Reunion - Chapter Six

Reunion

By Simon Stanford

Chapter 6

Raft

The group carried on in much the same vein over the next three days, establishing a sort of routine without anyone having to make too many decisions. Which was good as it seemed whenever decisions needed to be made it ended up causing some tension between the two factions of the group. Well more specifically between the main players and unelected leaders of the factions, Ian Prince and Stephan Court.

The routine consisted of a couple of people going up to check on the signal fire and spend a couple of hours on watch there whilst others got water and gathered what fruit and berries they had established were edible. There were a couple more attempts at fishing with just nets but the general consensus was that was going to need a line and hooks before it could be useful.

It was four days now since they had been stranded on the island and, though no-one was voicing their concerns openly yet, many of them were starting to wonder how much longer they would need to stay on this island and how they should start to plan for a longer stay than anyone had hoped for in the first couple of days.

Most of the activity took place in the morning and early afternoon as after that as the sun climbed high in the sky the heat became quite oppressive for anything more strenuous than a swim in the sea or sunbathing on the beach for those who could handle it.

There were a couple of bottles of sun tan lotion with a reasonably high SPF that had been recovered from the split hold luggage and though liberal use of this was made by people at the start of their time on the island this was starting to be used more sparingly as though sub-consciously people were preparing for a long stay.

In the midst of all this Romney White continued to make notes and call meetings where no-one listened but he seemed oblivious to the fact that his efforts went largely in vain.

*

On the afternoon of the fourth day on the island Stephan Court was resting on the beach in the light shade provided by the overhanging branches of a tall palm that leaned out from the main forest canopy as though being edged out of the forest by its fellows.

“I have a problem,” said Leonard Wiltshire quietly as he sat next to Stephan on the beach. His bronzed, muscular legs outstretched before him in start contrast to the skinny white milk bottle legs of Stephan.

“I have to get off this island.”

“Well I think we all need to do that, Leonard.”

“No I mean soon. Very soon.”

“Well again I think we all….” Stephan paused detecting a note of desperation in Wiltshire’s tone.

They were all starting to feel the stress of having been here for nearly four days now and no sign of rescue. However they had food , water and shelter and the climate was very pleasant indeed so overall people seemed to be coping pretty well and were still firmly convinced it was only a matter of time before a boat or plane would spot them.

“What is it, Leonard?”

“It’s my medication. I have a heart problem and I only have four days of medication left.” Stephan looked the body of this bronzed adonis next to him up and down.

“Yeah I know it looks impressive, but there are some things that I couldn’t get fixed since school no matter how successful I became and my sickly nature is one of them.”

“But I haven’t seen you taking any tablets or anything.”

“Well no it doesn’t really go with the new image, so I don’t make a big deal of it. Normally it isn’t a big deal. A couple of pills a day and I’m fine. But if I miss a more than a day or two, well I’m not entirely sure of the timescale but I’m going to be in trouble pretty quick I know that much.”

“So what are you suggesting?” asked Stephan.

“I’m thinking a raft, we sail or paddle a raft off the island or round it see if there is Laney’s village of rescuers nearby or another inhabited island or the mainland of…..somewhere.”

“A raft…. Hmm with the oil drums as flotation tanks. “

“Well yeah they would probably be ideal.”

“So you’ve been thinking about this since our second day here?”

“Yeah I knew my pills would become an issue pretty quickly if rescue wasn’t forthcoming and since, luckily, the island is actually pretty habitable there wouldn’t be any great pressure on us to scramble to survive.”

“Well the food situation isn’t great for the longer term I suppose, but people are coping ok so far.”

“So will you help me talk to the rest of the group? They’ll all need to pitch in to make a raft, and someone will need to come with me as well. It would be much safer and easier with two of us on the raft but it still keeps the size of the project down to something reasonable. What do you say.”

“Well I’ll certainly support your idea and help you build the raft, but I think it would be better coming from you to the rest of the group. Anything I suggest seems to be automatically gain-sayed by Prince,” admitted Stephan.

