Winter Holiday

by Arthur Ransome

  Peggy alone, of the explorers who met aboard the Fram, had actually seen the Pole, but that had been a long time ago, and she really remembered very little about it. Not even she knew what was preparing between Nancy and Captain Flint. One or two odd little things happened that might have been enough to show what they were up to, but, as Peggy said, “It only spoils things to be too beastly clever.” So questions were not pushed too hard, and when it was necessary the explorers looked the other way. For example, everybody had known, the day after Captain Flint had had his first talk with Nancy, that he had skated right up to the head of the lake to see those Polar bears of whom he had spoken. But not one single word was said to him about it when he came back. A day or two after that, he disappeared for a long time, and when he came back Roger, after examining his sledge, asked him why it was all black with coal dust. Captain Flint looked at him and shut both eyes, and the others sang out at once that they did not want to know.

  “If it’s anything to do with the Pole, I don’t either,” said Roger.

  “Then everybody’ll be content,” said Captain Flint.

  All the same, as the days went on, everybody knew that the journey to the Pole was coming very near. There was great cleaning of skates and sledge-runners, and a lot of hard work put into the greasing of skating boots. And Dick was getting more and more desperate because, as yet, he had not been able to finish up his mast and make his sail. It was as if the Eskimos at Dixon’s Farm hardly realized how urgently needed these things might be.

  *

  And then one morning, just as Peggy and the Swallows were skating out of Holly Howe Bay after breakfast, on their way to the Fram, they saw Captain Flint with his sledge, close to the shore of Long Island and skating towards Rio. They had skated cheerfully in pursuit of him, round the point, past the deserted boatsheds and into the crowded bay of Rio, where they lost him altogether. They looked up the lake towards Beckfoot, and could see no sign of him. They knew he must be somewhere in the bay, which was black with seals and Eskimos. The five of them skated this way and that, looking for him, and in the end skated towards the landing-stages, where newcomers were sitting in rows, putting on their skates.

  “Well, he’s simply disappeared,” said Titty.

  “Gone through a hole in the ice,” said Roger cheerfully.

  But just then they saw him, coming down out of the village, towing his sledge behind him. But the sledge was no longer empty. There was an enormous packing-case on it. They skated round to meet him when he came down on the shore. He sat down on the wooden case to put his skates on, and looked up with surprise when they came crowding round.

  “Hullo!” he said. “What are you doing here? You’ve got that spare key of the cabin, so you can let yourselves in. Be off with you. Don’t wait dinner for me. But I’ll be wanting tea when I come back.”

  “What’s in that box?” asked Roger.

  “It’s just about big enough for you, isn’t it?” said Captain Flint; and then stood up with his skates on, and a moment later was gliding away from the shore, tugging his loaded sledge behind him.

  “Which way are you going?” asked Roger.

  “Let’s all be dogs and help,” said Titty.

  “Thanks very much,” said Captain Flint, “not this time,” and, gathering speed, went on his way into the middle of the crowd of skaters.

  “Let’s go after him,” said Roger.

  “Rot!” said Peggy. “Let’s go the other way.”

  John and Susan agreed with Peggy. They skated out from Rio towards Long Island. Just for a moment they caught sight of Captain Flint, with his sledge and the big box on it, going steadily northwards. They turned south, themselves, and reached the Fram just in time to stop Dorothea and Dick who, after finding the Fram empty and locked up, were setting off towards the shore, thinking that perhaps they had mistaken the signal, and that everybody had gone to the igloo.

  “Where’s Captain Flint?” Dorothea asked.

  “Up in the Arctic somewhere,” Peggy replied. “He’s coming back after dinner.”

  “Anybody got any plans?” John asked.

  “We’ve got to get back early,” said Dick, who had arranged to spend the afternoon at home with the Eskimos. Mr Dixon had promised to make him a sort of box that was to go near the front of the sledge for the stepping of the mast; and Mrs Dixon, who had been putting it off day after day, had said that if he liked to be at home, to show her just what he wanted, she would get that sail of his finished out of hand.

