We were growing desperate. A day since we were cast adrift, only the brief rain shower overnight kept the thirst at bay.
Solomon heard it first, the ugly cawing of a gull. “There!” he croaked, pointing at a speck on the horizon. “Must be land nearby.”
Two more hours of drifting before we spied a dim smudge above the line of blue ocean. Hope was enough tonic to give us strength to paddle with our hands. The energy to creep towards the distant isle, and possible salvation.
I awoke later, who knows how many hours. Andrea was shaking my shoulder violently. “We’re in the shallows,” she hissed. “Boats breaking up, gotta swim the last.” She pointed to the stony beach ahead, a few hundred yards.
Any one of us alone would’ve drowned, I’m sure. But together, somehow, we paddled, and floated, and dragged each other forward. I was completely spent as I felt my feet touch rocks, and I could barely take the last few steps to cast myself upon the beach. My companions collapsed beside me.
The sun was low when I next opened my eyes. Every inch of me ached, but I rose and nudged Andrea and Solomon to wakefulness. “We need water, and a fire, before the sun goes down.”
Inland a few hundred yards we came upon a small stream, and the fresh water tasted like nectar. Solomon searched the beach and found enough driftwood for at least a few hours of fire. As Andrea knelt to set the kindling, I wandered in the hope of finding food.
Instead, in the dim light, I stepped in a hollow and near broke my ankle. Cursing in pain, I looked down, and was shocked to see a glint of metal. Examining more closely, I made out the corner of a metal-banded chest, poking out of the ground. Something buried carelessly. Left exposed once the elements had eroded the earth that covered it.
The light was near gone, now. I was lucky that Andrea had sparked a fire that lit the night, a beacon for me to return. I told my friends my discovery, and we determined to investigate the next day. Curled up on grass and sand, we slept like the dead.
Solomon gestured to me to pull on the corner of the chest. He levered underneath with a plank of wood, a remnant of our broken boat. Andrea shoveled sandy earth away with her hands until, with a groan, the chest finally released itself. All three of us fell back, exhausted from the effort.
The lock was rusted, and broke easily under my heel. And our eyes reflected the glow of gold and silver as we cast open the lid. “More’n the crew’s seen in years,” said Andrea.
“Aye. An’ much good it does us,” said Solomon. “We can’t eat gold.”
“We find some more wood,” I said. “Stoke the fire. Forage. Survive until someone finds us.”
“An’ then they just carry us off to a friendly port, and give us all the gold, instead of cuttin’ our throats and takin’ it themselves?” asked Andrea.
“They leave some of it for us. If they don’t know it’s there. Show any rescuer this still full chest we found, and cry tears of gratitude. I’ll wager they don’t ask many questions.” I smiled, “And in the meantime, we’ve gold in our belts, in our boots, sewn into our clothes. Enough to be rich, an’ still alive.”
Solomon nodded. “Aye, ‘t might work.” He looked at Andrea, who nodded, too.
That was a week ago. The fire hasn’t gone out in that time. And we’ve survived on shellfish and a few roots. My stomach still growls. But there’s a chink of metal when I go to tighten my belt.
And there’s a sail on the horizon.
Article photo by Patti Black on Unsplash.