The shock of the raft bumping roughly aground caused chaos on board. Oakheart's mother, Crumfiss, and his wife, Dymphnia, clutching baby Dubdub to her, came stampeding onto the streambank. These were followed by the rest of his family, four other hedgehogs, a mole, a squirrel, and two bankvoles. (The latter four creatures he and his wife had adopted.) Everybeast was waving paws in alarm and crying out, either in panic or anger.
Dymphnia bellowed at her husband, "Oakie, you dozed off again, you great bumbler!"
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Rising from his armchair, which was nailed to the deck alongside the tiller, Oakheart pointed at himself, booming out dramatically, "Dozed? Did I hear you say dozed, marm? Nay, alas, 'twas a cunning twist of devious water current which cast us ashore thus. I never doze whilst navigating, never!"
A young hogmaid held a drooping paw to her brow, declaiming, "Oh, Papa, I thought we were all to be drowned, lost sadly 'neath the raging waters!"
Dymphnia wiped the babe's snout on her shawl, casting a jaundiced eye on her daughter. "Do be quiet, Tra-jidia. Don't interrupt your father. Well, Oakie, are we stuck here?"
Removing a flop-brimmed hat and sweeping aside his timeworn cloak, Oakheart stared glumly over the rail at a number of rocks beneath the surface.
"Aye, m'dear. Fickle fortune has swept us hard upon the strand. Rikkle, can you see if anything can be done to relieve our position? There's a good chap!"
One of the bankvoles hurled himself into the water and vanished beneath the raft. After a brief moment, Trajidia, who never missed the opportunity to be dramatic, clasped her paws, staring wide-eyed at the place where Rikkle had submerged.
"Oh, oh, 'tis so hard to bear, one of such tender seasons, gone to a watery grave!"
One of her brothers, Rambuculus, smiled wickedly. "It's plum duff for supper. If he doesn't come up, can I have his share, Ma?"
Dymphnia clouted him over the ear with her free paw. "Ye hard-hearted young blight!"
Baby Dubdub, who was learning to speak by repeating the last words of his elders, shook a tiny paw at his brother. "Young blight!"
Rikkle climbed back aboard shaking himself, treating those nearby to a free shower. "Ain't no good, Pa. We're
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jammed tight, unless we can find somethin' to lever 'er off with."
Oakheart was not in the levering mood; he sniffed. "Leave it 'til the morrow. Perchance the stream may run at flood and float our Streamlass off."
Wading into the shallows, he held forth a paw to assist his wife and their babe onto dry land.
"Right, Company, all paws ashore, if ye please!"
Dubdub shouted in his mother's ear, "Paws ashore, please!"
They were grounded in the area where the trees thinned out onto the heathland. Oakheart rummaged through a pile of effects on the bank, coming up with a funnel fashioned from bark. This he held to his mouth and began calling aloud for the benefit of anybeast within hearing distance.
"Hear ye, hear ye, one and all!
All goodbeasts now, hark to me, see here upon this very spot, the Performing Witherspyk Company!
What'll you see here when we start?
Why, tales to delight the rustic heart, plays enacted on nature's stage, dramas of avarice, war and rage.
Stories of love to make you sigh, tragedies bringing a tear to the eye.
Mayhaps a comedy we'll make,
You'll feel your ribs with laughter ache.
Yet what seek we as our reward?
Merely to share your supper board.
A drop to drink, a crust, perchance.
We act, we sing, recite or dance.
Aye, food would aid our noble cause, though mainly we feed upon applause.
You'll not regret a visit to see,
The Performing Witherspyk Companeeeeeeeee!"
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Oakheart's mother, Crumfiss, a venerable greyspiked hog, prodded him none too gently with her walking stick. "Oh, give your face a rest, Oakie. This is the back of nowhere. There's nobeast around for leagues!"
Rambuculus sniggered wickedly. "Poke him again, Granma. Go on--good'n'hard!"
Crumfiss brandished the stick at him. "I'll poke you, ye impudent young snickchops! Do somethin' useful. Go on, gather firewood for your ma!"
Oakheart rounded on them, paw upraised. "Hist, voices, d'ye hear?"
From not too far off, a voice sounded, getting louder. "I say, there. Are you chaps callin' to us, wot? Hold on a tick, we'll be right with you!"
Two hares and a shrewmaid approached through the woodland fringe. It was Buckler, Diggs and Flib. Oakheart beamed a welcoming smile.
"Over here, friends. Over here!"
Flib wiggled a paw in one ear, wincing. "Do ye have ter yell through that thing?"
The florid hog lowered his megaphone. "Ah, forgive me, my dainty miss--force of habit, y'know."
Flib scowled at him. "Ye can cut that out right now. I ain't nobeast's dainty miss--I'm Flib the Guosim, see!"
Buckler rapped her paw lightly with the bellrope. "Mind your manners. He's just trying t'be friendly."
Oakheart did not seem to take offence. He continued holding forth merrily. "Ah, a Guosim shrew, no less. Stout creatures. Perhaps you know one who is an acquaintance of mine, Jango Bigboat by name, something of a chieftain amongst his kind, I believe."
Flib seemed flustered by the mention of Jango Bigboat. She dropped back, standing behind Diggs, murmuring, "No, I ain't 'eard o' that un, sir."
After introductions had been made all round, Buckler strode down to the streambank, where he viewed the grounded raft.
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"Mister Oakheart, perhaps we could help you to refloat your craft. It's a wonderful thing--I've never seen one like it."
Dymphnia took over from her spouse. "Oh, just call him Oakie, Mister Buckler. Everybeast does. Maybe you'd like to come aboard the Streamlass and share supper with us, such as it is. We can always refloat our raft tomorrow."
Buckler bowed gallantly. "A pleasure, marm. But call us Buck, Diggs and Flib. We have supplies we could share with you. Oakie tells me you are actors."
Diggs unhitched the haversack from his back. "Jolly types, actors. We've had visits from them once or twice at Salamandastron, doncha know."
Granma Crumfiss leaned on Diggs's paw as they went aboard. "Salamandastron, ye say? I played there when I was nought but a young hogmaid. A fine young badger was the Lord. Brang, as I remember. Is he still there?"
It was a memorable evening. The raft's log cabin was comfortable, if slightly crowded. The two hares contributed food from their packs. Dymphnia served them with bowls of plum duff, ladling her special pear and hazelnut sauce thickly over it. Oakheart broke out a cask of his own brew, which he had named Witherspyk Waterporter. It was slightly sweet, very dark and nourishing.
As they ate, Trajidia fluttered her eyelashes at Diggs, enquiring, "Pray, to where are you warriors of the wilderness bound?"
Crumfiss spoke sternly. "Don't be so nosey, miss. 'Tis none o' yore concern where these goodbeasts are goin'!"
Buckler smiled. "Oh, it's no secret. We're bound for Red-wall, with a gift for the Abbess."
Oakheart banged his tankard down in surprise. " Ton my liver spikes'n'paws! Why, that's also our destination, friend Buck. Perhaps when we float our vessel into navigable waters on the morrow, you'd wish to accompany us to that hallowed establishment?"
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Buckler winked at Diggs, allowing him to answer. "Wot, oh, I say, wouldn't we just jolly well love to, Oakie, old lad. Super wheeze, wot wot?"
Baby Dubdub, who was being fed by his mother, pushed away the spoon. "Wheeze, wot wot!"
Everybeast laughed, and Trajidia fluttered her eyelashes even harder. "Oh, how brave and gallant, Papa. We'll have valiant hares to guard us from any vermin foes!"