I think it has been a year now. The slow wheel of the stars tipping the Pitcher to spill out the dawn again. The last time it spilled I was burying Smithers. Or was it the time before? No, I am certain it was a year ago.
I think...
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Seven of us have arrived here on this nameless atoll after the whaler foundered in a storm. That first year had been a trial as we learned the island, but it was also a time of pride as we built a sturdy home to shelter us from the frequent storms. Captain Anders and his First Officer Merrow were the natural leaders of our little branch of His Majesty's rule. The Purser Smithers and his assistant Jackson were in charge of our supplies and the assigning of daily gathering tasks. Shipwright Petters, now the architect and craftsman that had designed and maintained our fine home. Last, there was my Master, Navigator Anson Keller, and I, Daniel Smithson, apprentice Navigator and all around dogsbody. I had yet to begin growing a beard, but my childhood was now far behind me.
There was a surfeit of coconut palms and lesser plants. Birds that we learned the use of my child's toy of a sling to bring down. Those first months where more often than not the only thing we hit was our pride, as again the birds escaped. We had better luck with weaving the coconut sisal into a small net and catching the abundant fish in the lagoon.
Each of the others had clear tasks, but for my Master and I we became simple labor. What Use the sextant and caliper, without a chart to plot on or a ship to guide?
I was left with abundant chores. Gathering fallen fronds and spoiled coconuts that we split and left to dry as fuel for the cook fire. Then as the morning worn on, I was to rake the beaches for the shellfish that were to be our midday meal.
The only breakdown in discipline the first year was a growing liking for coconut water that had been left to ferment into a sort of small beer.
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How to describe the failure of a good man?
Master Keller. As the Pitcher tipped closer to pouring out the Solstice sun my good Master was more often than not in his cups. Often mumbling about a fantasy woman that haunted his dreams and more often recently his waking drunken delirium.
On the morning of the Solstice, the stars still in the sky, I woke to find Master Keller gone from his hammock. I know not what sense guided me, but I headed down to the beach. There he was, face down in the lapping waves, the tiny crabs already at work.
No one was surprised that a drunkard would fall and drown. I made no remark about the half filled in footprint that the waves had reclaimed when I returned with the others. It had seemed to have the markings of toes, yet Master Keller had drowned wearing his boots.
Of course, it was left to me to drag the body from the surf and dig the grave. The Captain spoke eloquent words from his pocket New Testament over the grave.
That second year was much like the first. I had shaved a strap of Master Keller's boot to replace the broken strap of my sling. But now I hit my target more often than not.
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That second year, as the Solstice approached, First Officer Merrow was becoming more sickly with each day. Complaining of ague. His fevered imaginings leading him to raving fits. On the night of the Solstice, we were awoken by a sudden shouting.
"She's coming! She's coming!" As Mister Merrow ran off into the darkened jungle. His crash and shouting growing more distant.
It was three days before we found him. Face down in a tidal pool. Barely enough left to recognize. Again, it was left to me to dig and bury.
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We never spoke of it. The unspoken topic was forbidden to even contemplate. But as each Solstice approached on this damned island we knew another would be taken.
Mister Petters was next, found still warm on the beach. Fermented coconut in his hand.
Then the next year it was Jackson, whom we never found.
Captain Anders was found fully dressed in his finest. His dress sword in hand, sitting upright on the ocean's edge with his back to a coral outcrop. It fell to Smithers to read the words that time.
As to Smithers, when the time came, without a word he stood. Clapping his hand on my shoulder, and walked off into the darkness. I am embarrassed to admit that tears streamed down my face as he was swallowed by the dark.
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Three nights now I have heard her song. The only recognizable word is my name which I have not heard spoke aloud this past year.
Stepping out of the jungle I see her. Limned by moonlight on her glistening skin. Gentle waves lapping around her feet. She smiles at me with a beauty beyond compare.
Opening her arms in welcome. How can I resist but go to her? My only fear was who was to read the words for me...
