THE NIGHT OF THE SHIPWRECK

By Andamogirl

Author's notes: Season 2.

This story takes place before the tag of TNOT Bottomless Pit.

Reference to TNOT Bottomless Pit.

References to my story TNOT First Mission.

Gift-Story written for Tripidydoodah.

Many thanks to my beta reader Tripidydoodah.

Gustave: All in all, this is one of the worst service records I've ever seen. It's a testimony to your treachery, cowardice, cruelty, and dishonesty. You should do well here.

Artie: James, my boy, you'll never guess who we have approaching from outside this very minute.
Jim: Give me a clue, Artie. Animal, mineral, or vegetable?
Artie: Well, think of silk, satins, laces, uh, tassels. Blonde hair.
Jim: Well, that could be almost anyone.
Artie: How about a feather boa?
Jim: Camille.
Artie: Right.

TNOT Bottomless Pit.

WWW

PART ONE

On the open sea

Leaning up against the railing of the SS Virginia, a merchant and steam auxiliary ship, (a vessel with a steam engine, but also rigged as a sailing vessel), rocking gently on the waves, James West was looking at the line of the horizon, enjoying a very good, long, and big cigar - offered him by the Captain - along with the soft sounds of waves hitting the bow, mixed with the creaking of wood.

He felt a sudden presence at his back, recognized his partner's way of walking, and smiled. "Good evening, Artie. I'm surprised to find you here. I thought that you were with Camille…"

Smiling, Artemus Gordon joined his partner and leant on the railing. "I should have changed my way of walking to surprise you…" He was holding a mug of steaming brandy (80%) and coffee (20%), one of his many guilty pleasures. "No, Camille is dining 'en tête-à-tête' with the Captain, in his cabin. I was taking a tour of the ship with Lieutenant Morrison and I spent quite some time in discussion with the engineer. He explained to me how the screw-propeller mechanism of propulsion and the steam engine work. It's really fascinating!" He had stars of excitement shining in his chocolate eyes. "He'll let me help him tomorrow."

Dropping ash overboard, Jim smiled, knowing his best friend's fascination for anything mechanical… for anything, full stop. "I'm happy for you, buddy."

Turning the mug in his hands, Artemus noted, "James, my boy, you don't look green anymore, just your eyes are still green, but it's normal. Is your seasickness gone?"

Jim nodded and puffed on the cigar once more, releasing the blue smoke in front of him. "Yes, it's gone. The ship's doctor gave me one spoonful of his awful anti-vomiting mixture. It was so revolting that I almost vomited at his feet after that." Amused, he chuckled. "And I feel fine, Artie."

Artie, took a sip of his beverage and using his other hand, he pointed at the burgeoning and grouping clouds, low and menacing, forming a huge cloudbank spreading on the horizon, blocking the sunset. "There's a storm coming," he said to his best friend, frowning in alarm. At the same time the wind picked up, hot and humid and the rigging above them groaned. "But we are on the outer fringes of it. Let's hope we outpace it… if not, that tempest will hit the Virginia in a matter of hours, and serious problems will result. I was a sailor, when I was a young man and I know what it's like to be caught in a storm… it's terrifying. At each moment you think that you are going to die."

Before taking a drag on the cigar again, Jim placed a friendly hand on Artie's arm, gave it two small taps, smiled, and said, "Thanks Artie, I feel so reassured."

But Artie didn't smile. He knew what a storm was capable of. He had almost drowned several times on board different ships, during storms.

Two hours later the SS Virginia was caught in the tempest.

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Much later

Somewhere on an island…

Day one after the shipwreck

Soaked to the skin, James West woke with a start at the loud clap of thunder, the dark sky being lit up by a bright flash of lightning overhead. He blinked lazily for a few seconds, not understanding where he even was… It took him a bit to register the sound of ocean waves rushing back and forth and seagull's screams.

