Captain John Visits Captain Flint
The first thing John did when he woke in the morning was to listen. He could hear Roger’s breathing somewhere in the blankets on the other haybag. He could hear a wren quarrelling with some other bird on the island. But he could not hear any rustling of leaves. He could not hear any noise of water on the shores. It was another day of absolute calm. He rolled over and looked at the barometer. It had hardly moved. No, it was another calm day, and the Swallows and Amazons were held apart by long miles of windless, useless water. What was he to do about Captain Flint? But just then he heard one noise that puzzled him, a little noise, surprising, uncertain. It was the crackle of fire. He sniffed. He could smell the fire, too, the same sharp, pleasant smell that had hung about the charcoal-burners’ camp. He crawled out of his blankets, and walked out of the tent, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The mound of earth that was the mate’s fire was smoking. Some of the clods on it had fallen in. Some were blackened. But in the middle of them the fire was still alight, and making little noises like a waking bird.
“Hullo, Mister Mate,” called Captain John. “Your fire’s still burning.”
“What?” came sleepily from Susan’s tent.
“Rouse up, and come and look at your fire. It’s burned all night.”
“Has it? Good,” said Susan. “I was afraid I’d damped the earth too much.”
“Come out and look at it.”