Wiltshire got up and dusted the sand off the back of his shorts.
“OK thanks Stephan, I’ll mention it when we have dinner tonight.” He headed off for a swim, the sun, as it always seemed to do , glinting off the strong musculature of his body that had a permanent light sheen to it.

It was hard to imagine, thought Stephan that beneath that perfectly sculptured body, behind those bulging pecs beat a heart that was only kept in good operation thanks to the marvels of modern medicine.

In the circumstances Wiltshire seemed remarkably sanguine about the situation. He had come up with a plan to help resolve the situation and he was going get the group to execute it.

Even so it was far from certain that the final outcome would be favourable, even if they built a raft and it floated and made a sea-worthy craft there was still the issue of actually finding another landfall once they were at sea.

Still Wiltshire was eminently pragmatic when it came to these sorts of things and so took it one step at a time. First catch your rabbit as Mrs Beaton would have said except that in this case it was a matter of “First build your raft.”

*

That evening as the group finished dinner Leonard Wiltshire stood up and addressed the rest of the group about his idea. Leonard spent a few minutes explaining the situation and there was a general nod of consent from them that this was a worthwhile project and something they would help with. It would have been a little heartless, almost literally, to refuse.

From this initial agreement there arose two questions that formed the basis of the debate for the next half an hour. First there was who should go with Leonard on the journey as it was agreed that two people would definitely have a better chance of success and would be able to help each other out of difficulties. Romney White's eyes lit up and he was virtually salivating over the prospect of more skills matrices and task profile outlines but this was all cut across by Ian Prince.

“Well I think it needs to be someone with good organisation and coping skills but who is also physically fit.”

Leonard rolled his eyes as he saw instantly what Prince was about but it did kind of make sense.

“Yeah,” said Gareth Laney ever ready to support his former captain and quick to catch on.

“You'd be ideal really Romney,” Prince used White's christian name for the first time that he could remember.

Stephan noticed how Prince could turn on all the sales charm when he needed to.

“Well I'm flattered of course but I think we should go through a proper selection process”

“All those in favour of sending Romney, err I mean choosing Romney as the companion to Wiltshire?” Prince looked round the group fixing all his rugby players with a steely look.

They all instantly put their hands up and so did the remaining members of the group as they too could see the advantages it would give to both Wiltshire and them by removing the rather annoying White from their midst.

“That's settled then.”

“Well it is most irregular, but if you are sure.” Romney made another note in his ever expanding sheaf of scrap papers.

The second thing to be decided was much more subject to open debate. How to build the raft. The oil drums from back by the crash site were seen as ideal flotation devices if they were or could easily be made watertight. The issue was what could be used to form a stable platform on top of them.

There were several groves a bamboo to be found on the island and these would make ideal raft material but there was no obvious means of cutting down suitably sized stems that would support the weight of two people when all they had was Walker's pen knife as a construction tool. There was a brief discussion of the option of a hollow tree trunk dug out canoe but this presented even larger construction issues given their limited tools.

In the end they agreed that the bamboo was the only real option and they had to find someway of cutting or breaking them down. They agreed to look in the morning for a means to do this. All of this debate they were able to hold in a relatively civilised manner and without recourse to entrenched positions being formed round the groups two leading lights of Ian Prince and Stephan Court.

Perhaps they both realised that for the sake of Leonard, who successfully straddled both camps by virtue of his physical prowess and stature and his intellect, they need to put aside any differences they might have and work for the common good.

*

The following morning after the usual key tasks for the day of checking the signal fire, gathering water etc. the group went off into the nearest bamboo grove and experimented with various methods of acquiring the dozen or so trunks they estimated they required.

In the end it was the Speke brothers who came up with a surprisingly effective brute force method of pushing a shoot over as far as it would go and then shinning along it and gradually adding more weight until it gave out at the bottom with a loud crack. It left a rough splintered end but that could be trimmed off using Walker's knife.

With the method proven they quickly gathered enough bamboo to begin construction of the platform and this was brought back to what was to become the construction site a few metres down the beach from their main campsite.