He moved groggily on his knees and sat up on the wet sand. He glanced around him, at the rocky bay, confused and disoriented. What the hell was he doing on a beach? The last thing he remembered was…" He blinked twice. "was…" he didn't remember.

But he was sure of one thing, strangely, that he shouldn't be on a beach, he thought.

He touched the side of his aching head and found a bump there. He winced. Was a concussion responsible for his amnesia? How did he hit his head? When? Where? He asked himself – and of course, he couldn't find any response.

Jim shivered, as scattering rain started falling from dark menacing clouds. Water was dripping into his eyes, running along his muscular body, making his hands stiff, and feet numb from the cold.

Thunder cracked in the distance and lightning slashed across apocalyptic sky.A monstrous tempest was on its way here, he thought with a bit of apprehension.

Pulling himself upright, Jim winced, the cold and foamy water of the breaking waves submerging his legs up to his calves.

He quickly surveyed his body to see if he was hurt, but he didn't see any injury on his half-naked body, just a large collection of bruises. He noticed that he was just wearing his white – waterlogged and sand-filled - underpants… and too, that he had a rope attached around his chest.

He furrowed his brow, puzzled. The other end of the rope was bobbing in the foam-covered water… His frown deepened as he remembered something. No, someone. His partner had tied the other end of the rope around his waist…

A sudden cold shiver went up Jim's spine and the hair on his neck stood on end. "The rope, the rope, oh no! The rope, Artie!"

In a flash he remembered everything: they had left Devil's Island, the penal colony of Cayenne (French Guiana) on board the SS Virginia.

The next evening, the screw-propeller steamship had been caught in a huge tempest in the middle of the night, off the coast of Brazil, en route to New York.

The main mast had been hit by a bolt of lightning, and had collapsed on the upper deck.

Fire had spread rapidly and the steam engine room had exploded a few minutes later, killing dozens of people and injuring a lot more.

He closed his eyes as screams of pain and terror echoed in his mind. He could even feel the intense heat as a raging fire devoured the ship, and crew members.

Abruptly woken in the middle of the night, Artie and he had rushed to the upper deck, half-naked to help. But it was already too late.

The SS Virginia had been broken in two parts, the front part sinking in a matter of minutes.

Standing on the stern of the ship, they had heard the panicked Captain howl, 'all hands abandon ship'. Artie had said, "Camille, we have to find her," but a gigantic wave had decided otherwise, hitting what was left of the hull of the steam auxiliary ship sideways.

They were thrown overboard into the black, demented ocean.

They had found a rope, floating, and had tied it around their waists, to stay together – just before the rest of the ship sank.

They had heard, in the distance the faint squeals of seagulls in the howling wind. There was a shore somewhere – thus hope to stay alive.

They had found refuge on a heap of boards, clinging tightly to them, tossed in all directions by huge roiling waves, waves which crashed over the badly burnt corpses floating all around, submerging them, and the current had taken them away from that deathly chaos.

Much later, near the white-ish outline of an island, their makeshift raft had violently hit one of the craggy rocks of a reef. Artemus had been thrown into the turbulent water... and following the impact, the rope had broken. Artie had been pulled and sucked under the water by whirlpools and he had disappeared in the dark, black, swirling water rolling over him.

He had heard Artie scream in pain as waves crashed around him, then nothing. He had hit a rock in his turn, tossed there by a huge wave that towered over him, and everything went black – and he automatically touched the pounding bump on the side of his head.

His temporary amnesia was gone, now.

Re-opening his eyes, he took deep, calming breaths.

He couldn't let himself panic. Artie wasn't dead. He was invincible. He had to be alive and was somewhere here, and he would find him, the thought.

He started running along the immense white-sand beach, lined with palm trees and dense and lush vegetation, calling, "Artie! Artie!" slaloming between the black rocks and the heaps of seaweed and lines of seashells, and miscellaneous charred debris coming from the sunken ship – the rope still attached around his waist, meandering on the sand behind him.

