"Sucked outta our shirts an' such, sir," Toffett recalled with a grimace, as if in aftertaste. "Caught in 'at ol' wash-leather bag. Nought but a dram or two 'twixt th' six of us, was all it amounted to. Turtle blood… fish blood, and some gulls we knocked down with driftwood planks, sir? Ugh!"
They had dug with a grey-wood board in search of a fresh water seep but had hit porous limestone moist with saltwater. Amazingly to Lewrie, this Balfa creature had left them a cracked magnifying glass, a stained linen handkerchief and a flintlock tinder-box, that rusty knife, so a fire could be kindled once they'd found enough driftwood and sun-dry pine needles and palm furze. Most nights, though, they had shivered in the wind-swept chills in the dark, saving firewood for a beacon to any passing ship.
Raw turtle meat and blood, raw seabird flesh and gore doled out in meagre handfuls to last an entire day. The surf had been too heavy to "grabble," tickle, or spear fish… and the sharks too numerous and prowling almost into the glass windowpane of the waves that broke on their little beach. There'd been gulls' eggs for one afternoon, then the wonder of a hawksbill turtle that had crawled ashore to scoop out her nest in the sand. Craftily, they'd waited 'til she was crawling back to the water, totally spent, and had hammered, gouged, and pried her open with their bare hands and fist-sized rocks to kill her.
That night, they had lit a fire, to preserve so much meat; and had dug up her eggs like the Purser might dish out his rations, a bit at a time from the sandy "larder," a dozen apiece per day to assuage their raging hunger, and her massive, shield-like upper shell had made a catch-basin for the rare rain.
"Had t'bury th' poor lad there on th' island, sir," Mr. Towpenny said, almost piping his eyes. "Said wot words we had over him, put up a driftwood cross but we daren't risk th' knife t'carve his name on it. Poor little tyke. Warn't th' sort o' Midshipman like t'prosper in th' Navy, but he tried, I'll give him that. Weren't right, them bastards pottin' him like th' squire'd pot a rabbit, then leave him t'die. For th' fun o' it!"
"How long were you on that island, Mister Towpenny?" Lewrie asked, about as sorrowful as his sailors, after the dreary tale had been told of Midshipman Burns's sufferings before he'd died. "And how were you rescued?"
"Nigh on ten days, sir," Towpenny grumbled deep in his chest. "Got picked up 'bout two weeks ago. Fin'lly saw a sail o' any sort up to th' North'rd, and figgered even th' Spaniards couldn't do us worse in one o' their prisons, so we lit a fire, and she seen us and hauled her wind t'come about."
"Used our slop trousers t'make a big smoky fire, sir, just like Moses follered by day," Seaman Luckaby said with an ironic chuckling noise. "Stockings'd been burnt before, t'help cook that turtle."
"You were picked up naked from your shirts down?" Lewrie said, more than glad to conjure up a happier picture of their long ordeal.
"Burnt our tarred hats, too, sir, an' wearin' our wool jackets like shawls," Mr. Towpenny added, almost snickering, too, at the outre spectacle they had made of themselves.
"Thort 'at ship'd sail right past us, sor," Ahern said from his sick-bed, wheezing with happy remembrance of their deliverance. "But oncet 'at fire was blazin' good, wot with th' vairy last scrap o' wood on th' island, and God help us if she'd not come about!"
"Aye, and amen, i' faith!" his Proteuses chorused in cacophony.
"Sure, an' all 'at rum whooshed up like a fire-ship takin' light, sor, an'…" Ahern chortled, then blushed; silenced, he was taken by a fit of wheezing and coughing into his fist. And all of the other hands broke off from contributions and exultations, went red in the face, and found sudden interest in the floor or the odd strolling insect, their bare toes…
"The… rum," Lewrie posed, a skeptical brow lifted in query.
"Ahem, sir!" Mr. Towpenny finally spoke up. "D'ye see, sir, as I told ye, sir, that Balfa feller left us some… things, t'give us a sportin' chance, like he said, and, ah… one of 'em was a ten-gallon barrico o' rum, sir. Unwatered, d'ye see. Cruel! Oh, cruel it woz, that! Right, lads?"
"Oh, aye! Arr! Bastard!" came their enthusiastic remonstrance to that fiendish infliction. "Us t'do a 'Drunken Jack,' like 'at pore ol' pirate got found on th' coast o' th' Carolinas, nothin' but bones, an' an empty cask! Hellish temptation! But nary a drap o' water?"
"Die we must, sure an' we'd all go blissful," Ahern fondly speculated, "a'dreamin' 'twoz Fiddler's Green an' not a desert?"
"We rationed it out, we did, sir," Mr. Towpenny firmly stated, "just enough t'keep our spirits up, an' it woz wet, after all… savin' it for a big bonfire, did a ship come, d'ye see, Cap'm," he extemporised. "Eased Mister Burns, too, it did, thankee Jesus, seemed like it kept his wound from festerin' quick as it might've… give him at least a day or more o' life… t'make his peace with the Lord, so it could be counted a blessin', do ye look at it that way, sir, and…"
"Any left?" Lewrie dryly asked.
"Well, er… nossir," Mr. Towpenny said, squirming on his rickety chair. "Th' bonfire took a power of it, sir, Flames nigh as tall as a cro'jack yard, an' lots o' smoke t'draw that ship down t'us."
"Um-humm," Lewrie commented; though picturing his sailors being rescued with their pricks swaying in the wind, short coats over their heads like be-shawled Dago widows… and every last man-jack as drunk as an emperor! 'Twas a wonder their rescuers hadn't backed oars, gone about, and rowed away and left them as a bad bargain!
"And you've lost your kits, I take it," Lewrie said further, as he paced back to the centre of the room. "Aye, we must do something on that score. The hospital charge you for these new slops you wear? By God, the skinflints! I'll speak to Mister Coote, soon as I am back aboard, and suggest a whip-round… from forecastle, gun-deck, and the wardroom, all, to get you kitted out proper, again. So what pay you're owed won't vanish, and you won't have to sign away your prize money to shore jobbers for a quarter its future worth, either.
"As far as I'm concerned, you were on active duty all this time, so don't fear pay stoppage in your absence, as well," he further promised. "You did darned well, lads, to keep your discipline and your wits about you, simply to stay alive. Mister Towpenny, be sure that your keeping good charge will be noted, and rewarded."
"Thankee, sir… thankee kindly," Towpenny said, blushing anew.
"You'll all be back aboard in a few days," Lewrie told them as he picked up his hat and took a step towards the door. "In the meantime, I'd wish you to try to recall all you can about those so-called privateers who held you. Any scrap of information as to names, places, or gossip you heard… any clues as to where they were headed, as to who they really were. I'm sure Mister Jugg will prove helpful, since he can sort out French or Spanish words that might be confusing, right Jugg?" he prompted, giving that dubious rogue a damned chary glare.
"Aye, sir," the fellow answered.
"By the way, Jugg… we sailed as far as Barbados in search of you, of word of you," Lewrie slyly continued. "We rode up to call on your acres in Welsh Hell Gully. You've gotten your mail since coming ashore? No? Rest assured, your wife is well… There's a good crop coming up, and… both your daughter and infant son are in the best of health."
"Er… thankee, sir," Jugg all but gasped, sitting up straight in spite of his guarded caution, even as he went cutty-eyed to imagine what else Lewrie had learned about him from his fellow Barbadians.