Pigeon Post. Arthur Ransome
By the time she had hopped in again and Amazon was fairly sailing with Dorothea at the tiller, he was gone, and Titty, looking back, saw him disappear on the run, round the corner of the house. It was not going to be Dick’s fault if things were not ready in time.
They tied up at one of the Rio boat piers and left Amazon in charge of a friendly boatman. Peggy wasted twopence by telephoning to the station to enquire for Timothy, but no livestock had come of any kind. Dorothea and Roger went off to buy the things for Dick, while the others were busy with the list of stores made out by Mrs Blackett. It was a good list, though when she had made it Mrs Blackett had been thinking that the camp would be no further from home than Beckfoot lawn. Roger had looked through it while they were sailing across. Some people always forget things like chocolate in making out a list like that. But Mrs Blackett, after all, was Captain Flint’s sister. Chocolate was in it, and oranges, bananas, tins of steak and kidney pie, tins of sardines, a large tin of squashed fly biscuits. It was a decidedly good list and Roger had had no criticisms to make. Then new torches had to be bought at the chemist’s, and a new thermos flask in place of Roger’s which had been broken. Then eight small hammers were bought at the ironmonger’s and eight pairs of sun goggles at the garage, and Titty, at the last moment, dashed into the stationer’s and bought an enormous ball of string.
“Whatever for?” said Dorothea.
“Exploring tunnels like yesterday,” said Titty. “Fasten one end of it, and unroll the other, so as not to get lost. You could feel your way out with it even if a bat had knocked your candle out and you hadn’t any more matches.”
All four had parcels to carry, and the knapsacks on their backs, stuffed with tins, were heavy and uncomfortable before they came back to the boat pier, dumped their loads on the pier, stowed them in the Amazon and sailed for home.
Dick was hard at work. The morning had gone by at frightful speed. As far as he could see, nothing was wrong with that old bell but dirt and rust. But it took a long time to clean every bit of it, to get the rust off the gong and the verdigris off the brass terminals, to file the surfaces where they gripped the wires, and to get new bits of wire ready, with bright twisted ends to replace the old ones that he could not trust. Now he was putting it all together again. He was pretty sure he had thought of a way of turning the swinging wires of the pigeons’ door into a bell-push, but that would not be much good if he had not got a bell for it to ring. He screwed the trembler into place, and adjusted it until the little hammer on the trembler did not quite touch the bell. But would it tremble? He looked it all over, and took the dry battery out of his pocket torch. He took two short bits of insulated wire and fixed one between the battery and one of the terminals. Holding his breath, he made contact with the other. Would it tremble, or would it not? A tiny spark flickered as the wire touched. The trembler shivered into life …
“Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr …”
And at that moment the provisioning party, who had landed their cargo and dumped the stores in the camp, came running into the yard.
“Trrrrrrrrrr …”
“Oh, well done, Dick. It works,” cried Dorothea.
“Good,” said Titty, “but are you sure it’s loud enough?” The bell was certainly working, but would that faint tinkling purr catch the ears of busy natives?
“It’s going to be a lot louder than that,” said Dick.
“Regular howling din, it ought to be,” said Peggy.
“Hurrah!” shouted Roger, paused for a moment to pull his new goggles out of his pocket, put them on, grinned horribly at Titty, and dashed off into the house to take the good news to Mrs Blackett.
Presently he came soberly back.
“What did she say,” said Peggy.
“She liked the goggles,” said Roger.
“Oh yes,” said Titty, “but what about the bell?”
“She said, ‘Well done, Dick,’ and then she said, ‘It’s clever of Dick to make the old thing work, but the point isn’t whether Dick can ring it. The point is, can he make the pigeons ring it?”’
“You can, can’t you, Dick?” said Dorothea.
“I don’t know for certain,” said Dick. “Not till I’ve tried. You got the flex all right? And what about the sheet copper? It’s got to be fairly springy.”
Dorothea handed over her parcel. The others watched anxiously while Dick looked at the coil of flex and tried the thin copper with a careful finger.
“Is it all right?” said Titty.
“It feels all right,” said Dick.
“Are you going to use it now?”
“I must first see just what happens when a pigeon flies home,” said Dick. “It all depends on how far they lift the wires.”
A gong sounded in the house.
“Grub,” said Roger.
“Gosh,” said Peggy. “Dinner already.”
“I don’t want any,” said Dick.
“But you must,” said Dorothea.
“The first pigeon may come any minute now, and I’ve simply got to see how it goes in.”
“All right,” said Peggy. “We’ll bring your rations out here.”
Mrs Blackett did not seem to mind. Dorothea took him out a plateful of cold beef and potatoes and cauliflower and a glass of the pirate grog that natives, who know no better, call lemonade.
“He wants the red book on mining,” she said, when she came back.
“Where is he?” asked Mrs Blackett.
“Sitting on the ladder by the pigeon-loft,” said Dorothea. “He can’t do anything till a pigeon comes, and he says Nancy told him to dig out all he could about gold.”
“Oh well,” said Mrs Blackett, “if he doesn’t mind being worked so hard.”
“He likes it,” said Dorothea, and went off to get Phillips on Metals from Captain Flint’s study, and to take it to the professor on the steps in the yard.
She came back just in time to hear Mrs Blackett say, “That’s all very well, Peggy, but you’ve forgotten one thing. What about Timothy? Who’s going to look after him? What am I to do if the creature arrives and you are all away on High Topps? You haven’t even finished the box to put him in at nights.”
“We’ll get it done this afternoon,” said Peggy.
CHAPTER VI
NEWS FROM THE WILDERNESS
TITTY outside and Dick inside the pigeon-loft were waiting for the first of the returning pigeons. Dick was finding it hard to keep his mind on gold. He never had been able to think of two things at once. He laid Phillips on Metals aside and had yet another look at the pigeons’ own front door. It was oblong, with a slide that closed either one half or the other. When the slide was pushed to the right the pigeons could go freely in or out. When it was pushed to the left it left an opening with a row of wires hung on a bar. A strip of wood on the threshold stopped them from swinging outwards, but a pigeon coming in could push through them, and as soon as it was inside they would fall back into place. Carefully, with a finger, Dick lifted two or three of the little swinging wires through which the pigeons had to push their way. They were very light. Everything would depend on the pigeons’ strength and eagerness. Did they simply crash in, or did they feel their way in timidly, so that any little extra weight would stop them from wanting to come in at all? Titty