Flint and Silver: A Prequel to Treasure Island

Chapter 16

The two mids sat silent at the dark stern of the longboat, now sweetly heeling under her canvas — gaff and jib-sail — with half the men asleep, the rest dozing. Hastings had the tiller, the sky was bright with stars, the night was cool and comfortable, the seas were easy and the round-bowed longboat was a good, dry, sea-keeping vessel. Under other circumstances, those aboard of her would have been a merry company, but not now. Hastings and Povey in particular were not merry. They were watching the bright stars as if their lives depended on them, which they did.

"There!" said Povey. "There's one setting now — " he pointed "- see?"

"Yes," said Hastings, and gave a touch on the tiller to steer towards it. "Tell me again," said Hastings, who'd never paid half as much attention to his lessons as he should have.

"We're steering west" said Povey. "Sunrise and sunset gives us east and west by day, and the stars set in the west at night, yes?"

"Yes."

"And better than that, we've got the northern trades blowing northwest — or close to that — which couldn't be better for a westerly passage."

"But why are we steering west?" said Hastings.

Povey sighed. "'Cos my best guess is that we're somewhere in the latitude of the Windward Islands, and if we're lucky we might make Barbados, which is British, and which lies to the east of 'em."

Hastings frowned mightily, trying to remember which king owned which islands.

"The Windward Islands…" he said. "They're French, aren't they?"

"Yes," said Povey. "At least, I think so."

"Not Spanish?"

"No."

"Good! We'll take our chance with the Frogs, but not the heathen Dagoes."

The two mids sat silent for a while, then Povey returned to the question which took precedence over all other questions. At least he had the sense to whisper.

"So how long do you think the water will last?"

"They gave us one water-butt. That's about one hundred gallons when it's full."

"Yes, but how long will it last?"

"And there's twenty-three of us…"

"So how long will it last?"

"I don't know! Can you tell me how long till we reach the Windward Islands?"

"Well…" Povey frowned and thought mightily. He looked at the boat's wake, sliding past. "Well… we're running at about four or five knots wouldn't you say?"

"Yes."

"Say a hundred miles a day?"

"Yes."

"So… well… it depends how far we have to go."

Hastings couldn't bring himself to ask Povey how far that was, because he feared that Povey didn't know. For his part, Povey was immensely relieved that he was not asked, because indeed he did not know.

Instinctively, Povey glanced astern. He looked at the dark waters. There was nothing following them, nothing coming after them. There was nothing at all… except death by thirst.