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Updated: June 16, 2025
The week following the important consultation described in the last chapter was one of serious excitement to at least seven boys at Swishford. Other fellows could not make out what was the matter, and as long as Bowler did not shirk the football match, and Gayford stuck up as usual for his house, they did not particularly care.
At length, to his unbounded joy, an answering shout was heard, and the shadowy forms of the four outcasts were seen standing on the pier from which they had started two hours before. Jubilant were the welcomes exchanged as the heroes of New Swishford once more counted their full number, and ensconced themselves snugly in the stern of Thomson's boat round his wonderful bag of food.
Reserving the odd shilling for the possible contingency of having to "square" a coastguard for the use of the boat, they had two pounds to devote to the purchase of stores, weapons, and other necessaries; and, as Gayford pointed out, of course anything they got that wasn't eatable would come in for New Swishford.
"Upon my word," said Bowler, "this is jolly. It's just like the real New Swishford, isn't it, you fellows?" "Warthah," said Braintree, "except my wifle to let fly at the seagulls with." "But," said Wallas, "if the wind's off the land this side, it will be off the sea when we get over there, so I suppose it'll get rougher and rougher the farther out we get?"
The taller of the two is a fine, sturdy, square-shouldered youth of fifteen or thereabouts, whose name in a certain section of Swishford is a household word.
It is hardly needful to add that the name was there and then duly appended to the island on the chart in red ink, which done, the company separated to sleep, and heard all night long in their dreams the crack of Braintree's "wifle" echoing among the waving woods and fertile valleys of New Swishford.
The wind whistled drearily above them, and the mainland was entirely lost to sight. As far as they were concerned they might be in the real New Swishford, a thousand miles from the nearest land. They huddled together silently, no one caring much to speak.
The sail was lowered, oars were put out, the invalids sat up, and Bowler, standing up in the bows, scanned the coast for a likely landing-place. He had not to search long. A little natural pier of rock ran out invitingly, alongside which the boat was slowly and triumphantly brought. "Now, you fellows," said Crashford, "here goes for first on shore. Out of the way, Tubby. Hurrah for New Swishford!"
The seven brown-paper parcels were solemnly embarked and stowed away under the seats, and then one by one the heroes of New Swishford stepped on board, the painter was thrown loose, silent adieux were waved to the land of their birth, and their gallant boat, nimbly propelled by Gayford and the boat-hook, threaded its way through the rocks and made for the boundless ocean.
And even the surprise of seeing Crashford the lion lying down, so to speak, with Tubbs the lamb, wore away in time, and the conspirators were, on the whole, left undisturbed by Swishford to develop their plans for the eventful emigration of the coming spring.
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