Benedict Jones - Hell Ship

‘There is one thing, Busby. One thing that might persuade you of my authority.’

‘And what’s that?’ replied Busby jutting his chin out, cock of the walk now.

The young cadet officer reached into the pocket of his jacket. When his hand re-emerged it held a short barrelled Webley Mark V .455 revolver, nickel plated. He held it loosely but the business end was pointed straight at Busby’s gut and the threat was clear.

‘Well, there is this… my godfather made sure I took it when he told us to take the boat and my daddy made sure I knew how to use one before I left England so you will obey me, Mr Busby, or I will have you hog tied until we make landfall – do I make myself clear?’

Connelly saw Busby’s right hand slipping around behind his back. He had seen the move before in bars from New Orleans to Manilla. Busby smiled and nodded all the while he was reaching for the seven-inch switchblade he kept cached at his back. Connelly stepped forward and caught Busby’s wrist. He turned it on its self and kept the pressure up as he spoke.

‘I think Royston was just a little worse for wear, Mr Snell. He’s just concerned we all get home safe. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.’

Snell watched Connelly for a moment, searching his eyes for some kind of connection, and then nodded.

‘Of course – say no more about it, shall we? Mr Busby, thank you for pointing out the right direction to me, I bow to your superior knowledge. Would you be so good as to run up the sail and take first watch pointing us correctly?’

Connelly released Busby’s wrist. The bigger man turned to look at him. They stared dead into each other’s eyes and then Busby smiled. It was not a smile that Connelly enjoyed seeing.

‘My pleasure, sir.’

Busby set to work running up the small sail and Connelly breathed a sigh of relief. He looked over to Hamilton and nodded but knew that Busby would want to discuss the issue with him at some point.

‘Did you manage to make that inventory?’

‘Sure did.’

‘Then I’m sure Mr Snell would appreciate it if you could advise him on it.’

‘Sir,’ said Hamilton to Snell and the young officer nodded in return, ‘we got the canvas sail that’s getting run up now, six pairs of oars, a compass, sea anchor, boat cover, an axe, some flares along with some matches, a medical kit I gave to Miss Starling, and the two boat hooks.’

‘Food and water?’ asked Snell.

‘Got us a four-gallon pot of water, eleven tins of condensed milk, one twenty-pound tin of ships biscuits and about sixteen pounds of tinned mutton – I think that even I will struggle to turn that into anything palatable.’

Snell looked around the boat and the passengers and crew looked back at him. Connelly could see the calculations working in the officer’s brain; nine people in the boat came out at about two pounds of biscuits and nearly the same of mutton each, less than half a gallon of water each.

‘Half a cup of water all round, sir?’ asked Connelly.

‘What? Why, yes, yes of course. Half-a-cup each and a biscuit each to serve as breakfast.’

‘Best we rig up the boat cover to try and catch any rain if it does come – and set it at night to catch the dew. Might be we’ll be glad of it.’

Snell swallowed. Hard. Not wanting to think beyond their meagre supplies, hoping they would be picked up before it came to that.

‘Thank you, Mr, err, Connelly?’

‘Yes, sir. Connelly.’

‘Why does Busby call you Professor?’

‘Because he saw me read a book once.’

Busby laughed from the back of the boat where he sat at the rudder.

‘That ain’t the half of it.’

Earl Hamilton leaned back against the slats that formed the side of the boat and tried to chew a little life into the hard ship’s biscuit. He sighed and thought of home – grilled red snapper and buttered cassava. Looked up at the bright blue sky and could almost believe he was back in Barbados rather than bobbing around the Indian Ocean in this toy tub. Get to see his wife and boy again, it had been too long. He took a mouthful from his half cup of water, wished for a cold beer, and then broke off another piece of biscuit which he put into his mouth along with the water to try and soften it up some.

‘Do you think we will get picked up?’

‘Huh?’

Hamilton looked around and found Putner, the radio operator, sitting next to him.

‘I said do you reckon that we’ll get picked up?’

‘I don’t know. Who can tell? Ask those guys they look like they’ve been adrift before?’

Putner looked over at Busby and then to Connelly. To him they looked like proper sailors; not afraid of anything; hard living, hardworking, and as tough as the ships they served on. Putner had never felt tough, more comfortable with his radios, codes, and electrics than with people.

‘I hope we do.’

He looked over at Hamilton and the other man nodded before chewing on his still hard biscuit with a sigh.

Across the boat from Hamilton and Putner sat Conrad Warner and Lily. Warner reached into his back pocket and extracted a gold cigarette case.

‘You reckon they’re still dry?’

‘Man who sold it to me promised it was waterproof. Course it could be he was a liar and a flim-flam salesman but there’s only one way to find out…’

‘Suck it and see?’ replied Lily.

Warner looked at her and smiled.

‘Wish you would.’

‘Oi,’ she dug her elbow into Warner’s ribs but there was no real violence in it.

Warner opened the cigarette case and smiled. Its precious cargo was safe and dry. He took out his lighter and tried to spark it. It wouldn’t and he sighed.

‘Anyone spare a chap a match?’

‘Trade you a couple for one of those tailor mades,’ replied Connelly and Warner held up the case.

Lily and Conrad lit their smokes from the same match but Connelly extinguished it and used another to light his own.

‘Sorry, sailor’s superstitions.’

Then Connelly passed another three matches to Warner which he tucked into his pocket.

‘Thanks,’ said Lily and Connelly gave her a nod. ‘This happened to you before?’

‘Twice. Hit one of our own mines running a cargo of rubber out from Rangoon but we got in the boats in plenty of time, picked up two days later. The other time was near Madagascar, U-Boat caught us without a destroyer in sight. We were in the water for twelve hours before a ship got to us. Saw some good men pulled under.’

‘Jesus,’ muttered Lily.

‘Sharks?’ asked Warner and Connelly simply nodded, his mind back treading water and waiting to die in the clear African sea.

‘Margie, that you Margie?’

Amelia Starling dipped the rag over the side into the sea water and used it to wet Collin’s brow. He moaned as the wet cloth touched his forehead. Amelia sniffed hard. There was little she could do for the man with what was in the small medical kit that had been stowed in the boat. There was no morphine and that, she knew, was what the man needed. Instead all she could do was sit with him and wait for the burns to do their worst.

‘Penny for ‘em?’

Amelia looked around at the blonde woman who had come and sat beside her. The woman took the cigarette out from between her lips and passed it to Amelia.

‘Sorry, I don’t really smoke.’

‘It ain’t for you, love – it’s for him.’

The nurse tucked the cigarette between Collins’ lips and the man took a deep, automatic, drag. He held it for a moment and then released the smoke in a long stream with an audible sigh of pleasure. Amelia passed the cigarette back and Lily took a final pull on it before casting it away into the sea.