The Castaways Read online

  Five miles from the island, we could see the palm trees swaying. We could see the water curling up to break against the coral, the bursts of spray that leapt and vanished. We stared at the gap in the reef that would take us into sheltered water. The lagoon behind it glowed white and silver from the sand on its bottom.

  Three miles from the island, we could smell the earth and the trees. Boggis pried the topmost plank from the ribs of the boat. In his arms he held every scrap of wood that was left to burn. I eased the throttle so that he could keep the fire going.

  But less than half a mile from the island, the engine stopped.

  three

  WHAT MIDGELY SAW IN THE OFFING

  It seemed the cruelest fate to come so close to land, and not be able to reach it. But the boat was then just a hollow shell, like a cracked-open egg. The ribs were higher than the planks, so that their ends stood up like rows of teeth, or like the bones of a rotting carcass.

  All day we drifted there, in the thunder of the surf, so close to the reefs that we could see starfish and anemones. We might have tried swimming ashore, if not for the dreadful surf, and for the sharks that we feared were lurking nearby. We prayed that a current—or a favorable change in the wind—would carry us through the gap to the sheltered lagoon. Yet it was not to be; truly, I was cursed. We drifted back the way we’d come, too slowly to see any change moment by moment. But the boom of the surf grew fainter, the ghosts of leaping spray grew smaller, and the line of palms along the shore became again a smear of green. For three days we could see the island. It shrank to half its size, to a speck, and one morning we woke to find that it was gone.

  A sense of loneliness came over me such as I had never felt. I clung to Midgely, for the empty sea put terror in my heart.

  I remembered being a child, and watching rainwater rise in a small pool. I had squatted down beside it to study four black beetles that were clinging to a twig stuck upright in the mud. They had climbed higher as the water rose, until they were clambering in a panic over top of each other on the last quarter inch of twig. Then that tiny branch had sprung loose, becoming an ark for the beetles, who had to squirm their way aboard as it spun and rolled, all topsy-turvy. I remembered being both horrified and thrilled. I was not yet six years old, already afraid of water.

  Now I was no better off than one of those beetles. Oh, I could think and dream, and wonder about things. But in the end we were just five beetles being carried away by water and wind.

  Night by night, the Southern Cross rose higher in the sky. We were drifting south toward the frozen continent at the bottom of the world, the soulless, hopeless Terra Incognita. The sun rose and set, and rose and set, and soon we had no food to eat, no water to drink. Even the rust-filled drippings that we could draw from the boiler were of no use. Gaskin Boggis, long ago, had watered his engine from the sea.

  It seemed at first there was one blessing from our shared misery, and it pleased me to find that we were better than the beetles after all. No one argued, and we pulled together. The squalls that we dreaded brought rain that we needed, and all five of us took hold of Midgely’s turtle shell to form a basin for the rain. From that we drank together, bending our heads to the pool. Even Benjamin Penny, who had surely never once lifted one of his webbed hands to help another, took to diving below the boat to feed us all. He saw fishes down there sometimes, but wasn’t fast enough to catch one. Instead, he brought up sponges and long-necked barnacles that he plucked from the boat’s weed-covered bottom. We developed a taste for the baby mussels in their blue-black shells.

  But the fishings ended with the appearance of a great shark. It sliced its fin across the waves one day, then round and round the boat. It never drew away, except to come back in a mad rush straight toward us. Sometimes it thumped against the planks with its back or its tail, and then we all clung to the boat, shouting together.

  “It’s an omen,” said Midgely “Sharks, they smell death. That’s what the sailors say. If a shark appears, a sailor’s going to hop the twig.”

  White as a ghost, it swam slow circles around us. It was always there as we drifted steadily south.

  At night we dreamed of food. We all did, as though sleep kept us as close together as we were through the days. I dreamed of muffins and pies, Midgely of lemonade ices. The pangs of hunger and thirst that greeted us all every morning became too much to bear. Boggis was the first to drink seawater.

  It made him violently ill, and taught a lesson that was never forgotten by anyone—except little Midgely He took to lapping up—like a cat—the pools of salt water that collected at the stringers and the bilge. It only made him thirsty; the more he drank, the more he craved.