  “Back to Dixon’s Farm?” said Peggy. “But why?”

  “What for?” said Roger.

  Dick looked very bothered. He had set his heart on saying nothing about it to the others until he had made sure his sail would work.

  “It’s something he’s got to do,” said Dorothea.

  “Secret?” asked Titty.

  “It’s for the expedition,” said Dick.

  After that nobody tried to make them stay. After all, in a case like this, the more secrets the better. So the plan for the day was made to include a skating practice, and everybody went at full speed right down the lake, past Spitzbergen, across to Horseshoe Point, where the sharp Pike rock, on which Swallow once had been wrecked, was just showing through the ice; back again to Cormorant Island, across to Shark’s Bay, and so to the Dixon’s Farm landing. Here they parted, and the D.’s went up the field to the farm, while the rest of the explorers went back to the Fram for dinner.

  In the afternoon, Roger, whose turn it happened to be to keep watch on deck, saw Captain Flint skating wearily home.

  “Here he is,” he shouted into the cabin. “And that box has gone.”

  “Don’t let’s ask him where he’s been,” said Peggy.

  People looked with interest at the empty sledge, and at Captain Flint himself, who was both very hot and very dirty; but the only question that was asked him was asked by Susan, ten minutes later, when they were all sitting round the cabin table, and that was: “How many lumps of sugar would he like to have in his tea?”

  “By Jove,” said Captain Flint, “I’m so thirsty, I believe I could drink it with forty or with none at all. Make it three for luck.”

  But today Captain Flint seemed almost to want to be asked questions. He had asked for a little drop of water to wash his hands in, and had held them up, black and sooty, and had said, “Well, how do you think I got them into that sort of mess?” and Susan, after one look at them, had said, “You’ve been laying a fire.”

  “Susan,” said he, “you’ll make a Sherlock Holmes yet. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Something else, too. I’ve been sweeping a chimney that was properly choked with jackdaws’ nests.”

  Everybody stared at him.

  “You don’t believe me,” he said, “but I have. And now I think everything’s ready, and I can look forward to a holiday. I little thought when I came back because the lake was frozen, that I was running myself in for such a lot of hard work. Hullo, what’s become of the D.’s?”

  “Busy at home,” said John.

  “Up to something,” said Peggy.

  “Can you make sure of their coming to the Fram tomorrow, or must I go up there tonight?”

  “They’ll be here all right if we put the signal for them.”

  “Well, you put it,” said Captain Flint, and, after his third or fourth mug of tea, had explained why.

  “They’re going to let Nancy loose on the world tomorrow,” he said.

  “Three thousand cheers!” shouted John, and the whole lot of them stood up and yelled.

  “Wait a minute,” said Captain Flint.

  “Shut up, everybody,” said Peggy. “Don’t be a galoot, Roger.”

  “We don’t know yet what time tomorrow. Disinfection, fumigation, and all the rest of it. Not before twelve o’clock at the very earliest, so she says. The doctor’s going round there first thing in the morning; and as soon as Nancy knows for certain, she’ll hoist a flag on the promontory. If it’s white, it mean
s they won’t let her come till next day. If it’s a red one, it means she’s to be allowed to come across here for dinner and to stay the afternoon. We’ll have dinner a bit late because she won’t anyhow be able to start till twelve or half-past. Then we’ll settle everything in full council, and the day after tomorrow, if the weather goes on being decent, we’ll liven up the solitary Pole.”

  *

  That was the programme, very neat and tidy. A final council to decide details, and then, the next day, a march to the head of the lake and the discovery of the Pole. If it had only come off, this particular discovery of the North Pole would have been the most orderly bit of Arctic exploration in history. But there had been just a little too much planning. When, next morning, after hoisting the signal, “Come to the Fram,” Peggy and the Swallows had run up the field above Holly Howe and, through the telescope, had actually seen a big scarlet flag climb the flagstaff on the Beckfoot promontory, they rejoiced that Captain Nancy was free once more, and would that day join them in council. Not one of them knew that nearly a month before, Dick, with Nancy looking over his shoulder, had carefully written in his note-book, “Flag at Beckfoot = Start for Pole.”

