The Second Wave (25 page)

Alder was restless.  He had never been in a boat, and he was apprehensive.  He had grown to trust Marguerite’s judgement and had no qualms about the integrity of ‘her’ dolphins.  But he was now about to commit his whole party to some new experience out of his control and at the end of it they would be landing on an island strange to him.  Then they might have to tackle a pine marten, the ancestral enemy of all squirrels!

This whole venture was absurd, though he seemed to have no choice but to go along with it.  He would have to trust in the Sun and not show his fear.

When the cones are down,

Even if you doubt yourself,

Hide all your concerns.

Dandelion wondered if she should tell a story to pass the time, and was about to call the youngsters together to hear one when the edge of a huge yellow moon rose above the horizon, casting weird shadows on the dunes and the beach.  The squirrels, with the fear of attack by Greys behind them and the island with the pine marten still somewhere in the future, seemed strangely moved to be in the open, under this odd light.  Before long some of the yearlings were scurrying up and down the beach, turning sharply in flurries of fine sand and leaping over pieces of flotsam.

Squirrelation took over, all caution thrown to the night wind, and the beach became alive with leaping, running and scampering squirrels of all ages, until Marguerite, who had briefly forgotten the loss of Juniper, called, ‘The dolphins are coming.’

The excitement changed to anticipation as the outline of an unmanned rowboat appeared and was driven on to the sand by a push from one of the dolphins swimming behind it.

The squirrels clustered around the severed mooring rope hanging from the bow, nudging each other, until Marguerite, who had clearly taken charge, said, ‘Up the rope, one by one,’ and the squirrels climbed as swiftly as they could, and disappeared over the gunwale.

Marguerite gave one last look around the beach to see that no squirrel had been forgotten and followed the others up the rope.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Flapping and splashing in the shallows, the dolphins turned the boat in the rising water and towed it out to where Finisterre, their young one, was waiting, poking his head above the waves as he swam back and forth anxiously watching for the return of his parents.

As they reach Finisterre, a current caught the boat and moved it southwards, parallel to the shore.  The dolphins sensed Marguerite’s concern that it was going in the wrong direction and Malin spoke.

‘We use the currents.  It would be possible to push the boat all the way to your island, but we can guide it from current to current and get there effortlessly and just as quickly.  Trust us.’

The three dolphins swam alongside.  Marguerite wondered if they would leap, as she had seen them do from the beach.  No sooner had the thought formed in her head than the three black bodies, gleaming in the moonlight, curved up and out of the water, to the astonishment and joy of the squirrels standing on the rowboat’s seats.  The presence of the dolphins seemed to have banished the squirrels’ instinctive fear of water and all were enjoying themselves, giving little through to the hazards to be faced when they reach the island.

The dolphins cavorted and leapt all around the boat as it drifted along, until finally, when they knew it would not frighten the squirrels, they leapt in unison right over the boat.  Drops of salt water rained down from their tails on to the animals below, causing the youngsters to shriek with delight.

Then, as a current caught the boat and bore it inexorably towards the narrow mouth of Poole Harbour, Marguerite asked, ‘Won’t the humans see us?’

‘They are mostly asleep at this time,’ came the reply from Malin, ‘but they are usually so concerned with the own immediate affairs that they notice little else.  Did they see you on the beach?’

‘No,’ replied Marguerite, ‘but we kept ourselves hidden in the grasses on the sand and watched out for them.  Why did some of the humans go into the water?  They just swam about and came out again.’

‘It’s an ancestral memory that prompts them to do that.  Do you recall last year that we told you how dolphins once lived on the land and then went back to the sea again?  Well, humans nearly did the same.  It is in our History Training.

‘Far, far back in time, when humans stopped being creatures of the trees, they lived on the ground in dry places for aeons and then, when these got too dry, they lived on the coasts of the country they now call Africa.  They spent most of their time in the shallow water where they were more comfortable walking upright, and it was then that they lost most of their body hairs, keeping only enough on their heads for the Man-cubs to cling to when their parents swam.  It was at that time that scent became unimportant to them and they had to learn to be clever with their voices so that they could communicate with each other whilst they were swimming.’