  Midgely kept his vile habit so secret that I thought it was the fever that made him shiver and shake. I came to believe that he was not long for the world, that he was dying from the heat and the misery. I did my best to keep him comfortable, but the nights grew colder and colder. We saw an iceberg to the south of us, as big as a castle, with a blue gleam in its center that made me think of my diamond. Poor Midgely hauled himself up the shattered side of the boat, though he had scarcely strength to move. He turned his blind eyes to the south and begged me to see the iceberg for him.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. My voice was hoarse; it pained me to speak. “It’s white and shining. There’s arches and spires.”

  “Like the pearly gates?” asked Midgely.

  “Yes,” I said. He seemed very close to heaven then, and he must have thought so himself. It was only the next morning that Midgely talked of drawing lots.

  The sun was just rising, and there was a thin mist—like smoke—on the sea. Midge held my arm and whispered. “It’s what sailors do,” he said. “They draw lots, Tom. First to see who does the killing. Then they draw again to see who dies. The first fellow gives that second one a bash with the axe and rolls him over the side. That way there’s no screaming. No fuss.”

  The very idea disturbed me. “Why would we do that?” I asked.

  He whispered in my ear. “To save the others, Tom. There ain’t enough food and water for five of us. But there might be enough for four.”

  “Only for a while,” said I. “Then there would be enough for three. Then for two. Then—”

  “But Tom,” said Midge in a whisper. “If we don’t do nothing we’re all doomed.”

  “I’d rather be doomed,” I said.

  Midgely insisted. He raised his voice until Benjamin Penny woke and called out from the bow, “What’s he talking about?”

  “Never you mind,” I said. “The fever’s giving him mad ideas.”

  The boat was rocking, groaning, on the swells. There was water oozing through every seam. Midgely drew me close. “Listen, Tom,” he said. “There’s more.”

  I could feel his breath on my cheek. His fingers were icy cold.

  “It’s going to be him,” he whispered. “I know it, Tom. Like I said we’d see them islands, and we did? That’s how I know. It’s going to be Benjamin Penny who goes over the side.”

  “I don’t care who it is,” I said.

  Penny snarled like a dog. “That blind little bum-sucker, what’s he saying?”

  “We can cook his goose, Tom.” Midgely squeezed my arm with sadly little strength. “We can give him his gruel.”

  I thought it was the fever that had changed him. His drooping gray eyes gave him the look of an old man, and the seawater had addled his thoughts. I loved him dearly, yet hated what he was saying.

  “You’ll be the one to do him in,” he said. “I know that too; I seen it. You’ll be the one to do the killing, but it’s Penny what’s going to hop the twig. That’s why the shark’s here; it’s waiting for him. You can do it, can’t you, Tom?”

  “No,” I said. “Of course I can’t.” It made me furious that he was so unlike himself that he’d think I’d agree to murder.

  “Then all of us will die,” said he. “Me, I’ll be the first. You know I ain’t got much longer, Tom. An
d you know something else?” His dried, cracked lips became a smile. “Penny will be the last. That’s funny, ain’t it, Tom? Penny will be the last.”

  “Oh, Midge,” I said. But it was probably true. Benjamin Penny had the cunning, and the cold-bloodedness, that would let him outlive us all.

  No one was sleeping anymore. Now Weedle and Boggis, too, demanded to know what Midge and I were scheming. So I told them straight out, thinking it would end all thought of it. “Midge wants to draw lots,” I said. “To see who’s thrown overboard.”

  They said it was folly; they said it was madness. “He’s off his nut!” cried Walter Weedle, and Penny said things that were worse. I was pleased by the reaction. Or at least I was until I saw Midgely’s face. He looked utterly crestfallen, as though his last hope had been snatched away, and I wondered if we hadn’t all gone mad.

  We went back to our places, but that wasn’t the end of it. Once planted in our minds, Midgely’s idea grew like a poisonous weed. What else did we have to think about? Hour after hour we sat staring at each other in the rocking, rolling shell of our boat. Weedle and Penny muttered about it as our last supplies dwindled. The meals that we divided became almost impossible to measure. On the first day that we had no water, everything came to a head.

