Swiffo explained, “This’ll drive the midges off so’s we can get the logboats back out into clear runnin’ water. Cover yore mouth, then light that torch in the fire.”
Once the torches had taken light, the Guosim set off back to the brackish inlet in a fog of smoke. Even though Posy had her mouth covered, she soon found herself coughing and pawing at streaming eyes. However, the scheme worked well. Thick smoke soon dispersed the insect hordes, allowing Guosim paddlers to hasten the logboats out into the midstream, and fresh air. Torches sizzled as they were flung into the water.
Uggo splashed fresh water onto his face. “Ugh, I can’t stand liddle crawly things!”
Around midday, the stream broadened. On the surface it looked calm, but the boats began moving faster. Little eddies appeared close to the banks.
Posy sat back and relaxed. Dappling sunlight poured through the high foliage of cedar, grey willow and wych elm, flooding the stream with patterns of light and shade. She sighed dreamily. “It’s all so peaceful and pretty, isn’t it?”
A Guosim paddler, who overheard her, remarked, “Won’t be fer long, missy. Sit up straight an’ hold on to the boatsides. . . .”
From the lead vessel, Dandy’s shout confirmed what he had said. “Belay oars an’ wait on my word—rapids comin’!”
Uggo felt the boat jump slightly as an underwater rock ledge scraped its keel. The little flotilla of logboats began picking up speed rapidly, some of them starting to turn sideways. Now Dandy began roaring commands.
“Port now! Back water! Keep ’em head-on to the flow!”
Rocks poked up into view, with white water foaming around them. The banksides rose steeply; ominous sounds of rushing water echoed all round. Shocked by the sudden change, Uggo and Posy clung grimly to the logboat’s sides.
Swiffo, however, stood erect, balancing with the aid of his rudder. He seemed to be enjoying the situation. “Don’t worry, mates. Makes no difference—sea, river or stream—no two stretches o’ water’s ever the bloomin’ same!”
Log a Log Dandy had to bellow to be heard now. “All paws stroke deep to starboard! Make for the cove ahead. We’ll have to beach an’ portage!”
Uggo could tell by the urgency of Dandy’s voice that they were in trouble. Some of the port shrews joined those on the other side of the boats, adding their paddle power to move across the headlong flow.
Dandy yelled, “Heavin’ lines sharp, now—make a chain!”
Sinewy ropes snaked out as prowbeasts and sternbeasts skilfully caught them and tied up, forming the boats into a connected line. Posy saw the cove looming up ahead. It was an arch, scooped out by constant pushing currents. The surface was thick with floating debris—at some point a dead and broken poplar had been swept in there; its branches and shorn trunk poked out of the water.
Dandy slung a heaving line, snagging the trunk. He and two other shrews pulled hard on it, drawing the front logboat into the cove. Some of the other boats were almost swept by, but willing paws hauled on the lines, bringing them to the safety of the cove, where the water was milling in a slow circle, away from the main rushing currents.
Swiffo tied a line around his waist, joined by Uggo, Posy and four Guosim. They scaled the steep, rugged bankside. Once on top, the line was secured around the sturdy trunk of a pine. Half of the Guosim crew climbed up to the summit.
Dobble, the shrew scout, took a few paces to one side. Peering down, he pointed. “Good job we found haven there, mates. Lookit wot we would’ve run into. Dollrags, that’s wot we woulda been ripped into!”
They stared in horror at the scene far below. Cascades of thundering water, mist and a rainbow wreathed around forbidding rocks surrounding a mighty waterfall.
Swiffo chuckled nervously. “Fancy sittin’ in a boat an’ shootin’ down into that lot. Ye’d have no chance!”
Further speculation on what their fate would have been was interrupted by the Guosim Chieftain. “Ahoy! Are ye goin’ to stand gawpin’ down there all day, or are ye goin’ to lend a paw t’get these logboats up?”
It was backbreaking work, hauling six logboats and provisions up to the summit. With aching limbs and paws raw from heaving on ropes, they slumped down to rest after the final boat was up.
Dandy sparked his clogs against a rock, berating them. “Wot’s this, floppin’ down on yore tails to take a nap? This ain’t no pickernick—we got boats to portage. Up on yore hunkers, mates, look lively, now!”
Each crew lifted their logboat, upside down, over their heads. Portaging was no easy chore. With Swiffo and Dobble leading the way down the steep, wooded slope, everybeast followed, scrabbling and scrambling to carry their burden whilst keeping upright. Posy and Uggo brought up the rear, along with some older shrews, all carrying rations and paddles.
The afternoon was far advanced when they reached the bottom. Skirting the falls, they continued, with Dandy jollying them along.
“Come on, me beauties, not far now. No mutterin’ from under those boats, d’ye hear!”
Dobble, who had been scouting ahead, returned with heartening news. “Stream’s runnin’ calm again up ahead, Chief. There’s a nice shady bank where we can sit an’ take a bite of vittles, aye an’ may’aps a swig of shrewbeer, eh?”
Dandy shook his head. “We’ll take t’the water if ’tis calm enough. Should be on the River Moss by evenin’—then ye can rest an’ feed yore faces all night. So come on, mates, make an effort. Don’t be showin’ our guests how lazy ye are!” He broke into a song, urging them onward.
“There’s always a camp at the end o’ the day,
at least that’s wot my ole pa used t’say.
Someplace to rest those tired-out paws,
there’s noplace like the great outdoors.
Then sling off yore load when we gits there,
throw yore weary bones down any ole where,
plant yoreself there, mate, an’ I’ll sit ’ere,
an’ we’ll swig off a tankard o’ nice cold beer!
“So tramp tramp tramp, onward to camp,
we’ll both find somewheres t’stay,
o’er woodland an’ hill keep marchin’ until,
’tis the end of a long, dusty day . . . hey hey,
the end of a long, dusty day!”
Although it was a lively tune, Dandy had a dreadful voice. He sang off-key in a croaky tone.
Swiffo smiled politely. “Well, that was a lively ole song, an’ no mistake!”
One of the Guosim, Rawkin, murmured out the side of his mouth, so that Dandy would not hear. “Aye, there was nothin’ wrong with the song, mate—’twas the singer. Our Log a Log’s a champion dancer, an’ a great leader, but when he opens his mouth t’sing, it sounds like a score o’ frogs bein’ pelted with rocks!”
His companion, Banktail, agreed fervently. “I was goin’ to say that meself, but I didn’t want to ’urt the feelin’s of any nearby frogs, mate!”
It was twilight when they reached the navigable section of the stream. Dandy relented, allowing them to cook a meal on the bankside.
“Get a fire goin’ there, you cooks. See if’n ye can come up with some good vittles. We’ll eat here, then take the stream into the River Moss an’ lay up there for the night. Tomorrow we’ll be on our way to the ford by dawn.”
Even Uggo, who had spent his life eating Redwall fare, had to admit that Guosim cooks could serve up marvellous food. Hungry after the long day’s labours, they dined on mushroom and fennel soup and flatbreads baked with cheese and flavoured with wild parsley, followed by a chestnut and acorn roll stuffed with dried plums and apple. There was pennycloud cordial to drink, or some fine pale cider.
Dobble sighed, patting his stomach. “Aaaah, that’s the stuff t’feed the tribe!”
One of Dandy’s clogs nudged him lightly.