The dinghy wireless had been lost when they were washed into the sea and who knew how far they had drifted from their original ditching position. The chances of an aircraft spotting them or a rescue launch finding them seemed remote.
The sound of the engine had faded altogether by the time one of them—Norman—managed to pull the trigger on the Verey pistol and Keith said, “Too fucking late.” The cartridge served only to illuminate the vast darkness that they were adrift in and, if possible, lowered their spirits even further. Teddy wondered if they had hallucinated the aircraft engine. Perhaps it was like being lost in the desert and soon they would see mirages or become prey to all sorts of deceptions and delusions.
“I’d give anything for a coffin nail,” Keith said.
“I did have a packet of fags,” Kenny said, struggling to produce them from his pocket. They regarded the wet Woodbines with regret before they were tossed over the side. All the emergency supplies had gone, of course—cigarettes, food and anything that might have cheered or sustained them had been washed away when they had been submerged a second time. Teddy found a piece of chocolate in a pocket and Mac divided it up scrupulously with his penknife and divvied up the fragments. George had been right to eat his chocolate ration before they took off, Teddy thought—he was beyond caring now. Vic refused the chocolate, he was suffering terribly with seasickness.
“I’ve heard all those tales,” Keith said, “of men drifting at sea for weeks in an open boat and how they end up eating each other, starting with the cabin boy.” They all instinctively turned to look at Kenny. “But I just want to let you know, I’d rather eat my own foot than any of you buggers.”
“I feel personally insulted,” Mac said. “I’d make any man a good meal.”
That set them all off talking about food, which is never a good idea when there is no possibility of any, but gradually the talk subsided and died away. They were too exhausted for conversation and one by one they fell into fitful sleep. Teddy worried that they might not wake from this cold slumber and remained awake on watch.
He occupied himself by wondering what he would choose to eat. If he could have one meal, what would it be? A grand restaurant or a nursery supper? In the end he settled on one of Mrs. Glover’s game pies and, to follow, a treacle sponge pudding and custard. But it was not the food that he cared about, it was for them all to be sitting at the Regency Revival table, Hugh at its head, reinstated from the dead. Jimmy sitting on Pamela’s knee, the girls still in their hair ribbons and short skirts. Bridget ferrying dishes from the kitchen, Mrs. Glover grumbling backstage. Sylvie graceful and light-hearted. There was even a place for Maurice. And a dog sitting beneath the table. Or two—for they existed in his imagination, not their graves, and so both Trixie and Jock lolled warmly together at his feet. Despite his best intentions he couldn’t keep his eyes open and he fell into the dark pit of sleep.
The second morning at sea had brought a leaden kind of light that promised nothing. The sea had been calmer for a few hours but now turned suddenly squally. They were drenched continually by spray, it hit them full in the face, making it difficult to breathe. It seemed impossible that they could be any wetter and yet it turned out to be perfectly possible. To make matters even worse, they discovered that the dinghy seemed to have developed a leak and they had to pump with the emergency bellows, but after a while they gave out too and they couldn’t find a way to fix them and the only way they had of bailing water was to scoop it up with their frozen hands, making them even more unserviceable.
George was in a bad way, as was Vic. Neither of them could put up a defence against the waves that were continually battering them. Teddy crawled over to George and tried to take his pulse but the motion of the waves was too violent. He thought George might be dead but didn’t say anything to the others.
When he glanced over at Kenny he saw that he was staring mournfully at George. He turned his gaze to Teddy and said, “If I’m going to die, skipper, I’d rather die with you than anyone.”
“You’re not going to die,” Teddy said, rather curtly. They would all be done for if they started to despair. Best to avoid morbid thoughts.
“I know, but if I do…”