Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [28]
After resting in the middle of the day, Olivia decided to walk along the beach to see what the storm had washed up. She walked north, in the opposite direction to the previous day. Soon she came to a small headland. Climbing awkwardly over the rocks, she was unprepared for the sight that lay before her. Strewn along the beach as far as she could see was a mass of shattered wood, personal effects, and shipboard paraphernalia. Her heart went cold with the awful knowledge that this was the flotsam of a shipwreck, most likely the Lady Charlotte which she had just left.
She couldn’t bring herself to inspect the debris too closely and she hurriedly retraced her steps, feeling vulnerable and inconsequential in the face of this mysterious land that overwhelmed with its immensity and the force of its elements. She concluded it was a country not to be trusted, its beauty could turn to destruction with what seemed unpredictable ferocity.
Olivia trudged despondently back along the beach, the bulk of her distended womb weighing heavily. She saw some pretty shells underfoot but the strain of bending to collect them dissuaded her from making the effort.
Lifting her gaze as ‘her’ strip of shoreline came into view, she stopped, looked again, felt faint and began to tremble. Her worst fears had come to pass—naked black men like silhouette figures were moving around her camp. Her initial impression was of their slight build and thick clumps of hair. Their curiosity was apparent as they peered, dipped and prodded spears into her belongings like a bevy of inquisitive birds. This intrusion into the little haven she had created in the wilderness was an intolerable violation.
With a furious cry and without stopping to consider the consequences, Olivia rushed forward shouting, ‘Go away! Go away!’
The blacks stood still, looking in dismay at this distant squawk of objection. To them she looked like some mad bird, fat, waddling, screeching with arms flapping, prepared to take on the tribe’s finest hunters in a defiant but hopeless attack. When it became obvious this being was human, female and pregnant, amusement stilled their defensiveness. Their confusion as to the reason for this apparition was explained by one of the men who had sighted the shipwreck. They spoke quickly, then moved forward as a group and stood waiting to exchange greetings with this irate survivor.
Olivia saw them unite and seeing the weapons they all carried, their superior strength and sheer numbers, wondered briefly at her headlong rush into the arms of certain death and, with fear taking over from rage, stopped and squeezed her eyes shut waiting for a spear to hit her. She stood, her face in her hands, her last thoughts of the fate of her unborn child.
When she lifted her head again the beach was deserted. Nervously, she walked slowly towards her shelter expecting wild men to leap from the bush brandishing spears. But all was quiet. Olivia found the revolver, then sank to the ground, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Eventually hunger and the pressure in her womb from her baby forced her to rally. She had known this pioneering life was going to be harsh and here she was going to pieces within days. Resolutely, she set about gathering grasses that had dried in the sun and twigs to build a small fire. Then, searching desperately for some means to light it, she rummaged amongst the mess of her possessions but realised it was useless. The tin of matches had been lost. She stamped a foot in frustration and despair. Her attention turned to what supplies she had. As unappetising as the cold, uncooked