Everybeast raised a shout of assent, except Diggs, who had a mouthful of pasty--he nodded furiously.
The Guosim lashed their logboats to the sides of the raft. With their combined paddling and a light breeze to swell the sail, Streamlass got underway in brisk style. To assure himself that there were no long faces and to avoid speculation about the young uns' fate, Jango gave the order for his Guosim to give a shanty. This had the added virtue of keeping the paddle strokes in unison. To the tapping of small drums and some fancy headspike work on Oak-heart's Hogalino, the shrews sang out lustily.
"A rum turn turn, a rum turn turn
Oh, pass me a paddle, matey!
"I'll be sailin' all me days, along these good ole waterways, there's nothin' like a gentle breeze, an' bein' alive on days like these.
"A rum turn turn, a rum turn turn,
Oh, pass me a paddle, matey!
"Through woodland thick our logboats ply, that's how I loves to see the sky, a-driftin' by in sun an' shade, round willowy bank an' leafy glade.
"A rum turn turn, a rum turn turn,
Oh, pass me a paddle, matey!
"Now, I could never understand, why somebeasts spend a life on land, an' never hearken to the call, of rapids wild or waterfall.
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"A rum turn turn, a rum turn turn,
Oh, pass me a paddle, matey!
"An' when my stream of life runs out, don't weep for me or mope about, just lay me in some ole logboat, an' to the sea of dreams I'll float.
"A rum turn turn, a rum turn turn,
Oh, pass me a paddle, matey!"
The logboats emerged from the woodland fringe onto the heathlands. Buckler and Diggs leaned on the rail of the raft. Several times they had volunteered to wield paddles alongside the shrews. Their attempts elicited some fruity rebuffs from the Guosim, who were convinced nobeast was their equal at paddling.
One wag called out, "Ye wouldn't need paddles--you two could do the job wid those long ears o' yores!"
Log a Log Jango rebuked the caller sternly. "Mind yore manners, Fligl, or I'll take that paddle to yore tail!"
Diggs munched on a pasty he had rescued at lunch. "This is the life, old scout. Hah, I'll wager General Flackbuth'd go spare if he could see us now, wot!"
Buckler sighed. It was indeed a pleasant interlude, just leaning on the rail taking in the scenery. Bees buzzed around the red clover growing in clumps on the heath. Clouded yellow butterflies winged gaily in and out of the harebells and scarlet poppies. Dragonflies patrolled the stream edges on iridescent wings, guarding their territory from caddis fly and alderfly.
Young Rambuculus joined the hares, pointing to the distant tree fringe off to their left. "We'll be there by eventide. See the way this stream takes a broad curve? Prob'ly arrive at Redwall some time afore tomorrow evenin'."
Buckler nodded. "Does this stream flow right to the Abbey?"
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Rainbow, the Witherspyks' resident mole, joined them. "Nay, zurr, she'm stream bee's a-runnen some ways off. Us'll 'ave to walk to ee h'Abbey frum thurr."
Rambuculus explained further, "There's a liddle deadend cut-off backstream. That'll be the closest to Redwall we can get. It's a good place to stow the raft an' the shrew-boats, too. Not too far a walk from there, mates."
Diggs brushed pasty crumbs from his tunic. "By the left an' the centre, Buck. These chaps have certainly got it worked out, wot! Paddle an' sail wherever you jolly well can, an' march as little as bloomin' possible. Y'know, I think Salamandastron could do with some sailin' craft, have a sort of navy of its own, wot! That'd be just the flippin' ticket for me. Think I'll suggest it to Lord Brang. Admiral Diggs, that could be me!"
Buckler chuckled. "What do you know about sailin', you great fat fraud?"
Diggs replied indignantly, "Huh, as much as you or any other beast knows. I've been lissenin', y'know. Aye, an' I've learnt a blinkin' thing or three--I know all the sayin's an' commands!"
A shrew who had been eavesdropping from the logboat closest to them called out, "Go on then, rabbet--show us wot ye know!"
Diggs waggled his ears scornfully at the Guosim. "Rabbet, y'self, spikebonce. Right--listen t'this."
Cupping both paws around his mouth, Diggs called out in what he imagined was true nautical style, "Lower yore tillers, me hearties. Take 'er about an' swell me scuppers, make fast yore rowlocks an' forard yore stern, then unfurl yore mastheads--ahoy, mateys, an' so on. Well, how was that for an old riverdog, eh?"
Log a Log Jango gave him a scornful wink. "That's enough t'sink any vessel an' drive the crew mad."
As predicted, they made the woodlands by midevening, sailing on in search of a likely place to spend the night. The trees were tall, ancient and sombre, blocking out daylight
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completely--a far different atmosphere from the sunny, open expanse of heathland. Silence shrouded everything, making the surroundings rather eerie. The Guosim lit lanterns, which reflected the gloomy green light of the overhead leaf canopy. Oakheart drove a spiked timber into the shallows, mooring Streatnlass so she would not run foul of underwater obstacles and get stuck again.
Once everybeast was ashore, things began to jolly up a bit. A long-dead fallen pine upon the bank soon provided a big, cheerful fire. Guosim cooks took over, and from the pooled provisions of themselves, the two hares and the Witherspyk troupe, they provided the travellers with a supper which would have passed muster in most places.
Buckler was concerned about the size of the fire. "Jango, d'you think this blaze could spread?"
The Guosim Log a Log waved a paw at the massive trees surrounding them. Some of their trunks were of great girth and coated in moss.
"These things are so big'n'old an' damp that ye could light a fire at their bases, an' it wouldn't harm 'em. C'mon, sit ye down, Buck. No need to worry over things like that. The beer's brewed an' the bread's baked."
Guosim vittles were good; shrewbread had various fillings baked into it, some sweet, others savoury. The nettle beer had been towed along behind the logboats all day. It was cold and bitter, but very refreshing.
Everybeast was enjoying supper when Sniffy, the Guosim scout, began twitching his snout. He sidled over to sit beside Jango and Buckler.
The young hare watched as the scout whispered something to his Log a Log. They held a brief conversation together, then Sniffy beckoned some other shrews. Slowly, casually, they retreated from the camp, vanishing into the surrounding woodland.
Realising something of importance had taken place, Buckler kept his voice low. "Jango, what's going on? Anything wrong?"
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The Shrew Chieftain's lips barely moved as he murmured, "Keep yore wits about ye, mate. We might 'ave a chance t'see how good ye are wid that long blade o' yores. Now, don't make any sudden moves, Buck, but sniff the air--not too deep, though."
Buckler did as he was bade. "Hmm, strange smell, sort of musty an' sweet. Smoky, too, but I don't think it's coming from our fire. What is it?"
Jango stirred the ashes at the fire's edge with his rapier as he explained. "It's a vermin tribe called the Flitcheye. They're split into two bunches, one lot out o'sight in the trees. The rest are right here inside our camp."
Buckler knew enough not to make a move. He kept his tone low and level. "I don't doubt your word, friend, but I can't see any Flitcheye loiterin' about here."
Jango replied with a quick flick of his rapier point. "Over there, in the loam, t'the left o' those ferns, I saw the dead leaves stir a bit. Flitcheye are experts at camouflage an' hidin' theirselves. That smoke ye can smell--sooner or later, it'll send ye fast asleep. Oh, they ain't in a hurry. They'll just wait 'til we're all settled down for the night afore they comes out o' cover to murder us."
Buckler touched the long blade at his side, where he had laid it. "So, I want to wake up in the mornin'. What's your plan?"
Jango stroked his grey whiskers, smiling thinly. " 'Tis already in operation, Buck. Just wait for my shout."