Flint and Silver: A Prequel to Treasure Island

Chapter 22

Ship," said Hastings, or at least he tried to. On half a pint of water, per day, per man under a scorching tropical sun, it became hard to speak. He reached out a weary hand and pushed at Povey until the other woke. "Ship," he mouthed, and pointed. It was so hard to concentrate. It was all he could do to hold the rudder and steer, as the boat plunged onward under a steady blow.

Povey raised his head and blinked dry eyes at the heaving waves.

"Ship!" said Povey. He saw it. He saw topsails and mainsails. It was a ship.

"Corporal, Mr Boatswain," croaked Hastings, "rouse the hands!"

But nobody moved. Not properly. Bennet, the acting- corporal, managed to turn his head and at least tried to get up. But that was all. Every man aboard was roasted and feeble, and crumpled in the bottom of the boat, half-conscious and slowly dying. They looked more like the dead of a battlefield than living men.

"Smoke," said Povey.

When the men still had their strength, Hastings and Povey had set them various tasks, mainly to keep up their spirits. One of these was the construction of a smoke beacon: a wooden bailing bucket filled with sun-dried, unpicked cable mixed with flakes of tar and wood shavings, rigged to be set alight and hoisted up a spar as a signal to any ships they might encounter.

"Here, Povey… take the tiller," said Hastings.

"Aye-aye, sir."

Hastings crawled towards the bow and the smoke beacon. It was slow, hard going, over the barely moving bodies of moribund men. They moaned and cursed, and some clutched at him and had to be shaken off. He'd got halfway before he realised he was wasting his time, and turned back weeping in frustration.

"What is it?" said Povey as Hastings fought his way back and tried to shake Corporal Bennet awake.

"Go way!" said Bennet.

"What is it?" said Povey again.

"Tinder box," said Hastings. "Bennet's got it. Dunno where."

Hastings searched the big limp form without success.

"Where is it? Where is it?" said Hastings.

"Give him a drink!" said Povey. "Wake him!" With enormous difficulty, Hastings did so. Struggling to the near-empty water butt, lowering the dipper through the bung-hole, filling a cup and contriving to return without spilling it.

But someone saw him do it.

"Here!" said an angry voice. "Ain't time for water-rations."

"Wot?" said another.

"Pinchin' the soddin' water, they are!"

"Bastards!"

The dead began to wake. And they woke angry.

"Here!" said Hastings, pouring water into Bennet's mouth.

Bennet's hands came up to the cup and his eyes opened.

"Why's he gettin' a bleedin' drink?"

"Bloody lobster!"

"Corporal Bennet," said Hastings, "look — a ship! Where's the tinder box? We have to light the beacon!"

"Ship?" cried the living dead. "Where?"

"There, you idle lubbers!" cried Hastings and pointed to it.

"We're saved! We're saved!"

"Here it is, sir," said Bennet, hauling his tinder box out from the depths of his breeches.

"Quick, man!"

Corporal Bennet did his best. He crawled forward — now with ready hands helping him on his way — while those who could were sitting up waving their shirts and raising a thin shout. There wasn't a man aboard capable of standing up on his legs.

"Can't open the bugger," Bennet sobbed, his weakened fingers fumbling with the lid of the tinder box as he sat.

"Oh Jesus," cried Povey, "she hasn't seen us! We'll lose her."

A groan went up from the longboat as the distant ship ploughed onward with no sign of having spotted them.

"Give me that!" said Hastings, snatching at the tinder box. "I'll do it!"

"No!" said Bennet, determined to complete his task.

"She's passin' us by! She's leavin' us!"

Bennet heaved afresh at the box, which sprung suddenly open, scattering its contents over the bottom of the boat — except for the vital piece of flint, which went over the side with a tiny splash.

"AHHHH!" said Bennet as salvation sank into the depths.

"No!" gasped Hastings. "Who's got a tinder box? Who's got a flint? Search, you buggers! Search!"

There was a desperate moaning and muttering and a clumsy fumbling as the men did their utmost to find that which wasn't there.

"Hasn't anybody got one?" said Hastings, "Not even you bloody marines? Ain't you all supposed to carry spare flints?"

"Oh!" said one of the marines, his dulled mind clearing. He dipped into a pocket. "Here you are, sir," he said, and held up a big square musket flint.

"Pass it here!" screamed Hastings, and hand-to-hand the flint sped back to Corporal Bennet, who was busy retrieving steel and tinder and a stump of candle from the bottom of the boat.

Then, hands trembling, Bennet struck steel and flint together, shed sparks on tinder, raised a red glow, blew it into a flame, lit the candle and dropped it into the beacon and ran the beacon up its spar. Soon, white smoke was streaming on the wind and the boat was dry, croaking cheers from stem to stern.

"She's seen us!" cried Povey. "Look, she's coming about!"

The cheers redoubled and then died. The ship was most definitely coming towards them, but she was flying the banner of Spain.