The next issue was retrieving the oil drums from where they lay half buried in the soil by the crash sight, but once again this was a task more suited to brute force and ignorance and with some simple digging with hands and some of the shorter wing struts from the wrecked plane employed as primitive shovels.

The oil drums were indeed found to be intact with the lids providing a good seal even after all this time, or so it seemed, and inside apart from the smell of stale air there only a few small colonies of wood lice and the like that needed to be evicted, apart from that whatever contents alluded to by the markings on the outside had long since be used up.

The final challenge was working out how to fix everything together and this did start to cause a little friction in the group. The obvious way was to lash the various components together using some sort of twine. The Speke Brothers, helped by Gareth Laney and Rogger Benedict had managed to find a way to make a reasonably strong but flexible twine from splitting and twisting palm fronds and had spent the last day and bit in their spare time making twine to be used as a fishing line.

When it was suggested that all this twine be used to lash the members of the raft together and to the oil drums they were a little reluctant.

“It’s taken us ages to get that much twine together. You need a decent amount if you are going to catch off shore fish,” said Paul Speke.

“Why can’t you tear up some of the clothes we recovered into strips and make twine from that,” said Peter Speke.

“For the same reason you didn’t use that method to make fishing line,” explained Stephan Court, “there’s not enough and it doesn’t make a strong enough twine that’s actually manageable.”

“Oh you’ve tried then have you?’ asked Prince coming to the defence of his team mates.

“Well no but it stands to reason and like I say why didn’t your guys use it for the fishing line if it is so good.” Here they were again ‘your guys’ and ‘my guys’ starting to creep into the language, the old division starting to appear again.

In the end it was Stuart Walker who acted at peace maker.

“Look why don’t we use the twine the guys have made but only as much as we really need and try to conserve it as well as we can and of course any left over they can have. At the end of the day we can do without fish for a couple more days whilst more twine is made but Leonard doesn’t have that sort of time. No offence, Leonard.”

“None taken” said Leonard with a slight edge of concern to his voice.

“After all, “ said Walker pointing to the huge forest of palms and mangroves behind them, “it’s not like we’ll be short of palm fronds to make more, is it?”

So it was agreed that the twine would be used but they would not be profligate with it. The group set about binding the bamboo shoots together to form a platform using a criss cross of figure of 8 passes of the twine between the individual poles. This proved to be quite a tricky procedure and the key element was getting the tension right. Too loose and the members would just move around and come adrift, too tight and they had a tendency to make the platform bow laterally and collapse in on itself.

Eventually they found a method of twisting the twine in between each figure of 8 pass gave the best results and after a couple of hours of communal work the platform was complete. It was about 2.5 metres long and 1.5 metres wide which was felt to be a good compromise between flexibility to deal with any rough seas they might encounter and stability.

Attaching the platform to the oil drums securely proved easier than they expected helped by the ribs in the body of the drums that fitted nicely into the gaps in the individual bamboo shoots and then lashing this round several times with twine seemed to make it steadfast enough. This naturally used quite a lot of twine and by the time they had finished there was only about a metre of it left but the sense of achievement at having built the raft seemed to overcome the concerns the twine makers had voiced initially.

The group stood back and admired its handiwork.

“We need a name for it, “ said Subbu Esacam, “all vessels need a name.”

“How about the BGSB Boat”, said Laney rather lamely.

“Well it is hardly a boat, it’s a raft. “

“What was the name of that adventurer from the seventies who used ancient techniques to build a reed boat?” asked Nalesh Mougal before Laney could take issue with Subbu’s characterisation of his suggestion.

“Thor Hyadal, “ said Stephan, “ and his boat was called the Kontiki I think.”
“Yeah that was it, well how about the Kontiki II?” suggested Mougal.

“Hmmm a bit dull. How about , how about instead of the Kontiki we call this one the Notleekie.” Stephan chuckled at the cleverness of his play one words and in the absence of any better suggestions the Notleekie it was.

By the time they had finished the build the sun was high in the sky and the heat becoming unbearable again. To give the two intrepid crew the easiest journey possible they decided to launch at first light the following morning when it would be much cooler. It would also give the twine time to stretch and settle if it was going to so any last minute tightening could be done before launch.