  “Draw lots!” cried Weedle and Penny. “The time’s come. Draw lots!” they cried, as the shark swam round and round. “Do it now,” they said, and the sunlight flashed across their faces.

  For the first time ever, Penny and Weedle and Midgely sided together, against me. “You’re always the one for fair and square, Tom Tin,” said Weedle. “Well, it’s three against two, ain’t it? We’ll do it ourselves.”

  I didn’t trust Penny or Weedle, so I fell in with the plan, praying to God that I would be forgiven for it. I even made the lots, tearing five strips from the ragged edge of my shirt. In one I tied a tiny knot, then held up the five for all to see, and each was the same length and the same width, and apart from the knot they were identical.

  I crushed each strip into a ball, and wadded the five in my fist. All the while I knew that I had gone as far as I could go from my father’s idea of “the handsome thing.”

  We gathered in the center of the boat, where the bilge -water sloshed and gurgled. Benjamin Penny came down from the bow, dragging himself over the ribs of the boat. Midgely knelt on my left, Boggis on my right.

  I held out my fist full of cloth. “Who will do the killing?” I asked.

  No one moved. Midgely said, “Don’t call it killing. Call it saving, Tom. That’s what it is.”

  “Call it whatever you like.” My hand trembled from the mere weight of the scraps of cloth. “Who will choose first?”

  “It don’t matter who’s first,” said Weedle. “Everybody chooses, and nobody looks until we’ve all done it.”

  “But who will be first?” I asked again.

  I thought that none of them would dare to be the first, that even Penny didn’t have the nerve to go through with it. But no sooner had I spoken than a hand reached out.

  It was Midgely’s. He nearly fell forward in his eagerness, groping first for my arm, then following it down to my elbow, my wrist, and at last to my closed fingers. He pried them open. He snatched out a strip of cloth and clamped it to his chest.

  In a burst the others followed, Weedle last, and I was left with only one piece of cloth in my fist. Boggis asked, “Do we look now?”

  “It’s Tom Tin!” cried Midgely, though no one had yet opened his hand, and he could see nothing but gray. “It’s Tom who’ll do the bashing, ain’t it?”

  We unrolled the bits of cloth, and they flapped from our fingers like miserable flags. I stared at my own—the one with a knot at the end—then looked up to see Weedle, wide-eyed, looking back.

  Little Midge, proven right, was already holding out his lot, pushing it against my arm. “Now choose to see who buys it,” he said. “Choose who snuffs it, Tom.”

  It made my skin crawl to see his eagerness, his pleasure in this dreadful business. It came to my mind that he hadn’t asked for this to save himself, or me, or anyone, but only because he’d seen the end for Benjamin Penny. He was at last reaping vengeance for Penny’s blinding of his eyes.

  We performed the same ritual, though with four bits of cloth this time. I dropped one into the bilge and squeezed the others in my hand. I felt relief—despite myself—to be spared from this second, more terrible drawing. But now my hand shook worse than ever, and there was much sideways looking, much dabbing of tongues on sunburnt lips.

  Again Midgely was the first to choose, nearly spilling the pieces from my fist. The others followed more slowly, and so Midgely spoke before all the lots were chosen.

  “It’s Benjamin Penny!” he shouted in triumph. “Ain’t it? It’s you!” He was standing up. For the first time in three or four days he came to his feet. The boat was rocking, and he swayed with the motion. “I seen it was you. I seen it in a dream, Benjamin Penny!”

  Well, Penny turned white. He looked around from face to face, then down at his hand that held the lot. Only he could see the cloth that was folded in the cup of his palm. Then an odd expression came to his face, and a small sound exploded from his mouth, almost like a laugh.

  four

  A SAIL APPEARS, AND THEN AN OMEN

  “Do him in!” cried Midgely. His parched throat gave him a witch’s cackle. “Use the axe, Tom. Do it now!”

  Penny let the cloth fall from his hand. It fluttered down and landed on the water in the bilge. It was clear of knots from end to end. Penny was saved.