Marguerite was trying to keep up with the mass of new images passing through her brain.  It was tiring, but she was determined to learn all she could from these wonderful and helpful creatures who had befriended her and her companions.

‘Do humans remember that time?’ she asked.

‘I don’t believe so – they don’t teach Long History as we do.  But when the sun starts to get warm each year, they follow old urges and make for the Sea.  They still love to swim for the pleasure and the feeling of being in the water.  I sometimes wonder what would have happened if they had carried on evolving that way until they became totally creatures of the Sea as we dolphins did.  They still shed tears, you know!’

‘What are tears?’

‘Nature gave us sea mammals a special place in our eyes where we can get excess salt out of our systems.  Humans still have these, but they only use them when they are distressed.  They should use them all the time, knowing how they are treating our Sea!’

‘Malin, leave that,’ said Lundy, severely.

‘Humans are strange creatures,’ Marguerite agreed, ‘though harmless to squirrels as far as our memory goes.  But we don’t trust them fully – so much of what they do seems inexplicable.  We have a squirrel saying –

If you could know all

Then you could understand all

Then you’d forgive all.’

‘For ‘Innocents’, you squirrels certainly think a lot!’ Lundy remarked.

The other squirrels were unaware that any conversation was taking place, as Marguerite had learned that it was only necessary to think her questions, and did not have to speak them out loud.  Most of the others were dozing on the floorboards by now, though Rusty and Chip were watching the Man-lights at the harbour entrance getting nearer, as the current bore the boat that way.

‘What do you call an ‘Innocent’?’ Marguerite asked.

‘We call all ‘small brained’ creatures ‘Innocents’, as they just have to survive and breed and do not concern themselves with moral issues.  I sometimes envy them.’

Marguerite felt slightly offended at being called ‘small brained’.  But then realised that physically it must be true.

‘We meant no offence,’ Malin assured her.  ‘It can be a burden to be involved with greater issues than which fish you fancy eating today, or if your mating approach will be reciprocated.

‘Most ‘Large-brained’ sea mammals carry this burden.  Sometimes we try to communicate with the ‘Great brains’, the whales.  Their intelligence is
awesome.
 You should hear them sing their philosophies!’

Malin was silent as Marguerite tried to understand the concept of ‘singing’ and could only get a pattern of rising and falling voices in her head.  She felt her ‘small-brain’ limitations.

Lundy’s voice flowed in.  ‘We cannot understand why humans kill the whales.  Perhaps it is some kind of jealousy.  The whales know things about the meaning of Life which even
we
can’t get our minds around!’

‘Perhaps they eat them,’ Marguerite ventured, remembering the unicorn in Dandelion’s story of the Flood.

‘Oh, no, it can’t be that,’ replied Malin.  ‘Humans are ‘Large-brains’ like us.  They couldn’t be
that
short-sighted and stupid.’

The conversation ceased as the dolphins steered the boat into the centre of the channel between the points of land that formed the entrance to Poole Harbour.  As the narrows passed behind them, Lundy said, ‘We will take you to the other end of the island.  The humans have made a structure there which will help you all get out of the boat easily.  Then we must hurry to get the boat back to its place before dawn.’

The moon had set and grey light was creeping into the sky as the boat was pushed in against the pier at the western end of the island.

Marguerite sensed the dolphin’s concern about returning the boat, and urged the sleepy squirrels to scramble out on to the pier.  Her head was aching after a night of such intense concentration and she climbed out last, almost falling into the water as the dolphins, in their haste, started to push the boat away.

She remembered to thank them, urging her tired brain to project her thoughts, ‘Thank you, and farewell.’

‘Farewell, your Sun be with you,’ came back three simultaneous replies as the boat moved away out of sight around the point and past Woodstock Bay.

Marguerite recalled that that was where she had found the first Woodstock on the beach.  Who had the New Woodstock?  She looked around, then realised with horror that they had left it in the marram grass behind Studland Beach.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

Marguerite hurried along the pier after Alder, and drew him to one side.

