worry, my old friend. You will be
saved; from this storm, and again from the island you will be swept
to. You have more years yet in which to suffer this world.
“Tomorrow at noon you must light your signal
fire, for a ship, homeward bound to the kingdom, will pass just
below the horizon at that time. The crew will see your smoke and
come for you.
“And do not fear for me."
The Bosun awoke with a start, the dream
still fresh in his mind. He looked towards the spot by the fire
where Charlie normally slept, but the seagull was gone.
He shook his head and thought about the
strange dream. He had never believed the superstition that the
souls of drowned sailors lived in seagulls. Could they? No, it was
wishful nonsense.
But as the sun neared its zenith he had
almost finished preparing the bonfire. Damp leaves and twigs were
piled high on top of it to make smoke, so that it would be visible
further in daylight. He felt a little foolish, but then there was
no-one around to see. Why not have a bonfire? It was something to
do. And he couldn't know that there wasn't a ship passing below the
horizon that day.
All through that long afternoon he stood on
the edge of the cliff, peering out to sea. Behind him the bonfire
gradually died to a flicker. By nightfall there was just a pile of
smouldering embers, and he had seen no ship. When it became too
dark to see, he turned and trudged wearily back home to his little
hut.
Charlie, who was normally ensconced by the
fire long before dark, was nowhere to be seen. And by the time the
Bosun was preparing for bed, he had still not appeared. He worried
about Charlie, sufficiently to be able to forget the failure of the
signal fire. That night he slept fitfully, dozing, then springing
awake at the slightest sound, hoping it might be his little
seagull. But when he finally dragged himself out of bed with the
dawn, there had been no sign of Charlie.
It was a tired and saddened old man who
half-heartedly ate a small breakfast of fish. After he had eaten he
savagely kicked soil over the fire, ground it out with his heels
and stamped out of the hut to begin a thorough search of the
island. He hoped he might find his little friend with perhaps just
minor damage to a leg; something he could fix. It seemed odd, he
pondered as he walked, how Charlie had disappeared immediately
after his strange dream. A dream that obviously had been just
wishful thinking on his part. But something seemed to have
happened, to break the harmony of his simple life with Charlie and
the island. He felt depressed, and that was unlike the Bosun.
He rounded a small clump of wizened trees
and stood looking down on to the bay where he had first washed
ashore. In the middle of the bay, at anchor, was a sailing ship. A
small gig was being rowed towards the beach and the Bosun could see
an officer, quite clearly, standing in the sternsheets.
He fell to his knees on the wet grass, put
his hands together and cried out thanks to God for his salvation.
Then, with tears streaming from his eyes, he ran - all thoughts of
Charlie gone - down the steep path towards the beach.
The Bosun leaned on the rail of the little
ship, clad in fresh clothes and puffing contentedly on a pipe. The
Mate was alongside him, recounting all the latest news of the
kingdom. Above the ship, unnoticed by either of them, a seagull
soared on long white wings, round and round, ignoring all the
others that squabbled in the scraps thrown over by the cook.
“...... palace was razed to the ground," the
Mate was saying. But the Bosun didn't hear him. Now that he was
safe on the ship he was thinking of Charlie again and wondering
what had happened to him. He had asked the Captain to scour the
island for his friend, but it seemed the time could not be spared.
They had already lost a day and a night coming for him, having seen
the smoke the previous afternoon. And that had set him wondering
about his dream.
But dream or no dream, he was desperately
sad at
saved; from this storm, and again from the island you will be swept
to. You have more years yet in which to suffer this world.
“Tomorrow at noon you must light your signal
fire, for a ship, homeward bound to the kingdom, will pass just
below the horizon at that time. The crew will see your smoke and
come for you.
“And do not fear for me."
The Bosun awoke with a start, the dream
still fresh in his mind. He looked towards the spot by the fire
where Charlie normally slept, but the seagull was gone.
He shook his head and thought about the
strange dream. He had never believed the superstition that the
souls of drowned sailors lived in seagulls. Could they? No, it was
wishful nonsense.
But as the sun neared its zenith he had
almost finished preparing the bonfire. Damp leaves and twigs were
piled high on top of it to make smoke, so that it would be visible
further in daylight. He felt a little foolish, but then there was
no-one around to see. Why not have a bonfire? It was something to
do. And he couldn't know that there wasn't a ship passing below the
horizon that day.
All through that long afternoon he stood on
the edge of the cliff, peering out to sea. Behind him the bonfire
gradually died to a flicker. By nightfall there was just a pile of
smouldering embers, and he had seen no ship. When it became too
dark to see, he turned and trudged wearily back home to his little
hut.
Charlie, who was normally ensconced by the
fire long before dark, was nowhere to be seen. And by the time the
Bosun was preparing for bed, he had still not appeared. He worried
about Charlie, sufficiently to be able to forget the failure of the
signal fire. That night he slept fitfully, dozing, then springing
awake at the slightest sound, hoping it might be his little
seagull. But when he finally dragged himself out of bed with the
dawn, there had been no sign of Charlie.
It was a tired and saddened old man who
half-heartedly ate a small breakfast of fish. After he had eaten he
savagely kicked soil over the fire, ground it out with his heels
and stamped out of the hut to begin a thorough search of the
island. He hoped he might find his little friend with perhaps just
minor damage to a leg; something he could fix. It seemed odd, he
pondered as he walked, how Charlie had disappeared immediately
after his strange dream. A dream that obviously had been just
wishful thinking on his part. But something seemed to have
happened, to break the harmony of his simple life with Charlie and
the island. He felt depressed, and that was unlike the Bosun.
He rounded a small clump of wizened trees
and stood looking down on to the bay where he had first washed
ashore. In the middle of the bay, at anchor, was a sailing ship. A
small gig was being rowed towards the beach and the Bosun could see
an officer, quite clearly, standing in the sternsheets.
He fell to his knees on the wet grass, put
his hands together and cried out thanks to God for his salvation.
Then, with tears streaming from his eyes, he ran - all thoughts of
Charlie gone - down the steep path towards the beach.
The Bosun leaned on the rail of the little
ship, clad in fresh clothes and puffing contentedly on a pipe. The
Mate was alongside him, recounting all the latest news of the
kingdom. Above the ship, unnoticed by either of them, a seagull
soared on long white wings, round and round, ignoring all the
others that squabbled in the scraps thrown over by the cook.
“...... palace was razed to the ground," the
Mate was saying. But the Bosun didn't hear him. Now that he was
safe on the ship he was thinking of Charlie again and wondering
what had happened to him. He had asked the Captain to scour the
island for his friend, but it seemed the time could not be spared.
They had already lost a day and a night coming for him, having seen
the smoke the previous afternoon. And that had set him wondering
about his dream.
But dream or no dream, he was desperately
sad at
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