Tears of the Moon (10 page)

They huddled together and Conrad made an attempt to speak light-heartedly. ‘My dear wife, I promised you a better life and here we are, no better than the natives.’

Olivia couldn’t respond with any levity and her
voice trembled. ‘I hope you won’t be gone too long—I’m afraid … the natives, this place, the baby due so soon … ’

‘I would run all the way if I could. But you must be strong, my dear. You have the revolver—all will be well. We knew it would take great faith and courage to do this.’

Olivia didn’t answer. She’d known courage would be called for, but she didn’t expect to be tested quite so harshly or quite so soon.

Conrad set off towards Cossack the next morning, boots firmly laced, water bag and rifle slung on his back and panama hat shading his fair English skin from the sun. With his coppery hair and pale grey eyes, he did not quite fit the image of an intrepid adventurer.

He had shown Olivia once again how to use the gun and urged her to keep the small fire burning and to stay out of the harsh sunlight. As she watched his slight figure disappear through the sandy scrubland, resolutely walking to the arrow of his compass, Olivia broke down and wept. She cried out of loneliness and fear, for him, herself, their child, and the unknown life they faced.

They had both grown up in south London but had met when Conrad came to work at her father’s emporium as the bookkeeper and accountant. He had become smitten with the pretty and very bright young woman who had shown a keenness and aptitude for learning bookkeeping as well as serving behind the counter. Conrad had successfully courted
her and Olivia’s father was relieved his only child had chosen a suitable husband. He increased Conrad’s responsibility and salary.

A year later he had died and, after long talks with Conrad, Olivia, as sole inheritor of her father’s estate, sold the shop and used the capital to finance their plan to make a life in Australia. While they knew litde of the land, they were told skilled farmhands were available for those taking up leases.

Conrad was a good, kind man but seeing him in this new and forbidding place, Olivia wondered how well she really knew him and how he would manage.

Her thoughts drifted back to her own situation. At first she had cowered close to the shelter, but then sparkling water, the call and dart of sea and shore birds called to her. Hesitantly Olivia walked to the water’s edge and stood gazing at the wavering line of the horizon which was marked by a long dark line of clouds. She looked down at her feet. Shells, pebbles and broken chunks of coral were embedded like jewels in the sand. Impulsively she sat and pulled off her boots and thick cotton stockings and set off along the beach towards a distant headland.

When she returned, her feet were sore—she had never walked so far without shoes. Her bonnet trailed by its ribbons behind her, the combs from her hair were in her pocket and her thick russet curls were tickled by a faint breeze from the sea. It was liberating and invigorating and she felt the child within her stir with what she believed must have been pleasure.

She ate some bread and pickled meat, drank a little water and settled to a peaceful sleep, though she could still feel the motion of the ship after so long at sea.

That night the peace was shattered. The great storm which had been building up over the Indian Ocean smashed its way to land. Lashing rain and whipping winds screamed around Olivia as she huddled terrified, while it seemed the earth and heavens were caught in some exploding climatic war. The shelter was shredded, boxes and baskets turned over and rolled along the beach, the fire drowned in moments. Olivia inched back into the denser bush, tripping and slipping, picking her way by the flashes of lightning, then clung to a tree and prayed that she would survive this night. She also prayed for her husband, hoping that he had reached the township before this nightmare began.

In the calm of the following morning she picked her way back to her shelter. Debris littered the beach and her little camp. Laboriously she set about putting her shelter back together as best she could. She tied the remains of the canvas back in place, upended a sodden wicker basket, spreading her clothes about bushes to dry. Food and water were intact but her fire was drenched and the small tin of matches had disappeared. As she worked, hampered by the bulge of her straining belly, she felt as if she was being watched, but no sound, no movement gave any clue that anyone was near. She kept the revolver close at hand.

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 food would be she had to keep nourishing herself and her child.

As she pondered these possibilities a blur of movement at the edge of her vision suddenly caught her attention. For a moment she thought it was an animal. There was a brief flash of colour, then in a gap between the trees she saw a dark naked man. Olivia couldn’t quite believe her eyes. There was no doubting it—he had her straw bonnet bouncing merrily on his buttocks, its red ribbons tied across his belly. She hastily moved to stare back at the beach and saw to her dismay two other natives standing once again by her wicker hamper which had held her damp clothing. One had a petticoat tied around his matted hair and the other was holding up one of her best high-button kid boots in some puzzlement.