‘We have left the Woodstock in the dunes at Studland,’ she told him.  ‘It’s my fault.  I was carried away by the dolphins and the boat…I’m sorry, I should have remembered it.’

‘You’ve had many things on your mind, Marguerite-Friend.  I won’t blame you for it.  I should have thought of it myself, but I got caught up in the squirrelation.  And then the boat came.’

He rested his paw briefly on her shoulder.  ‘We will have to get along without it.  But first we must get everyone hidden in case that marten is about.  Trust in the Sun.’

They slept most of the day in some rhododendron bushes where they felt that any enemy approaching on the ground would betray itself by the rustling leaves, and the dense foliage would keep them from being seen from the trees above.  The breeze was from the south-east, so their scent would be blown out over the sea.  Even so, they were restless and unhappy.

Tansy was eager to be off, to look for her parents, and was torn between her concern for them and for Tamarisk, whose eye was still painful.  She was also worried that there was no squirrel-scent at that end of the island at all.  Were all the Ourland squirrels dead?’

In the late afternoon and evening Alder allowed them to forage, a few at a time, and then insisted that they pass another night in the rhododendrons.  Marguerite spent most of her foraging time unsuccessfully searching for another Woodstock, feeling guilty that her forgetfulness had left them without its power when they needed it so much.

At dawn they moved off together above the old Man-track along the centre of the island, keeping to the trees and listening and watching out for any marten-danger.  They saw rabbits and a sika doe with her fawn, and the heronry was raucous with the calls of the young birds, but there was no scent of squirrels or marten.  At High Sun they rested in the great pines near the middle of the island where the exiles had first met the Royals nearly two years before.

Blood was angry and frustrated.  There was food all about him – nestling birds, eggs for the taking, young rabbits just waiting to be eaten, peafowl at the snap of his jaws.  He  wanted squirrel, he needed squirrel, he deserved squirrel – but they were too close to the humans for him to dare to attack there.  Thoughts of the time when he was caged flooded over him.  He couldn’t risk that again, even for squirrel.

There were only a few peahens left now, and the cock bird, Mogul.  In the spring sunshine Blood watched them on the Man-track below where he lay on a branch high in a tree behind the church.  The peacock was behaving differently.  He usually dragged that stupid tail of his around behind him, trying to keep it out of the mud, but today had somehow made it stand up behind him and he was strutting about so proudly, showing it off to the hens.

Not much to be
that
proud of, Blood thought, seeing it from behind.  Then, as the male bird turned and the Sun caught the front of the tail-fan, he was dazzled, and even Blood had to admit that it was special.

Arc after arc of gleaming iridescent eyes patterned the most beautiful long, bluey-green feathers and caught the Sunlight as the bird strutted back and forth in front of the admiring hens.  The blue of his neck and the little bobbly crest flashed and glimmered, but Blood was no longer an admirer.  In his frustration he was a
despoiler
.

He leapt down from the tree and, caring nothing that men might be near, ran openly across the grass towards the huge birds.  The peacock’s tail-fan collapsed in an instant and the birds scattered.  Blood followed the peacock.  Mogul ran faster and faster, then, realising that he was losing the race, launched himself heavily into the air with a screech of anger, and flew down the track to land on the branch of an oak, seemingly out of reach.

Blood followed on the ground, climbed the tree-trunk and ran out along the branch.  The peacock, still breathless, shrieked, launched himself into air again and headed for the Man-tree with the thin vines reaching out to the next ‘tree’.  He landed awkwardly on one of the power lines, trying hard to keep his balance as the wire swung to and fro.

Blood was not to be outdone.  He dropped from the oak, ran to the foot of the Man-tree, wrinkled his nose at the scent of creosote, dug his claws into the barkless wood and climbed.  Two thin leafless vines stretched out to the next Man-tree on either side, on one of which sat Mogul, watching the marten with his head on one side, ready to fly off again.