19

In the misty dawn of the following day, they went out to the ledge, accompanied by all the able-bodied hogs of the Migooch tribe. It was the time of day when the tide was at its lowest ebb. The ketch Stopdog lay heeled over, almost high and dry.

Kroova stood on the tideline, explaining what was to be done. “We’ve got to get ’er back ’ere for fixin’. I know she ain’t a big craft, but ’twill be ’eavy goin’.”

Cumarnee spat on his paws and rubbed them together. “Ah, now don’t ye fret. Us Migooches are well up t’the job!”

He was right. The tribe were expert salvagers, having spent their lives living off the flotsam and jetsam thrown up by the seas on all types of coastlines.

Carrying huge coils of rope and pushing a cartload of rounded wood logs, they padded out over the wet sand. When they reached the ketch, Cumarnee began shouting orders to his tribe. Sagax was surprised at the energy and obedience of the normally disorganised beasts.

“Hear me now, buckoes,” Cumarnee yelled. “Make fast those lines t’the bowsprit, for’ard peak an’ amidships. I’ll draw ye a grand ould line in the sand with me stick, lay the logs straight on it. That’s the way, yer doin’ a lovverly job. Right now, shoulder those ropes an’ I’ll mark the pullin’ time for ye with an ould shanty!”

Cumarnee perched in the lopsided bows of the Stopdog, singing the hauling shanty, the pullers joining him on the appropriate lines as the ketch rolled forward on the logs.

“Ahoy, me lads, when I was young,

Many’s the lively song I sung.

Way haul away! Way haul away!

Me paw was strong, me back was, too,

I’d pull a ship from under you.

Way haul away! Way haul away!

An’ though ’tis not me way t’boast,

I’ve towed a ship off many a coast.

Way haul away! Way haul away!

We’ll pull ’er to the sandy shores,

So bend yer back, dig in yer paws.

Way haul away! Way haul away!

For when I was a babe so young,

Me mother o’er me cradle sung.

Way haul away! Way haul away!”

Kroova and Sagax were out in front, ropes looped about their shoulders, hauling heartily with the hedgehogs. The badger nudged the sea otter.

“Scarum’s on the midship side with a rope, can you hear him?”

Kroova smiled as he listened to the hare’s nautical bellows.

“When I get our ship to the shore,

I’ll need some scoff an’ then lots more.

You can haul away! I’ll just eat all day!

Soup’n’salad, pudden an’ pie,

Just load me plate up, don’t ask why.

Bloomin’ rotten hogs! Scoff-pinchin’ dogs!”

Mammee and some others were waiting the other side of the tideline with a couple of pails full of nettle-and-dandelion beer. No sooner was the Stopdog dragged onto the warm dry sand than the toilers cast aside their ropes and gratefully gulped down great beakers to quench their thirst. However, their rest was short-lived. Cumarnee soon had them up on their paws again, bustling about as he sent his orders left, right and centre.

“ ’Tis a good fire I’ll be needin’! Light one right here! Build me an ould sandhill, a long one, about the height of the Stopdog’s decks. Here now, start pilin’ up the sand alongside the ship. Mammee, did ye bring along the pitch an’ resin with ye? Bring it here t’me. Fridilo, me likkle darlin’, fetch me that ould bushy rope. Aye, that’s it!”

Sagax and Kroova helped to build the long sandhill and wedge the Stopdog hard up against it. Another sandhill was built on the vessel’s other side, so that she stood straight and upright. They sat, taking a rest, sipping beakers of nettle-and-dandelion beer, watching the pitch and resin bubbling together in a cauldron over the fire.

Kroova’s eyes searched among the workers. “I don’t see Scarum around, ain’t seen ’im in a while. Any ideas where that flopeared layabout’s got to, mate?”

Sagax refilled his beaker. “Anywhere there’s food, that’s where you’ll find him, I suppose. That pitch and resin looks about ready.”

The crew went back to work, plugging up the gaps between the planking staves of the Stopdog’s bows. Old rope was hammered into the cracks with mallets and flat-bladed chisels, after which the molten pitch and resin were poured liberally over the whole job. By early evening the ketch was completely shipshape and watertight once more.

Sagax congratulated Cumarnee and the Migooch tribe. “Thank you, friends, thank you for your hard work and fine skills. I don’t know how we’d have managed without your help. Alas, my friends and I have nothing to offer you in return but our gratitude.”

Cumarnee swiped playfully at them with his straw hat. “Arrh, away with ye, we did it ’cos yer grand beasts an’ we’ve takin’ a likin’ to ye. A Migooch doesn’t look for any reward from friends, at all at all!”

All the Migooches shook their heads and echoed the words. “At all at all, ah no, not at all!”

Mammee waved her ladle at them. “Faith, an’ will ye be after standin’ there all day, tellin’ each other wot fine creatures ye are, or will I go back to the tenty to cook dinner an’ eat it meself?”

The sudden mention of food to hungry workers sent them all trudging smartly back to the tents.

Sagax covered his eyes and groaned at the sight that greeted him on entering the tent. “Oh no!”