He ran for miles, under torrential downpours, his heart filled with hope, barely seeing a thing, before finding footprints on the sand.

He followed them through a group of rocks polished by the wind and the rain and, shortly after, he spotted Artemus leant against the trunk of a palm tree, which was bending under the weight of plenty of coconuts, offering relative protection him from the heavy rain.

His breath caught in his throat. "Artie!" He beamed. "You're alive! I knew it!" He rushed over and sank to his knees on the cold sand, beside his very wet partner, whose dark curls were plastered to his forehead. He noticed then that his eyes were closed, his lips parted and his face frozen in a grimace of intense pain. "Artie?" He gasped seeing blood on his right side, coming from a deep cut on his hip, placed just above the waistband of his short, black underpants,. "Artie?" He shook Artemus's shoulders and the older man sluggishly opened his gentle chocolate eyes. "Artie, wake up!"

Blinking groggily, Artemus Gordon looked up at the younger man, completely drenched from head to toe, his underpants soaked trough and hair slicked to his forehead, and he chuckled at his partner's appearance, and then he grinned. "Boy! It's so good to see you, Jim!" He struggled to sit up and pressed Jim's shoulder with affection, tears springing to his eyes with intense emotion. "You're here! I was sure you weren't dead. You're like me, James-my-boy, you're indestructible." He placed his left hand on his wound, winced and groaned. "Ow! I'm hurt. I hit the serrated edge of a rock after I was thrown in the water, near the coast, among razor-sharp reef… Its sharp edges cut deep through my hip… after that I lost consciousness. I woke up on the beach at dawn… and I laboriously dragged my old self here, to be sheltered from the rain, but only partially," he explained. "That explains why I look like a drowned cat – and you too, my good friend." He grimaced. "Oh boy, it hurts."

Concerned, Jim touched Artie's clammy forehead, noticing his unhealthy pallor. "Maybe there's a doctor, somewhere …"

Shaking his head Artie breathed, "No, there's not. When the ship sank, we were too far away from the coast of Brazil to have reached it in a few hours… But there's some small isolated volcanic islands scattered within several hundred nautical miles of it… I think we are stranded on one of them – so no doctors in the vicinity, Jim, I'm afraid." He closed his weary eyes again, exhausted and in pain. "Any other survivors? Did you see other people?" he asked.

Looking at the huge, looming tempest, Jim shook his head. "I didn't see anyone else on the beach but you, but this island is big… There's a storm approaching, it won't be prudent to tour the island." He looked around him and said, "I'm going to see if I can find a place where we will be safe."

His head dropping to his bare chest, Artie mumbled, "'kay, not g'ing an'where." A buzz had filled his head and he felt like he weighted tons. He knew what it meant.

A split second later he was fast unconscious.

Jim headed into the thick, dense undergrowth as the thunder roared, trying to remove the rope from his waist as the water had tightened the knot.

He finally succeeded.

WWW

Later

The loud clacking of thunder woke Artemus in a start a few minutes later. He propped himself on his elbows and immediately regretted it.

He cried out in pain, slumped to the ground and curled up on himself, on his good side. "Oh boy!" That hurts!" he grunted, jaws clenched.

Jim moved to his best friend's side in a flash, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, we're safe. Don't move, okay?"

But Artie rolled on his back and stayed like that, lying on cold ground, eyes tight shut, gritting his teeth waiting for the pain to go.

But it didn't, it just slowly became bearable.

He glanced around him. Jim and he were sheltered from the strong tempest in a small, dark, damp cave. A big hole placed in the wall allowed people to come and go, he noticed.

He was surprised to spot the remains of a table and chairs, and dozens of very old rum bottles. "A pirate cave or the place of a castaway? Both, perhaps." Further, on the right he spotted piles of human bones and two skulls and pieces of non-identifiable ragged clothes hanging around them. "Charming. Two people, and they died here. Bad omen you think?"