Leonard Wiltshire consulted a small white pill box he kept in his trouser pocket and declared that he could afford another half-day delay in trying to find civilisation and a supply of ace inhibitors, anti-agina nitro tablets and blood thinners. That would leave him with about four days supply of drugs and that seemed a reasonable amount of time to be at sea. It would also be a reasonable number of days of provisions and in particular water that the raft could carry. This was in essence the fuel for the craft , or rather it’s two motors in the shapes of White and Wiltshire and a little like space rockets there was a trade off between the space and weight taken up by fuel and extra range they gave the craft.

“That realistically only means two days out and two days back though, “ said Subbu , “unless you are in sight of land. You need to start heading back here.”

Wiltshire nodded though deep down he was unsure exactly what he would do if after all this effort he had to come back and wait out his time on the island without any drugs. Still that was not something he had to worry about just yet.

*

The following morning, as dawn was just breaking, the raft was carried down the beach to the waterline with much ceremony. Held head high by the former members of the first XV. The slope of the beach was fairly gentle but there was a noticeable steppening as they neared the water's edge. This was promising for the depth of the water thereafter and the the chance of getting a clean launch.

The rugger buggers splashed into the shallows a few metres until the water was just below the knee before carefully laying the craft down in the water. It was a tense moment but it floated. Their rickety craft of 60 year old oil drums, bamboo and palm frond twine actually floated. A cheer went up from the group.

The provisions for the journey were laid in the middle of the craft. There was enough food and water for about four days, though the food , consisting mostly of fruit , berries and tiny packets of peanuts would be a scant ration. Aside from not having much else to give the two intrepid adventurers of Wiltshire and White they were conscious of the amount of space and weight provisions would take up. As it was 16 litres of water looked lot when laid out in condoms in an upturned suitcase top.

“Right then,” said Leonard, preparing to climb on board.

“Now remember, “ said Subbu with a concerned tone, “four days, that's two days out and if you don't see any landfall you have to head back in.” He handed over his phone that had a digital compass in.

Wiltshire climbed on board the raft which sunk a little lower in the water but still floated.

“Now are you sure you guys can cope without me?” asked Romney as he prepared to board.

“Yes” shouted the group a little too quickly and enthusiastically than was perhaps polite.

“OK. I've left the to do list and a form for minutes of meetings up by my shelter.” Romney White got on board the raft at the rear, it sank down a little further and the bottom edge of the oildrum at the back caught in the sand.

He got off and pushed the craft easily out into slightly deeper water before jumping back on board. The raft bobbed up and down almost as though it were chomping at the bit to set off on its maiden voyage. Wiltshire and White broke out the paddles they had fashioned from bits of broken luggage and smaller bamboo canes and began to paddle out towards the sea. The rest of the group cheered and applauded them on their way and backed up the beach to stand on the sand and watch them go.

The going was easy for the first couple of hundred metres and the raft made good progress, but this was in the calmer waters that were protected by the arms of the bay this edge of the island formed. When they got beyond that they seemed to be picked up by an underlying current and the raft started to be swept quite quickly round back in towards the island but headed for the rocky cliff bottom beneath the promontory where the signal fire was built.

The two sailors began to paddle hard to work against the current and get back out to the open sea. The spectators on the shore began to cheer and shout encouragement. White and Wiltshire were two strong, fit men and they slowly began to make progress against the prevailing current. After a tense few minutes it became clear the raft was pulling clear of the land and heading out to the open sea. The group cheered and applauded again. A couple of minutes later and the raft was clear of the current and started to make better headway.

This was met by even more enthusiastic cheering from the shore and , taking a break from the hard effort of paddling, the two occupants of the raft raised the paddles above their heads in celebration and acknowledgement of the cheers.

*

It was Mougal who spotted ‘it’ first.

“What's that there?” he said and pointed out to the right past the raft.

A small dark triangle was just visible moving towards the Notleekie.