Snoring blissfully, Scarum lay amid a debris of half-eaten pies, breadcrusts, salad scraps, empty flagons and the remains of what had once been a large fruitcake. The hare’s stomach resembled an inflated balloon. His whiskers, ears and nose were liberally sprinkled with crumbs.

Some of the Migooch hogs regarded him with awe.

“Muther Nature, will ye look at him!”

“Ah shure, he must be a grand ould scoffer!”

“The bold feller must have t’keep up his strength after wrasslin’ an’ slayin’ all those sharks!”

Kroova and Sagax had never felt so embarrassed in their lives. Shamefaced, the otter averted his eyes from Mammee. “Marm, what can we say, after all yore ’ ospitality, for a friend of ours t’do this!”

The good hogwife patted his paw comfortingly. “Ah now, don’t be fussin’ yerself, ’twas not yore fault a hare has the appetite of a wolfpack. Wot d’ye say we do about it, Cumarnee?”

The Chieftain of the Migooches had the answer instantly. “Do? Is it me advice yer after askin’? Well, I’ll tell ye! We goes to yer sister’s tenty for dinner—she’s gotten more vittles than ye could shake a stick at. Arrh now, Mr. Sagax, an yerself, Mr. Kroova, if’n ye’ll permit me, ’tis meself will decide a penance for the bold Scarum. Now don’t be worryin’, I won’t go too hard on the ould beast. He can’t help bein’ a hare, after all.”

Sagax bowed respectfully to Cumarnee’s wish. “You can do what you like with the villain, sir. No penance could be too severe for a creature who abuses a friend’s good nature. We leave him in your capable paws.”

Mammee’s sister Roobee was a jolly fat sort, and the equal of her kinhog at cooking. They sat down to a spread of cabbage’n’turnip pasties, carrot’n’mushroom bake topped with cheese, wild beetroot soup, and Roobee’s special baked fruitloaf, with elderberry and plum cordial, or pennycress and comfrey tea for those who liked it. Roobee’s husband, Birty, thought Scarum’s gluttony was hilarious and kept remarking upon it.

“Heeheehee, curl me spikes, that Scarum Sharkslayer’s a real boyo. He’s got a belly on him like an ould stuffed duck. I wager his ma danced a jig the day he left home!”

Roobee noticed Sagax and Kroova’s silence at Scarum’s gluttonous acts. She nudged her husband none too gently. “Arrh, will ye shove some vittles in yer ould gob an’ give it somethin’ useful t’do, Birty. Eat up an’ hold yer peace!”

That night they all slept in Roobee’s tent, leaving the disgraced Scarum to himself.

Dawn came misty, with a light drizzle that would give way to brighter weather in the course of the day. Scarum slowly sat up, clutching his stomach, alone in the deserted tent.

“Ooooh, me poor old tum. I say, you chaps, just leave me here to die, would you? Tell my ma that the last words her sufferin’ son spoke were ‘no breakfast this mornin’ for me!’ ”

He groped around in the grey half-light and groaned. “Cor, sufferin’ icecakes! What sort of a bally good mornin’ is this, wot? A faithful pal lyin’ here with his head bangin’ an’ his tummy bustin’, and not a flamin’ beast around to comfort him. Rotters, I s’pose they’re all out fixin’ that blinkin’ boat, thoughtless lot o’ bounders!”

Staggering out of the tent, he spotted a firelight shining through the walls of Roobee’s dwelling. “Hah, now that’s more the ticket, wot. A jolly good fire to sit by whilst some good-natured hogwife fetches a chap a drop or two of herbal tea to bring him round. Splendid!”

Entering the tent, Scarum got quite the reverse of what he had been expecting. It was a makeshift court, with Migooch hogs sitting solemn-faced and silent. Cumarnee seemed to be presiding, with Sagax and Kroova standing stiffly either side of him. Scarum gave them a feeble smile, but received only stern glares.

“Er, haha, I say, wot. Bit gloomy this mornin’, ain’t it?”

The tribe leader’s voice lanced into his aching head. “Be it known to all the hogs of Migooch that this creature stands accused of idleness, slacking, laziness, vittle robbery and damage to pies, cakes, salads and other sundry eatables. What has the accused to say in his defence?”

Clutching his stomach, Scarum stammered and waffled. “Er, wot, er, steady on, chaps, can’t blame a young hare for havin’ a measly snack, especially a shipwrecked type.”

Cumarnee stamped his footpaw down hard. “Silence!” He approached the hare, pointing accusingly at him.

“Babes had to go hungry to their beds because of you! Hogwives were left weeping over their spoiled supplies because of you! Workers who had laboured hard all day, repairing your vessel, were left starving because of you! I want a show of paws. Do we find this hare guilty?”

Every paw in the tent shot up, and there was a loud shout. “Guilty!”

Pleadingly, Scarum looked toward his two cold-eyed friends. “Sagax, Kroova, my faithful old messmates, can’t you put in a jolly good word or two for a chum, wot wot?”

