The Swan And Her Crew Part 1

The Swan and Her Crew.

by George Christopher Davies.

PREFACE.

A preface is like the bow of an actor when he comes on the stage, or like the hand-shaking of two friends when they meet--the prelude to the entertainment, or the friendly conversation. I suppose, therefore, I must follow the fashion, and say, "How d'ye do?" in this way. I hope the answer will be, "Quite well, thank you, and much the better for seeing you."

In a book of similar character to this one, which I published a short time ago, I offered to reply to any questions which any of my young readers, who wished for further information upon any of the subjects mentioned in that book, might put to me, by means of letters addressed to me, to the care of the publishers. I then had the pleasure of answering many such letters, and I now repeat the offer to the readers of this book.

I am indebted to my friend Mr. William Whitwell, of Oxford, who is, like myself, a lover of boys, for the chapter on the "LIFE OF A FERN."

CHAPTER I.

Greeting.--The Broad District.--Hickling Broad.-- Felling a Tree.--Dodging the Swallows.-- Shooting the Crossbills.--The Boat-house.

With the same feeling of pleasure which one experiences when one writes to an old friend, I commence to write this new book, which I hope will be read by many a boy friend.

It is very pleasant to an author to feel that he has a large circle of acquaintances whom he has never seen, and who know him only through his books. It should be his aim and endeavour to extend that circle of friends, and to increase the good feeling which they bear towards him.

Therefore, my dear boys, I hope that after reading this book which I now submit to your approval, you will conceive as affectionate a regard for me as I have for you.

This is a story of sport and adventure, natural history and science, and the movers in it are three boys just like yourselves; and that you may understand the better what they did, I shall first describe the scene of their exploits. It is the eastern part of Norfolk, and no better place could be found as a field for the doings of three enterprising young naturalists and sportsmen. It is known as the "Broad District," and it consists almost entirely of lake, river, and marsh. If we take Yarmouth on the sea-coast as the starting-point, and look inland, we shall see first of all a large tidal lake known as Breydon Water. From this radiate three rivers going north-west, west, and south-west. The chief of them is the Yare, which winds for thirty miles inward to the old city of Norwich. On our right is the river Bure, or North River, which after a very long and winding course leaves the marsh, and enters a richly-wooded country. To the south is the Waveney, a clear and beautiful stream, which flows past Beccles and Bungay, two towns in Suffolk. All these rivers are slow of current, wide and navigable not only for yachts, but for vessels of large burden, such as wherries, billy-boys, and small steamers. The banks of the rivers are fringed with tall reeds, and they flow through miles of level marsh, where, as far as the eye can reach, there is nothing to be seen but the white sails of the yachts and the dark sails of the wherries, and occasional windmills which are used for pumping the water out of the drains into the rivers.

In order to deepen the channel of the river for the purposes of navigation, the embankments have been raised so high that the surface of the water is much above the level of the drains which carry the water off the surrounding marshes, and so the water has to be pumped into the river out of the drains by means of pumps set in action by windmills.

Here and there amid the wide extent of marsh are large lakes or lagoons, which are locally termed "broads." These are very numerous and many of them very large. Most of them are connected with one or other of the rivers. Those on the Yare, are Surlingham and Rockland Broads; on the Bure, or connected with it by long d.y.k.es, are Filby and Ormesby Broads, Walsham, Ranworth, Hoveton, Wroxham, Barton, Martham and Hickling Broads, and Heigham Sounds. All these broads are full of fish, large pike and perch, and shoals of enormous bream. They are all very shallow, and are surrounded by dense aquatic vegetation, reeds, rushes, flags and bulrushes, and these are the haunts of many rare birds, and swarm with wild-fowl.

The great characteristic of this part of the county is its utter loneliness and wildness, both qualities which are of especial interest to the sportsman and naturalist. As it is also the most eastern county of England, it is the first to receive many of the rarer migrants on their pa.s.sage to our sh.o.r.es, and more rare birds are caught there each year than in any other part of our "tight little island."

It is on the sh.o.r.es of Hickling Broad, and on a bright December day, the first of the Christmas holidays, that our story opens. A tall large-limbed boy, about sixteen years of age, yellow-haired, and blue-eyed, stands with his hands in his pockets, looking over the waste of waters on which the wavelets are dancing before a fresh breeze. His name is Frank Merivale, and he appears deep in thought.

The broad waters he is gazing over are lonely and deserted save for occasional flights of wild-fowl, a marshman slowly pulling his boat across, and a wherry (as a Norfolk sailing barge is called) beating to windward along the broad, making very slow tacks to and fro, the reason of which would not be apparent to one who did not know the broad. Why does she not take long stretches which would take her more swiftly on her course? The reason is this, the broad is not more than three feet deep all over, save for a narrow channel in the middle, which is marked out by posts at long intervals, and if the wherry forsook this channel she would run aground.

The Norfolk wherries are of very peculiar build and graceful appearance.

They are long, low, and shallow, rather flat-bottomed, but fine and sharp in the stem and stern, which gives them a good hold of the water.