  CHAPTER XXIV

  FLAG AT BECKFOOT

  BREAKFAST was late that morning, because Mrs Dixon was getting Mr Dixon ready to drive her into Rio in the milk-cart to do her weekly shopping. Mr Dixon had been at work with Silas in the byre, so that, as Mrs Dixon said, he was better fit to scare crows than owt else. Everything was late, and it was long after the usual time when Dick, buttoning his short coat, with his telescope tucked into an inside pocket, set off across the road and up the fell to the old barn.

  “I’ll be all ready when you come back,” Dorothea called after him.

  It was cold coming out of the warm kitchen, and Dick took a handful of snow as he climbed the hill, and rubbed his nose with it, just in case of frostbite. It certainly seemed wintry enough, but Dick was not altogether happy about the weather. Last night, when they had been busy with a step for the mast, Mr Dixon had told him he had better use his sledge while he could, for the frost would be coming to an end. This morning, though the big hills in the north were glittering in sunshine, there were clouds away to the south. Dick did not like the look of things, and wondered for the hundredth time how the Dixons could bear not having a barometer. Why, even at school there was a barometer in the hall; and though, at school, he did not keep a record of its readings as he did at home, he usually managed to have a look at it and to know whether it was going up or down. And just now the weather really mattered. It would be dreadful if it turned bad just when most of all they wanted hard frost and a clear sky.

  He came up to the barn, and looked down to Holly Howe. There was the signal on the end of the house, square over south cone, the same as yesterday’s, “Come to the Fram.” He looked up at his own signal, hanging on the wall of the barn. There was no need to change it. He had been too busy with mast and sail to come up to the observatory last night, and the square over the south cone that he had hoisted yesterday morning in answer to Holly Howe had hung there ever since.

  As usual, just for a moment, he ran up the stone steps to the loft, and looked out through that great window, at the tarn, and then away to the left at the wonderful picture of the big hills at the head of the frozen lake. There were the Rio islands, and beyond them, on the other side of the lake, were the mouth of the Amazon River and Beckfoot, where the heroic Captain Nancy was having her mumps by herself. Suddenly, he stiffened. Where was that little flagstaff she had pointed out to him that day when she had drawn the semaphore signals in his book while the others were skating on the tarn? And what was that dark speck against the snow on the point? Surely he had not seen it there before.

  He pulled out his telescope with hands that shook, though not from cold, for he had grown warm climbing the hill. He focussed it on the promontory, and found that speck. Yes, there could be no doubt about it. Far too big for that little flagstaff, a huge scarlet flag flapped in the light wind. Captain Nancy was signalling at last.

  He knew at once what her signal meant, but pulled out his pocket-book, to see it in writing. And there it was, at the bottom of a page:

  “Flag at Beckfoot = Start for Pole.”

  “Start for the Pole. Today. Now.” Did it mean that Nancy was free and coming too, or did it mean that she thought the weather was changing, and that they ought not to wait another day? Those clouds did look pretty bad. He looked down again at Holly Howe. That signal, “Come to the Fram”, must, like his own, have been left up since yesterday. They would think nothing else mattered when they saw the flag at Beckfoot. Probably they had started already. Or would they wait? What bad luck it was that today of all days he should be late in going up to the observatory. Thank goodness he was ready. His mast and sail were waiting, and the wind, such as it was, was in the right direction. And now, however careless the others might have been, he would change his signal to show that he had seen and understood. There was no need to look in his book, but he looked all the same, for fear of making any slip. He remembered John saying that a triangle pointing upwards was the north cone storm signal, so that it was right and proper to use it in signalling “North Pole.” Yes, there it was, north cone over diamond, “Come to the North Pole.” He ran down the steps, hauled down the signal, changed it to north cone over diamond, and hoisted it again. He glanced down at Holly Howe, and saw Titty and Roger racing down the field below the house. Perhaps, after all, it was not too late to catch them up. Once more he looked through the telescope beyond Rio, across the lake, to the Beckfoot promontory. There it was, a flapping scarlet flag. The march to the Pole had begun.