Jim nodded, "I'm not superstitious. We won't die here, Artie."

Back in optimistic mode, Artie smiled. "Of course. What happened?"

Jim sat crossed-legged. "I found an ancient path made with big stones leading to one of the cliffs. I just followed it, with you over my shoulder, passed out. It's not a palace, but we're safe here. There's a very big tempest outside." He touched Artie's brow finding it burning. "You have a high fever, your wound is infected…" he added, very concerned and feeling totally helpless. "Are you thirsty buddy?"

Giving Jim a weak smile, the older man said, "Are you proposing me old rum, Jim? Because I could use a sip or two, to give me a boost…"

Jim shook his head. "No, I was thinking filling a bottle or two with some rain, somehow… Snapping his fingers Jim exclaimed, "Yes, the bottles!"

He rushed toward a group of bottles lying in the sand and started shaking them, one after the others. Then he said, "Ah! Found it!" Holding one, he came back beside his partner and uncorked it using his teeth. "There's still rum in that one… it's almost full." He sniffed at the strong alcohol and grimaced. "I wouldn't drink that, but it's perfect to clean the wound… brace yourself, Artie, it's going to sting a little… "He rolled Artie on his non-injured side and observed the wound. The cut is deep, but short and the edges are jagged. Cringing, he poured the rum liberally the wound. He cringed when he heard Artie scream as the brown liquid seep inside the deep cut and stopped when Artie began thrashing. "I'm sorry…"

Gasping, tears flooding his face, Artie grabbed Jim's arm. "It's okay… now you need to rub it inside, evacuate the blood…"

Hesitating first, Jim wiped the sand from his hands on his pair of white underpants and repeated, "I'm sorry," and complied, pouring alcohol again in the deep cut, using his fingers to massage the rum inside the wound, to disinfect it and remove the clotted blood.

Burying his face in his hands, panting and trembling, after a few seconds it was too much for Artemus, and he passed out.

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Later

It was the middle of the night when Artemus woke up in a start again, when lighting fell somewhere in the island. He found himself in Jim's lap, in his arms.

He shivered. "I'm cold." And Jim wrapped his arms tighter around his chest. He frowned; the storm was still raging outside: the wind howled and violent gusts of wind charged with rain came through the mouth of the cave. The cave was filled with sounds of things moving, breaking, falling, and the terrifying sound of the gigantic and wild waves crashing on the island.

It was pitch black in the cave, but it didn't stay like that more than a couple of seconds as llightning was almost constantly flashing in the sky. "It looks like the end of the world outside…"

Jim nodded. "Or something very close, like the Deluge… I hope survivors, if survivors there are; found a shelter like us, otherwise…"

Nestled against Jim's warmth, Artie closed his eyes and a couple of seconds later; he was asleep, feeling safe and warm.

Fatigued too, Jim fell off to sleep in his turn.

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Day two after the shipwreck

The next morning

Birds singing.

Opening his eyes, Jim heard birds singing. The tempest was gone – and so was Artie, he realized. He stood and headed toward the mouth of the cave. "Artie?"

Once outside, he followed the footprints Artie had left behind him, in the damp sand, and arrived on the beach a half an hour later. Fallen trees, unrooted by the huge tempest and big broken branches had transformed the path into an obstacle course that slowed him down.

Bare feet digging deep in the warm sand, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he stared out at the vast, deep, blue ocean and at the immense lighter blue sky just above. The sun was shining and it wasn't too hot thanks to a light breeze. The waves lapped gently at the powder white sand and further, were pounding at the rocks, before curling around them, wrapping them in foam. Noisy seagulls screeched above his head whirling in the salty air.

He found Artie there; or rather found him in the water, knee-high, holding a makeshift harpoon. Jim spotted two dozen different fish lying on a nearby rounded rock, on the left.

He saw too, that his partner had made a pile of the things that had come from the SS Virginia he had found on the beach , brought in by the tempest.