They have one mast, stepped well forward and weighted at the foot so that it can be lowered to pa.s.s under bridges, and be easily raised again. This mast supports one immense sail, tanned black or red-brown.

They sail wonderfully fast, even rivalling the yachts in their speed, and they can go very close to the wind. They are generally worked by two men, who live and sleep in the little cabin astern.

We left Frank Merivale very much absorbed in thought. All at once a happy thought seemed to strike him, for he started from his reverie, and began to execute a step something between a walk and a war-dance. A clump of rushes put an untimely end to this by tripping him up, and causing him to measure his length upon the ground. With philosophical composure he picked himself up, and walked off, whistling merrily, towards a fir copse which stood upon the crest of a rising, lying above.

We should say that while the flat marsh stretches between Hickling Broad and the sea, to the westward and inland the country is diversified with woods, and slight elevations forming a very pretty sylvan district.

Reaching the fir-wood Frank entered it, and after looking about for a little time, he fixed upon a tall slender young larch-tree. He walked round and round it, and examined it critically, finally lying down on his back at its foot, and, with his eye close to its stem, glanced up it to see if it were perfectly straight. Satisfied on this point, he took out a large clasp-knife, and marked the trunk with a huge cross. Then he crossed the hedge and took his way through a large park, until he came to a paddock and pleasant house nestling among some large lime-trees, and surrounded by croquet lawns and well-kept gardens. It was an old house, built with many wings and projections and in many styles of architecture, the most prominent of which was a heavily-timbered Elizabethan style. Around the two princ.i.p.al sides of the house ran a wooden veranda, which in summer was luxuriantly hung with roses.

This was Frank Merivale's home, and vaulting over the gate which separated the paddock from the lawn, he went into the house. Coming down the broad staircase into the hall, he met his two sisters; the eldest, a girl of thirteen, was like her brother, blue eyed and yellow-haired, with a face full of fun and mischief. Her name was Mary. The younger sister bore the same strong family likeness and was barely eleven.

"Well, merry Mary Merivale," said Frank, "is the pater in?"

"Yes, Frank, he is in the library."

"That's all right; and where are you going?"

"We are going to dig pupae for you," answered Mary.

"Then you are a good little woman," replied Frank, catching her round the waist, and giving her a kiss.

"Have you got a mat to kneel upon, so as not to catch cold?"

"Yes, we have got a mat and a trowel, in this basket, and we mean to get you a lot of moths. Don't we, Florrie?"

"Yes, ever so many."

Frank went along the pa.s.sage, and entered the library. Mr. Merivale was seated at the table writing. He was a pale and studious-looking man, with a very kind and genial expression of face. He owned a small estate on the sh.o.r.es of the Broad, and was a deep thinker and scholarly writer, writing books which were intended chiefly for college libraries. He looked up as his son entered, and said,--

"Well, Frank, what is it?"

"Please father, my birthday is next week."

"I had not forgotten it, my boy."

"Well, sir, I suppose you are going to give me a present of some sort as usual, and I thought, if you don't mind, that I should like to choose my present this time for myself."

"If you choose wisely, you shall have what you wish, Frank."

"Well, sir, all that I want is that you should let me have one of the straight young larches by the Broad. I want to cut it down at once that it may season by the spring."

"It is rather a strange birthday present, Frank, but you may have it, in addition to the one your mother and I were about to get you, which was Morris's _British Birds_."

"Oh, father, I am so glad. That is just the book I have been wanting."

Mr. Merivale did not ask his son what the larch-tree was for. He thought that if Frank wished him to know he would have told him at once. He had a most perfect trust in his children, and he delighted to let them see that he had this trust in them. Hence it was their pride to deserve the confidence placed in them, and a happier family was not to be found in all Norfolk. Mr. Merivale supposed his son had good reasons for not making him a confidant in the matter of the larch-tree, so forbore to ask him.

Frank quickly made his way to the outbuildings, where he obtained a couple of axes and a long rope. Laden with these he set off along a thickly-hedged lane until he came to a cottage, set far back in an old-fashioned garden. Here lived Jimmy Brett, his great friend, a boy about the same age as himself, who lived with his grandmother, Mrs.

Brett, in this quiet little cottage. As Frank went up the garden walk he saw Jimmy perched on a ladder, engaged in painting a long board, a foot wide, which he had fixed up the whole length of the front of the cottage, just below the bed-room window.

"What on earth is that for, Jimmy?" cried Frank, in astonishment.

Jimmy turned round, revealing himself as a slight, pale-faced lad, with an eager and intelligent countenance, and replied--

"Well, you see, the swallows build in such great numbers in these wide old-fashioned eaves that they are rather a nuisance, and grandmother does not like the mess they make of the door-steps and windows below, so I thought if I put a board all the way along beneath their nests it would do away with the nuisance."

"That is a clever idea, Jimmy; but do you not think that the swallows will build _below_ the board next year. They will think you put it there just on purpose for them."

"I never thought of that, Frank," replied Jimmy, looking rather blank; "but now you mention it I think it is likely enough they will;" and by way of parenthesis I may say that next spring the swallows and house-martins did build under the new board in great numbers, and so frustrated Jimmy's plan altogether.