  He rammed his telescope into his pocket and ran, as fast as he could without tumbling on the slippery track, down the hill, across the road, and into the farmyard. The milk-cart that had been standing there was gone. Mr and Mrs Dixon were already on their way to Rio. Dorothea had the sledge by the kitchen door. She was just coming out with a knapsack.

  “Dot,” he cried, “they’re off. It’s today.”

  “What?”

  “They’re starting for the Pole. Come on. Captain Nancy’s got a huge flag on the Beckfoot promontory. She said that’d be the signal.” He held out his pocket-book, open at the page.

  “Today?” said Dorothea.

  “The very day we’re late,” said Dick. “But they’ve only just started. I saw Titty and Roger going down the field. Quick. You get our bearskins and things. I’ll be getting the mast and sail. Oh yes, and we’ll want our flag.”

  Dorothea wasted no time on questions. She bolted into the house, and came out with the sheepskins that were to go on the sledge, and two pairs of rabbit-skin mittens. The explorers were wearing their fur hats already.

  Dick charged upstairs for the astronomy book.

  “But you don’t want that,” said Dorothea.

  “Of course I do,” said Dick. “We may have to come back by starlight. Oh yes, and we must take a lantern, too. Where’s Silas?”

  “Gone out for something or other.”

  “Well, he won’t mind, anyhow. And I know how to fill it.” He took the lantern they used for going up to the observatory in the evenings, unscrewed the little plug at the side, and filled it up from the tap in the big oil drum that stood on trestles in the shed.

  “What about food?” he said, as he brought the lantern back.

  “It’s a beef-roll today, instead of sandwiches.”

  “Good,” said Dick. “We’ll manage all right with that. And drink?”

  “A bottle of milk. Mrs Dixon thought Susan would be making tea as usual. Perhaps we ought to take a kettle and tea . . .”

  “Never mind,” said Dick. “Every minute matters.”

  “They’ll wait for us,” said Dorothea.

  “Why should they?” said Dick. “Last time they were talking about it they said we’d be going in separate parties.”

  “But if we don’t find the Pole?” said Doroth
ea. “The others have got Peggy with them. She knows what to look for. We may miss it altogether if we don’t see them.”

  “Let’s hurry up, then,” said Dick, busy with ropes, “The quicker we get going the more chance we’ll have of catching them.”

  In a very few minutes the sledge was loaded. The little yellow quarantine flag with its rope and toggle had been tied to a small stick for signal practice. Dick fastened it to the top of the mast, firmly enough but in a manner no sailor would approve. The sheepskins covered the knapsacks and the big coil of clothes-line that Mrs Dixon had given them instead of an Alpine rope. The mast and the sail were roped down on the top of everything else.

  “Theirs’ll probably be neater,” said Dorothea.

  “We must tie that lantern on,” said Dick.

  “Silas’ll be back in a minute,” said Dorothea. “We’d better wait to say goodbye. Going to the North Pole, you know. It’s not like just going to the igloo or the Fram.”

  “We shall miss them altogether if we don’t start,” said Dick, pulling the sledge out of the yard into the field. “We don’t want to meet them coming back and never see the Pole at all.”

  Dorothea, sitting in front on the loaded sledge, looked over her shoulder in hope that Silas might appear at the last minute. But Dick, saying, “All aboard!” in the nautical manner used when tobogganing by Titty and Roger, gave the sledge a good push, landed sitting on the back of it, and, with the touch of a foot, now on this side, now on that, as it flew down over the snow, steered it for the gap he had cut in the reeds. It flew out on the ice towards the island and, with the extra weight on it, might well have made a record run. But today there were other things to think of.

  “Brake! Brake!” cried Dick, sticking both feet firmly down. “No point in going too far.”

  Dorothea braked too. The sledge came to a standstill. Skates were pulled out from under the sheepskins and, in another minute, Dick and Dorothea, Arctic explorers and their own dog-team, set out with steady strokes for the far north.