‘Shoo! Go away!’ Olivia advanced in outrage, then dashed back to fetch the revolver. After fumbling with it, she managed to fire a shot in the general direction of the two Aborigines on the beach.

They raced away, clutching her clothing.

With trembling knees, Olivia tried to think calmly what to do next. Still carrying the revolver, she began to gather up the clothes she’d spread to dry. She was stooping awkwardly to pick up undergarments off the sand when from behind her came a shout.

‘Hoy there!’

Dropping the clothes, Olivia spun around and levelled the revolver in the direction of the voice. She was surprised to see the tall figure of a white man coming from the direction of the Utile headland. He wore a woven straw hat and loose white shirt with breeches and boots. She also saw the holstered gun stuck at his side and knew this man was no shipwreck survivor. As he strode towards her she saw, following some distance behind, a smaller man of oriental appearance with straight black hair and a strange small hat.

Her first impression of the white man was that he seemed quite at ease and was strikingly handsome despite the stubble on his face. He was tall and dark with a rosy glow to his generous smiling mouth and tanned cheeks that showed off his sky blue eyes. He kept his curling hair longer than most men favoured but he was most recognisable by the large pearl he wore threaded through his left earlobe. It took only seconds to absorb all this and she was instantly alert and fearful as she recalled the captain of the
Lady Charlotte
telling them tales of the unsavoury and often dangerous rogues who sailed the waters of northern Australia. He’d spoken of groups of unscrupulous beachcombers trading in illicit liquor,
women and whatever they could find or steal to sell to passing boats.

‘Who are you? What do you want?’ she called to the advancing man.

He stopped and stared at the revolver pointed at him.

‘What do
I
want?’ he queried in a bemused voice. ‘Madam, I thought you might be the one in need. Please have no fear.’ He raised his arms above his head in mock surrender.

Olivia blushed, realising she was still pointing the revolver at him and lowered it to her side. Her relief at seeing a white man was still tempered by nervousness and she noted he approached her just as cautiously.

‘How did you manage to come ashore safely when it seems all others have perished?’ Without pausing he answered his own question as he noticed her protruding belly previously screened by the pile of clothes. ‘Ah I see, in your condition you were given favoured status.’

‘Not so,’ Olivia swiftly snapped back.

They both stared at one another. She recognised his Irish brogue though it had something of a Yankee twang to it, she thought. But he was well spoken and courteous. They exchanged a brief smile.

Now he could observe her closely, he thought her very pretty with a pert nose, green eyes and full lips.

‘Madam, I have to ask if you are all right? I am Captain John Tyndall. I have my boat in the next cove. I came ashore when I saw the wreck on the reef.’

Olivia swallowed, thinking of the acquaintances and crew they’d known so briefly and who had met such an untimely end. ‘Did no one survive?’ she asked.

‘None, I’m afraid. This coast is littered with unmarked reefs, it is hazardous at the best of times but now is cyclone season. Are you alone?’

Olivia hurriedly answered, ‘No, my husband is with me. We were put ashore before the storm. We are taking up land further inland.’

‘So I cannot offer a pretty shipwrecked lady a berth to Broome then,’ he said with a smile. ‘But seriously, this is rough country, surely you are not planning on travelling by foot? I should warn your husband the journey will be difficult. Especially in your delicate condition. Where is he?’

‘No. It’s all right. Thank you just the same,’ said Olivia quickly. The man made her uncomfortable. ‘Conrad has gone to Cossack for horses and we will stay there until I give birth and we are able to get to our farm.’

The man looked dubious. ‘That is quite a journey. You are brave to stay out here alone. Have you met the local inhabitants yet?’ he asked. She looked no more than a girl trying valiantly to hide her fears, though she certainly seemed to have spunk.

‘I saw some natives. Are they dangerous? We were told in Fremantle of the monstrous murder of explorers in their sleep at La Grange some time back.’

‘There are always two sides to a story, especially in this part of the world. I think you’ll find, dear lady,
that that event was in retaliation for an unprovoked attack on twenty Aboriginal women, children and old people. I suggest you befriend the local people here. I doubt they’ll think you are a danger or a threat.’

Olivia’s mouth twitched but she remained prim and stood her ground insisting she was capable of fending for herself. She glanced apprehensively at the Asian man standing silently behind the white sailor. Their eyes met briefly and he flashed a smile that disconcerted her. ‘Thank you for your offer of assistance. Perhaps we might meet up in Broome some day,’ she said with forced politeness.