“It isn't.....is it?” said Mougal unwilling to voice his concern fully. The triangle dipped and then rose a little higher on the water and it became clear it was the dorsal fin of some large marine creature.

“Dolphin? Come to guide them out?” said Gareth Laney hopefully.

“That's no dolphin. I reckon that's a shark” said Walker.

“Shit! They haven't seen it, they have to come back.” The fin was bearing down from behind the raft now, White and Wiltshire were ooking out to sea, starting to focus again on the paddling.

“Stop, come back. Shark!” shouted first Walker and then the rest of the group joined in in a cacophony of shouts, waving their arms frantically to attract the attention of White and Wiltshire. Unfortunately what breeze there was came inshore and their shouts died quickly on it. Wiltshire looked back to the shore and interpreted the shouts and waves as more encouragement and acknowledged them with another wave of his paddle. “Ok guys ,” he thought. “That's enough now, we need to concentrate.”

“Quite a send off eh?” he remarked to White looking over his other shoulder behind him, “anyone would think they were glad to be rid of us.”

“Those guys.” was all that Romney White managed to say before the raft rocked violently causing the water supply to slide forward a couple of feet.

“Whoa, what was that?” he cried.

There was another shunt to the side of the raft this time and then they saw a dark shape in the water below.

The crowd were still shouting and waving on the shore. Suddenly the dark shape reared up from the water a couple of feet from the back of the raft and then it crashed down on the back corner of the raft.

It was a tiger shark about 2 metres long, its head thrashing from side to side as it rolled off the edge of the raft and turned round on itself for another attack.

Wiltshire got up onto one knee to turn and see what had happened at the back as Romney White was trying to steady himself and the raft from his kneeling paddling position.

The shark struck again just as Wiltshire was rising and it caught him completely off balance, tipping him into the water. In an instant the shark turned and bore down on him. The group on the shore had fallen silent and still as they watched the drama play out in front of them helpless to do anything about it.

Wiltshire bobbed to the surface a moment later and tried to climb back on to the raft reaching up for White's outstretched hand but before he could reach it he was suddenly dragged straight down.

White looked into the water desperate to catch sight of Wiltshire. He bobbed back up again a moment later but only to emit an ear piercing scream that carried on the breeze easily back to the beach and the stricken spectators. Plumes of dark red billowed round Wiltshire as he was dragged back down again out of site for the last time. White edged over to the side of the raft where he had last seen Wiltshire, a trail of blood running out in the wake on the raft now.

“No!” he screamed, “Leonard!” but it was no good. There would be no reply.

White wept , the tears streaming down his cheeks, his head dropped forward. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of more movement in the water. The shark reared up again across the stern of the raft but White was ready for it this time and he struck out at it , catching it on the side of the head with his paddle.

The shark was momentarily stunned by this and lay partly stranded across the rear of the raft that pitched up at the front with the extra weight behind. Something in Romney White snapped and 20 years of nurturing his carefully cultivated business consultant image was gone in an instant. With a scream of rage he fell upon the shark and punched it on the nose, the shark shuddered and its eyes rolled back in its head. Romney began to rain down blows on its snout. What had started out as a seemingly easy meal for the shark had turned into a fight for its own survival as it struggled to get away. Avoiding its jaws somehow White had managed to get the shark in a sort of headlock all the time punching and beating it on the nose, White drew blood from the shark that mixed and mingled with Wiltshire's in the water.

The shark gave a final twist and shudder and then was still but White kept on smashing his fist into the head of the shark.

“Bloody hell, he's gone mental!” said Walker watching from the shore.

White was still beating the shark his arms never seeming to tire, the veins bulging on his biceps. He never saw the half dozen triangular dorsal fins circling in, closer and closer drawn in by the scent of blood in the water. At first the sharks seemed reluctant to approach confused by the scent of one of their own in the water but then the instinct of the feeding frenzy won out and they closed in on the raft. The first shark that got close enough took a large bite into the rear half of its now dead brother and twisted away. The force was such that it pitched White into the water and it was only a matter of seconds before he disappeared from view in a thrashing, foaming, miasma of water spray, blood, fins and jaws.