us eelier.”
“And the Bridget we’re eating’ll make us plumper,” said Roger. “Ha! I had a lovely taste of her just then. Very nutty. Go on, Peggy, have another try.”
Bridget ate silently for some minutes, chewing carefully. “I can’t really taste myself,” she said at last. “But I haven’t eaten eels before anyway, so I wouldn’t know the difference.”
“What are we going to do tomorrow?” said Daisy, and suddenly more than half the Children of the Eels turned back into being explorers.
“Oh Gosh!” said John. “You don’t know what’s happened. There isn’t going to be a tomorrow. It’s all over. The Goblin’s coming to take us off at high tide in the morning and we won’t be able to get here again till next year. And I’ve never done the North West Passage. Thank goodness you did Peewitland today.”
“But we didn’t,” said Nancy. “There simply wasn’t time. There was such a lot to be got ready for the eel feast. The bonfire took ages to build. And then we had to go to Flint Island to get the war drums and things. And then it was time to come and meet the Mastodon. We were going to go round Peewit tomorrow. I say, I’m most awfully sorry.”
“It can’t be helped,” said John. “I ought to have done the North West Passage and I haven’t. And all that part of the map’s silly if we don’t know whether it’s islands or not. I ought to have made sure long ago.”
“It’s all my fault,” said Titty. “Going and looking at Sinbad’s Creek.”
“It wasn’t,” said Roger. “It was the Captain’s fault and the Mate’s. You made a good patteran and they never saw it.”
“John told me to go home, and if we’d gone he’d have had time to go through the North West Passage, if there is one, instead of looking for us.”
“Oh well, you’d have missed being Egyptians,” said Nancy. “Barbecued Billygoats! I did wish it was me when we saw you perched on posts in the middle of the sea.”
Susan stared with horror.
“What?” said John.
“Didn’t you know we’d seen?” said Nancy. “We were sneaking round with the tide, so as to meet the Mastodon and paint him and get ashore where you wouldn’t be looking for us, and surround the camp, and do a proper eely attack, and then we saw them. We rowed like fun, but the Mastodon got there first, and we were in full war-paint, so we just had to lie down in our war canoes. …”
“Was it you in those boats?” said Roger. “We saw people rowing, and then nothing but empty boats drifting along.”
“But were you out in the middle of the water?” said Susan.
“Waving a signal of distress,” said Roger. “If the Mastodon hadn’t been jolly quick we’d have been swimming. Titty and I had everything planned.”
“Oh Titty,” said Susan.
“Jibbooms and bobstays,” exclaimed Nancy. “Be an Eel, Susan. Nobody got drowned. They didn’t even get wet. At least not very. And it was good exploring, too. We know now what the Red Sea can do.”
“We knew without that,” said Susan.
“We were only just too late,” said Roger. “The waters had joined in front of us, and we tried to go through and it was a bit deep, and I went off the road by mistake. … And then we tried to go back, and it was too deep. And we lit a fire. And I got up on a post and waved.”
“What did you say about Sinbad’s Creek?” said Nancy.
“I’ll show you,” said Titty, and she went to her tent to get the sketch map made that day.
“Get the main map too,” said John.
“Cheer up, Titty,” said Nancy, as they were coming back. “Nobody can really mind now it’s safely over.”
“It isn’t that,” said Titty. “But it was my fault, and now we’ve got to go back with the top of the map not done.”
Dusk was falling, and some of the striped savages were piling more wood on the flames. Some of the wood was old planking from a broken up boat with copper nails in it, and the copper made green flames in the fire. By the flickering light, explorers and savages looked at the maps, and shared their mugs of steaming cocoa.
“That bit fits in there all right,” said John. “And I say, where does that creek come out?”
The Mastodon looked at Titty’s sketch. “It’s all right,” he said. “It comes out in the main channel, just here. … Can I mark it?” He felt for his pocket to get a pencil, forgetting that he was dressed in stripes of mud and a pair of bathing drawers. He took a bit of charred wood from the edge of the fire and marked the place.
“If only we hadn’t got to leave the north all question marks,” said John, looking away in the dusk beyond the mouth of Goblin Creek, over the Secret Water. “If we’d done that bit it wouldn’t be so bad. All the rest’s pretty good.”
“Couldn’t we do it in the morning?” said Nancy.
John groaned. “We’ve got to have every single thing ready to go aboard at high tide,” he said.
“It’s a
“Couldn’t we finish it for you?” said the Mastodon.
Titty listened.
“No good,” said John. “Savages are all right as guides, and jolly useful, but we’ve got to do a thing like that ourselves. Explorers can’t mark a passage unless they’ve been through to know it is one.”
Titty prodded Roger secretly.
“Ow,” said Roger.
“Sorry,” said Titty, and prodded him again a moment later. This time Roger understood. Presently the two of them slipped away from the circle round the fire.
Titty talked earnestly for several minutes.
“I’ve got a bit of string that’s long enough,” said Roger when she had finished.
“Good,” said Titty, “I’ll get the other things.”
They went back to the others, and worked their way in among savages and explorers and had another look at the map.
Dark was closing in when from far away sounded a long drawn hoot on a foghorn, followed by two others. Daisy and her brothers started up.
“Missionaries,” said Daisy. “Watch.”
A rocket soared into the dark sky behind the island, and burst into a shower of sparks.
“We’ve got to go,” said Daisy. “We promised to bolt the moment they gave that signal. That was one of our rockets and we’ve brought one with us to show we’ve seen it.”
She darted off and was back in a moment with a rocket on its long stick. She fitted it in the ground.
“Are you going to fire it off?” said Roger.
“Bridget is.”
The human sacrifice fired the answering rocket. It hissed up into the darkness and scattered falling stars.
“Now we must bolt for it,” said Daisy.
“But where are your boats?” said John.
The Mastodon was already running, surefooted even in the dark, down to the landing place.