Compared with the work dinghy of the Sue Darling, this boat was a luxury liner in miniature. It was a proper lifeboat, of course, which made all the difference. There were the usual tanks containing fresh water and food-stuffs, watertight containers with pyrotechnic signals and a first aid outfit, a suit of sails, and oars, buckets and bailers and all the rest of it. And it hadn’t been long adrift; the gear showed few signs of exposure to the weather and there was only a little water in the bottom.
But all this we discovered in daylight, when we were well clear of the island. But we never did discover where the boat was from. There were Japanese characters on stem and stern, on items of equipment. Was the boat from a trawler, a whaler or a small merchantman? We never found out. And Noah either could not or would not tell us; all that he would say was that the boat had been found by his people, drifting. But this, as I have said, was a matter for the daylight hours. For the remaining hours of darkness we lay huddled together on the bottom boards, the lugs’l that I had taken from its canvas cover a mattress of sorts, the jib a protection against the cold and the dew. And, in spite of all that had happened, in spite of the shocking deaths of John and Mary, still too vivid in our memories, we slept.
It was well after sunrise when we were awakened.
I realised sleepily that the boat was stopped, was rolling easily in the low swell. And, “Beter!” the thick voice of Noah came booming into my uneasy dreams. “Beter!”
Gently I disentangled myself from Sally, trying not to awaken her. But she did wake up, drowsily protesting. We got shakily to our feet, hampered by the stiff canvas of the jib, looked outboard. The boat was stopped. The porpoises who had borne it over the watery miles were basking lazily on the sea surface, too tired to play. And Noah was there, his scarlet harness brave in the morning light but with the steel headplate already badly rusted.
“Beter,” he said.
“Yes, Noah?”
“I … I saved you. I am sorry that I was not in time to save the others …”
I was somehow touched by the note of apology in his voice. “You did your best,” I said.
“I did my best, but it was not good enough. The one called Moby Dick escaped. And he still has followers. You must help me.”
“But I am no artisan,” I told him honestly. “I cannot make weapons for you, as Curley Green did.”
“You would not make weapons that break, leaving me defenseless before my enemies.”
“I could not make weapons. Period.”
“But there are many artisans among your people. And … soldiers. And warships. And weapons far better than these swords. Weapons that we cannot use. Your people can help us.”
“Why should they?” I asked bluntly.
“We will pay.” Noah was right alongside the boat now, his little eyes, deep in the creased skin, staring at me earnestly. “We will pay,” he said again. “But you must tell me how. There is so much that the Servant, the Teacher, never taught us. And there is so much that he did tell us that I am beginning to doubt. Tell me — were all his words true?”
I said, “I do not think so.”
“Will the world of the land people be destroyed by fire? And are we, the sea people, the new elect, the new chosen people of Jehovah?”
“I do not think so,” I said again.
Noah was silent for a while, then said slowly, “If his words were not true, or even if they were true, it is better that we live together. It is better that we learn to live together. You, with your mastery of metals and fire, we, with our mastery of the sea. You can help us, and we can help you. It is simple.”
“Shark patrols,” Sally was whispering. “Salvage … Coastal survey …”
And already I, in my skimpy swimming trunks, my shaggy hair and beard, was beginning to envisage myself as an ambassador — the first ambassador from the human race to the sea people. Perhaps by the time that our boat was picked up or brought to land we should already have the details of a treaty thrashed out. After all, Sally and I had already played with the idea, had already, half seriously, discussed it. We were well aware of the advantages that could accrue from such a relationship. It was hard to see how anything but good could come of it. And (self interest dies hard) I was in on the ground floor.
And then, while I was still considering the implications of it all, Noah expressed concern for our welfare. He said suddenly, “I am sorry. You have not yet eaten. I shall order that fish be caught for you.”
“Thank you,” I told him, “but I think that there is food in this boat.” (We had yet to make a proper examination of the tanks but they appeared to be intact, their caps screwed hard home.) “If the voyage will not be too long, we can manage. How long will it be?”
“Four days,” promised the porpoise. “Four days. No more.”
“Then we shall be all right — I think. Where are you taking us?”
“To a harbour,” he replied. “To a port. I do not know its name. It is not large, but there are ships there, and people. And there you can make contact with your rulers …”
To my annoyance, Sally was seized with a fit of laughter.
“Shut up!” I snapped. Then, “What’s the big joke?”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, “but I just can’t see Pig Iron Bob with the imagination to handle this!”
“Big Iron Bob?” asked Noah.
“One of our rulers,” I said. “A man singularly lacking in imagination.” Then, to Sally, “Perhaps U.N. would be better.”
She said, “I don’t think that we should pass it to U.N. I think that the treaty should be made between Australia only and Noah’s people. After all — let’s face it — we’re far from being a powerful nation, and an army of submarine allies might well mean the difference between survival and non-survival.”
“But this is of world importance,” I said. “This is no time for petty nationalism.”
“If we are to survive, it is just that,” she flared. “I’ve no desire to see Australia either overrun by Asiatics or declared the Fifty First State of the Union!”
“We treat with Noah,” I told her, “as human beings, not as Australians. In any case, I’m still English.”
“I thought as much,” she sneered. “You still think and behave like a typical Pom.”
“Yes, I am a Pommie and I see no reason to be ashamed of it. And England, I am sure, is far better qualified to handle negotiations than Australia.”
“I thought you wanted things handled on an international basis?”
“I do, but …”
“Then what the hell are you waving the Union Jack for?”
I started to laugh then. It was so utterly absurd, the pair of us in the open boat, she naked and myself almost so, arguing world politics. So absurd — and so typical. Somebody once said that this Earth is no more than a huge spaceship in orbit around the Sun, a huge spaceship with a closed economy. All of us, regardless of race or sex or creed, are in the same boat — just as Sally and I were in the same boat. But at least we weren’t coming to blows; at least we could laugh. For she, after glaring at me for a couple of seconds, was laughing too.
And Noah, alongside the boat, was snorting anxiously. We peered over the side at him.
“You … You were fighting?” he asked anxiously.
“No,” I told him. “Just arguing. We have agreed that there will have to be a treaty between your people and ours, but there is still a certain lack of agreement as to the best way to go about it.”
He grunted dubiously. But he must have known already that the human race is quarrelsome; there had been the events on the island and, furthermore, his earlier talk of weapons indicated that he, or others of his kind, had witnessed naval actions — off Korea or Formosa? — as well as, in all probability, the use of harpoon guns against whales. I started to feel slightly ashamed of humanity — then told myself that Moby Dick’s treachery had demonstrated that already the porpoises were a long way from being simple, innocent, unspoiled children of Nature themselves.
It was all very complicated, but complications have a way of ironing themselves out in the end. I said as much to Noah, and then busied myself with the key to the food tank, unscrewing the cap. I felt the boat lurch and shudder as the sea beasts closed in around her once more, heard a snorted command and knew that we were under way again.
Neither of us was sorry. With every mile the hot bath, the cold drink, the good meal were that much closer. Meanwhile, we broke our fast on tepid water, hard biscuits and malted milk tablets.
But they were better than raw fish.