Admiring the extraordinary resilience of his best friend, Jim joined the older man, crossing the beach, walking on already hot and loose, soft sand.

He entered the light blue, almost turquoise and transparent water, up to his calves and noticed that his nose and broad shoulders were bright pink with sunburn. The rest of his fair skin was intact – for now, he thought. "You have been very busy while I was still sleeping, I see," he said, with a broad smile. Then his eyebrows knitted together in both concern and reproach and he waved a stern finger. "You shouldn't have. You're injured, Artemus. I could have done that."

Smiling, with a third colored fish harpooned at the end of his improvised harpoon, Artie joined his partner on the beach. "You know me, I can't stand doing nothing. I'm easily bored." He pointed at his wound neatly stitched. "It hurts, but the pain is bearable. I'm okay. I found a crate with many indispensable things – we're very lucky. Inside, I have found a box, on the beach, containing different types of hooks and fishing wire inside,among other things. It probably belonged to a sailor, and I used them to stitch my wound. The rum did miracles, it was completely disinfected." He saw Jim frown and added, "I know, you're probably wondering why I built a harpoon in lieu of a fishing rod, right?" He saw Jim nod, and explained, "It's more fun to fish that way." Then he grinned. "We won't die from hunger. There's plenty of fish here." He gestured toward the bay with a large movement. "As I came here first, I'm naming that bay, Gordon's Bay."

Grinning too, Jim looked around him: a seemingly endless white sand beach, turquoise water up to the line of the horizon, palm trees, luxuriant vegetation a little further away, black, craggy and barren cliffs and, even further… the dark mass of a volcano. And old-dead volcano covered with trees up to its summit. "It's your privilege, Artie. Okay for Gordon's Bay." He smiled. "Did you find a matchbox or two?"

Pulling the fish out from his harpoon, Artie shook his head. "No, I didn't, but I have found a knife, a spyglass, a magnifying glass, a stack of paper and a bottle of ink and a writing quill in another crate too, probably belonging to an officer … I'm going to use the magnifying glass and a piece of paper to start a fire with the help of the sun. We'll keep it 'alive' throwing pieces of wood on it, night and day – to cook and to signal our presence here to the ships sailing by." He patted Jim's shoulder. "What about some fish 'en papillotte' Jim, I mean wrapped in leaves? I'm buying." He chuckled. "You should go explore tide pools for crabs while I'm fishing, Jim, they're really delicious."

Spotting a crab walking sideways on the beach, Jim chuckled too. "I will. It's good to see you feeling better, Artie. I was really worried."

He glanced at the pile of different things. "Something else interesting?"

Artie nodded. "Yes, two hammocks for example."

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Gordon's Bay, later

Lying on a hammock attached between two palm trees, (with the rope formerly attached to Jim's waist), Artemus was taking a nap in the shade, sheltered from the blazing hot sun, lulled by the sound of gentle waves against the shore, the birds singing in the dense forest and the rustle of the wind in the large leaves on the palm trees. He was taking some much needed rest after what he went through, to regain some energy and at the same time, gently digesting plenty of grilled fish.

Sitting cross-legged on the sand, in the same shade, Jim was using the knife to make new harpoons. He wanted to fish too.

Picking up crabs along the shore line was no fun, he thought.

Hearing the beating of wings, he glanced at Artie and noticed a multicolored bird perched on one extremity of the hammock, its head cocked to the side, observing the human with curiosity.

He smiled. "It's the first time you,ve seen a human, right?" He asked. He giggled when the small bird flew briefly to land a split second later on Artemus's head. "I think Artie's just been adopted – well, that's not the first time. Arabella and Henrietta had adopted Artie, landing on his shoulders when he was riding his horse en route to San Francisco, before he adopted the two pigeons and trained them, he mused. "And now we have a small multicolored bird..."