The young badger shook his head. “Sorry, it’s not up to us. The Migooch tribe’s laws have been broken; you must answer to them. The only advice I can give is, stand up straight like a Salamandastron hare and take the medicine Cumarnee dishes out to you.”

Scarum tried to straighten up, but his aching stomach kept him half bent. His ears drooped limply. He looked mournfully at Cumarnee and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Sentence me t’be slain, sah, it’ll put me out of my misery. Tell me dear old ma an’ pa that it was my stomach which caused all the trouble, not me!”

Cumarnee shook his head resolutely. “Death? Hoho, me fine buckoe, that’d be too easy. Your punishment’ll be to serve the Migooches as a slave for ten seasons, no, better make that twenty!”

Several hogs nodded. “Aye, twenty, that’s about right for the turrible ould glutton, twenty good long seasons!”

Scarum’s face was the picture of shock and misery. “Twenty blinkin’ seasons, that’s a bit jolly much, wot? I’ll be on a perishin’ walkin’ stick, old’n’grey by the time twenty confounded seasons have passed. O mercy!”

However, the stern, righteous faces of the Migooch tribe dashed any of the hare’s hopes for leniency.

The Stopdog bobbed at anchor, repaired and provisioned, straining at her bowline as high tide swelled, like a dog eager to be unleashed. Followed by all of the Migooch hogs, Sagax and Kroova waded out to the ketch. The pair climbed aboard and made ready to sail.

Cumarnee and Mammee exchanged paw shakes with them. “May the wind be at yer back an’ the sun not in yer eyes!”

“Thankee, marm, an’ our thanks for loadin’ us up with yore fine vittles. We’ll think of ye when we’re eatin”em!”

Sagax saw Scarum standing dejectedly nearby, ears drooping, tears dropping from his cheeks to mingle with the salt water. Cumarnee shook the young badger’s paw, passing him a secret wink.

“Weel now, me buckoe, I’m hopin’ ye find Redwall. Good fortune attend ye on yer voyage!”

Sagax made sure Scarum was not watching as he returned the Migooch Chieftain’s wink. “My thanks to you, sir. I’m just sorry that our visit was ruined by that hare’s unforgivable behaviour. I trust you’ll make him serve every day of his sentence and work him hard!”

Cumarnee stroked his headspikes pensively. “Ah now, I was meanin’ to mention that to ye. Twenty seasons is a long time t’be feedin’ some ould gluttonfaced rabbit. Would ye not think of takin’ him back to do his penance aboard the Stopdog, afore he eats us out o’ spikes’n’home?”

Sagax shook his head firmly. “No sir, a glutton’s a glutton no matter where he is, on land or sea. He’ll never repent.”

Scarum knelt. With the water lapping his chin and his paws clasped beseechingly, he moaned aloud to his two friends, “I’ll change me ways, I’ll be good! Only take me aboard! I’ll do all the work, scoff’ll scarcely pass my lips, you’ll see! Don’t leave me here for twenty seasons with these spiky savages, oh, er, I mean dear little hoggybeasts. Sagax, Kroova, dear old jolly old faithful old pals, I’ll do any bally thing for you, just take me aboard!”

Sagax looked doubtfully at Kroova. “What d’you think?”

The sea otter tapped his rudder up and down. “Hmm, ain’t much of a catch, is he?”

As he was talking, Kroova was untying the bowrope from its rock mooring. “But I wouldn’t feel right, inflictin’ Scarum on our good ’edgehog friends for twenty seasons. Oh well, I s’pose we’ll ’ave to put up with ’im. Come on, you lopeared excuse for a messmate, git aboard!”

With a bound, Scarum landed on the Stopdog’s deck, playing his new role as beast of all work. “Now, sit back an’ put y’paws up, you chaps, leave this t’me. I’ll see to the wotsits an’ unfurl the hoojimacallits an’ till the turner—I mean turn the tiller, wot wot wot!”

With a twinkle in his eye, Cumarnee called out as he and his hogs waved goodbye, “Now, go easy on those pore sharks, an’ don’t slay too many!”

Evening sun reddened over a placid sea as the three travelers continued their course northward. By this time Scarum had taken on a change of mood.

“Huh, are you two blighters goin’ t’sit there forever with your paws up? Lazy bounders, a chap needs help around here. What d’ye think I am, a one-hare crew? Sagax, why don’t you take the tiller, an’ Kroova can manage those ropes an’ sails. I’ll make the supper. Ah, supper, what a jolly nice thought. All’s I’ve had to eat was a snack last night. Flamin’ famine-faced hogs, wot? That Mammee gave me a whack on the paw with a ladle when I mentioned brekkers this mornin’, flippin’ spiky old tyrant!”

Sagax reached out with a powerful paw and grabbed Scarum by the scruff of the neck. He had him half overboard in a trice. “One more word and I’ll make you swim back to serve your twenty seasons with those spiky old tyrants!”

Kroova smiled wryly, shaking his head. “Ole Scarum don’t change much, does ’e?”

Sagax was also smiling as he whispered in Kroova’s ear. “I wouldn’t want him to, would you? This would be a dull, boring trip with a well-behaved hare for company.”