  “I seen it coming. I seen it,” said Midgely.

  Boggis spread his strip apart. Walter Weedle opened his. Little Midgely, still standing, flapped the piece of shirttail from his fingers. He was holding the one that was knotted.

  “I knew you was done for, Benjamin Penny,” he said. “I seen it days ago.”

  All four unknotted bits of cloth were floating at my feet. I picked them up and stared at them, wishing I could fit them back into my shirt and undo all we had done.

  At last, Midgely’s voice faded away. We heard water gurgling below the boat, slapping at the paddle wheel. The fin of the shark made a little slicing sound through the waves, and the turtle shell rocked with a gentle tapping on the ribs.

  Very slowly, Midgely changed again to the sadly serious little boy. He frowned, then sighed, then lifted his lot to his blind eyes.

  “It’s me,” he said with quiet wonder. “Ain’t it, Tom? It’s me.” He ran the cloth through his fingers, and drew a little gasp when he felt the knot.

  Penny laughed. He laughed long and hard, with sinful cruelty. Then he picked up the axe and held it out for me. “Do it now, Tom,” he said, mimicking Midge. “Do him in!” And he laughed again.

  “Shut up!” roared Boggis. To me he spoke softly. “I’m sorry, Tom. I don’t think your father would be happy with how we turned out.”

  I shook my head. “He wouldn’t.”

  “We never should have drawn them lots,” said Boggis.

  “But we did,” said Weedle. “So kill him, Tom. It’s time!”

  “I won’t. I can’t.” I stared at them all, each in turn. “Look, I’ll take Midgely’s place,” I said. “I’ll take his lot as mine.”

  Midge shouted, “No!” He groped out and took hold of my arm, as though he believed I was already trying to throw myself into the sea. “Please, Tom. We did it fair and proper, didn’t we?”

  I picked up the five lots and placed them in his hand, so that he might know it all had been done properly, if not fairly. He bunched them together, not even feeling for the knot. “Let’s do it now,” he said. “Just give me a moment first.”

  The axe was passed from Penny to Weedle to me. I led Midgely to the bow. He laid himself down, on his side, with not so much as a whimper. I rubbed his arm, then ran my fingers through his hair as he spoke to me softly.

  “It was supposed to be Penny,” he said. “But I was too eager, wer
en’t I? It’s justice, Tom.”

  “Justice? Why, there’s no justice here.” I felt as though my heart had been torn away. “It’s the curse, Midge. It’s that dreadful diamond.”

  “No, it ain’t that, Tom. Luck was never with me, that’s all.” He put his hand in mine. “I was never meant to inherit no earth.”

  Benjamin Penny came creeping forward. “You’re wasting time,” he said. “Bash his head or I’ll do it myself.”

  “Get back!” I shouted. “He can take as long as he wants.”

  But Midgely squeezed my hand and said, “I’m ready now.” He closed his eyes. “Quick, Tom. One clean blow so’s I don’t have to drown, and put me quick into the sea.”

  Midgely covered his eyes with his fingers. Underneath, he was squinting, waiting for the blow that would be his end. But I couldn’t do it. For the first time in my life I cared more for another than I did for myself. I dropped the axe and crouched there, weeping.

  “Do it!” screamed Benjamin Penny.

  He lurched along the boat and took up the axe. His webbed fingers wrapped round the handle.

  Gaskin Boggis came lumbering after him, shouting at Penny to stop. He made the boat rock and plunge. “Give me the axe!” he shouted.

  I threw myself down to shield poor Midge, willing to take the blow in his place.

  But it never came. Boggis snatched the axe from Benjamin Penny and hurled it into the sea. “There’s a ship!” he said. “There’s a ship out there.”

  It was a long moment before I could raise myself to the shattered planks and look out where Boggis showed me. I saw masts and sun-bleached canvas, and the dark hull of a ship.

  “You see?” said Boggis. “I told you.”

  The ship came slowly on a breeze that barely rippled the water. It was old and weather-beaten, the sails all akimbo, the rigging in shreds. If the weather hadn’t been so fine and steady, I would have sworn the ship had only just emerged from a raging storm.