Deeply asleep Artemus remained dead to the world when the bird started singing – probably saying, I have found a comfy nest.

Turning his head on the right, Jim glanced at the big bonfire burning on the beach stirred by a warm, gentle breeze, blowing salty air in from the ocean.

The large leaves he had picked up earlier in the forest generated dense smoke. It was perfect, he mused. He took the bottle of rum – now filled with cool water and took a long sip.

Still watching the blazing fire, he continued his musing: exploring the vicinity, he had discovered a cascade and a large pond, ending in a river running through the thick and lush greenery. First thing he had taken off his underpants, gritty with sand and stiffened with salt, and had dived into the clear, fresh water. He had cleaned himself the best way he could – he had sand everywhere, even in the most sensitive places - then, he had washed his underwear.

He had joined Artie on the beach and they had come back to the pond together. They had spent the rest of the morning there, talking, swimming, napping, wrestling and splashing and kicking water at each other, (water fights), like children, generally enjoying the coolness of the place and the numerous colored birds singing in the tall, all-shades-of-green, trees.

Fortunately they didn't see a single predator in the forest, just snakes which had kept their distance, but this didn't mean that the island didn't house dangerous beasts. In any case, they would not venture further on the island. It was safer to stay near the shore and especially on the beach, because from there they could watch the horizon in case a ship might pass by.

They could wait. They had everything they needed to survive – fish, crabs, coconuts, freshwater, a cave to shelter them in case a tempest came, hammocks to sleep in on the beach, a fire… They were stranded but relatively comfortable.

He glanced at Artemus, still sleeping soundly.

He smiled, remembering that Artie and he had swum in the ocean after that cool pause, even if a wound and salt water don't mix. It itched, it burnt, but Artemus didn't care. He wanted to have fun, that was all that mattered, and they had: they spent hours racing against each other, (he had won each time), and then they had fun jumping over the waves, diving under them, trying to catch colored fish without any success and held breath-holding contests – which Artie had won each time.

The multicolored bird was now walking on his partner's sun-stroked chest, exploring.

James smiled, took another long solid and thick branch and began to carve the end, transforming it into a redoubtable barbed spear, enjoying the ocean sounds. He decided he would make some skewers for grilling fish over the camp fire.

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Later, at sunset

Eating a last piece of grilled crab, Artie looked at the big bonfire lighting the starred night. "If there are ships sailing on the horizon, they should see it," he said.

Rubbing his itching, scruffy, jawline Jim replied, "Yes. No one could miss it. They'll come here, thinking people are stranded here, as this island is known as deserted."

Leaning against a polished rock, Artie stretched his long legs on the cooling sand, enjoying the combined noises of the breaking waves hitting the beach and the sparkling fire. It was so relaxing – and relaxing was quasi impossible as special agents of the Secret services, he mused. 'Always unto the breach'… "You know, I much prefer this island to the other one called Devil's Island. What do you think monsieur Couteau?"

Feeling sad, Jim nodded. "I agree with you, Monsieur Gaspar. And I won't regret the fire ants, but I have to admit, that's a creative way to kill people. I'm surprised that Loveless didn't think of it… maybe because it's not sophisticated enough for him." He sighed. "But I will Miss Camille, and Vincent didn't deserve that either, he had already experienced a lot of hardships. We didn't find anyone else this afternoon walking all the way around the island – it's smaller than I thought by the way. We're alone here, Artie. Poor Camille is dead, and so is everyone else." He threw a handful of branches on the camp fire.

Looking at the vastness of the ocean that glittered in the fading light, Artie shook his head. "Maybe not, Jim. There are other islands like this around here. We can't see them, even with the spyglass – I tried - because they're far from here. Perhaps a few people are stranded on them, like we're stranded here. Who knows? He glanced at the gentle waves. "It's so peaceful here now… I like places like this. I spent days on islands with beaches like this one when I was a sailor and on leave… meeting friendly natives."

Jim smiled. "Female, of course. With scarce clothing I guess?"

Artie chuckled. "Very scarce… like leaves skirts only and sometimes just flower necklaces, that's all." His cheeks flamed, and he scratched his stubbled jawline awkwardly. "You know on those Islands reigns the biggest sexual freedom... Some people think those places are paradisiacal."

Pulling a skewer of grilled fish out of the small fire Jim nodded. "I'm not sure they could say that again after a tempest. Half of the trees are unrooted around the cove and hundreds of coconuts are lying in the sand – and it's not a bad thing, we just need to pick them up now."

Smiling Artie said, "And we just have to use the rudimentary axe I made with a stick, thongs made of liana and a piece of sharp rock, to crack them open."

Smiling too, Jim said. "Always the inventor, maybe you should build…" he abruptly stopped, feeling the ground tremble under his feet.

The two men jumped and exchanged a worried gaze. "Earthquake," Artemus said.

Then they both looked at the dark cone-shaped form of the volcano: a wisp of smoke was escaping from it, slowly ascending into the deep blue sky.

Feeling a second shake, more violent, Jim said, "Long-dead volcano – no more. I think the next thing you're going to build Artie, is a raft to get away from here."

Frowning in concern, Artie nodded. "Good idea. I will make new axes. But I won't make a raft, Jim, it would take too long, and every minute counts, I'm afraid. That volcano is awaking, and I don't want to be here – and neither do you– when it erupts. I will make a dugout fitted with outriggers for increased stability in the ocean. We should start at dawn tomorrow."

Jim nodded. "At dawn, then."

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Day 3 after the shipwreck

The next day, and night

It took almost all morning to the men to look for the ideal tree to be brought down to make a dugout. It had to be big, straight and strong, but soft enough to be hollowed out, and near the beach, not to haveto drag the heavy dugout over a great distance.

They chose a second tree,a smaller one, for the outrigger.

It took the whole afternoon to cut the trees with their axes, changing them often, as the 'blades' broke easily hitting the trunk.

Fortunately Artie had made a dozen of them.

It was sunset when they stopped – completely exhausted, and headed to the place among the rocks on the beach where they bivouacked.

Barely standing on his legs, Artie slumped to the cool sand, against 'his' rock. "I prepared fish fillets. They're on the flat rock," he said.

Nodding, Jim gathered the said fish that the very hot sun and the heat had dried. He gave five to his best friend and kept five for him.

He sank limply to the ground and wolfed down a first dried fillet hungrily, while watching a steaming cloud hung above the volcano's crater. "Not so paradisiacal now," he said between two mouthfuls. "This place will be worse than hell soon… at this rate. That cloud up there is becoming larger by the hour… the eruption could happen anytime now…" There was a new tremor and a couple of palm trees fell into a large crevasse which had just appeared. "We should hurry… I know that we are very tired you and I but…"

Eating a second fillet Artie nodded. "You're right. Let's bring torches there and you can start hollowing lout the dugout in the trunk. In the meantime, I 'm going to finish the outrigger and the paddles. As you know I used bits of the debris of the SS Virginia to make them."

The ground shook and quaked again. "Let's go back to work!" Jim said.

Five minutes later, Jim and Artemus had planted torches in the sand, all around the large trunk, the paddles and the outrigger and they went back to work.

His arms and legs burning, James hollowed out the dugout in the trunk, little by little, and Artie finished the outrigger and the paddles, as the volcano groaned and the ground rumbled beneath their feet.

It was dawn when they collapsed to the sand, drunk with exhaustion, but the dugout was ready, the outrigger was fastened to the sides of the main hull with lianas and the paddles were inside.

They exchanged a proud smile.

It abruptly vanished from their strained and stubbled faces when the volcano suddenly erupted with a thunderous boom.

Artemus's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "We should hurry," he just said as enormous clouds of steam and debris were raised into the sky.

Tbc.