Tears Of The Moon Part 5

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 sh.o.r.e 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. Sh.e.l.ls, 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 s.h.i.+p 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. Las.h.i.+ng 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 towns.h.i.+p 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 ma.s.s of shattered wood, personal effects, and s.h.i.+pboard paraphernalia. Her heart went cold with the awful knowledge that this was the flotsam of a s.h.i.+pwreck, most likely the Lady Charlotte Lady Charlotte which she had just left. 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 sh.e.l.ls underfoot but the strain of bending to collect them dissuaded her from making the effort.

Lifting her gaze as 'her' strip of sh.o.r.eline came into view, she stopped, looked again, felt faint and began to tremble. Her worst fears had come to pa.s.s-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, amus.e.m.e.nt stilled their defensiveness. Their confusion as to the reason for this apparition was explained by one of the men who had sighted the s.h.i.+pwreck. 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 brandis.h.i.+ng 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 gra.s.ses 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 nouris.h.i.+ng 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 b.u.t.tocks, 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-b.u.t.ton 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 s.h.i.+rt with breeches and boots. She also saw the holstered gun stuck at his side and knew this man was no s.h.i.+pwreck 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 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 pa.s.sing boats. 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 pa.s.sing 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 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. 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 ash.o.r.e 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 tw.a.n.g 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 ash.o.r.e 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 ash.o.r.e before the storm. We are taking up land further inland.'

'So I cannot offer a pretty s.h.i.+pwrecked 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 s.p.u.n.k.

'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 a.s.sistance. Perhaps we might meet up in Broome some day,' she said with forced politeness.

He swept his hat from his head, gave a courtly bow and answered. 'Indeed we might.' Turning on his heel he strode back along the beach towards the s.h.i.+pwreck cove. Olivia a.s.sumed they would salvage what they could and sail away.

However, had she followed the two men she would have seen them turn into the scrubland and make their way to where some of the local Aborigines were camped. Here the white man, who spoke enough of their language to be understood, asked that they keep a watch on the woman on the beach. Some other matters were discussed with the tribal elders and the two men returned to their schooner.

Olivia, meanwhile, sat on the ground, limp with mental and physical exhaustion. Leaning back against a tin trunk she thought of course she couldn't have gone with him, but perhaps he could have sailed his smaller boat into Cossack. Maybe she should have asked him to wait for Conrad. Instead she had dismissed him like a lady at a tea party. But at least the unexpected visit had broken her sense of utter isolation. Oh dear, she hoped Conrad would be back by nightfall. Thinking of the evening she suddenly realised she could have asked him for matches. She rose and struggled along the beach to the rocky point but to her dismay there was no sign of any boat.

Nor was there any sign of her husband by the time the dusk drew in. Forlornly Olivia looked at the little pile of dried gra.s.s and twigs she'd been unable to light. She ate some dried oats, drank some water and crouched at the water's edge to splash salt water on her face, knowing the salt would be uncomfortable on her skin, but thought it best to save the precious drinking water. She was tired and sat on the damp sand, soaking her feet in the sea water to relieve their swollen soreness.

It was twilight by the time she made her way back to the shelter. For a moment she thought she smelled smoke, but the sky around her was clear. However, as she arrived at the makes.h.i.+ft camp she stopped and blinked to make sure she wasn't imagining the sight before her.

One of the Aboriginal men she'd seen earlier sat cross-legged at the site of her failed campfire. Concentrating on his task, he twirled a thin stick on a piece of wood, stopping to blow on it as a spark flared, then another, then a thin wisp of smoke was visible and the gra.s.s smouldered and caught. He gently blew on the embryonic flame, dropped wisps of shredded gra.s.s on to it and a fire was started. He ignored Olivia who squatted opposite hardly daring to breathe as he performed this delicate task. Once he had it burning brightly he straightened up and gave Olivia a beatific smile.

'Thank you,' she whispered.

His reply, short and guttural, meant nothing to her and was like no language she had ever heard. Gratefully she held out her hands over the flame which represented security as well as a practical aid for light and cooking. Suddenly anxious to build the fire, she heaved herself to her feet and went to where she had stacked some wood.

When she turned back to the fire the man had gone, melting into the softly falling night.

She slept fitfully that night, driven to distraction by the attacks of flying, biting insects. When the dawn finally came, Olivia threw a branch on the fire embers and was relieved to see it flare into life. She felt a renewed spurt of energy and was confident that today Conrad would arrive. In antic.i.p.ation she stowed and packed the things she had scattered about her shelter and gathered more wood. She longed for fresh food and was concerned at how low the water had sunk in one of the barrels. Perhaps the native who had kindled her fire might lead her to water. She had heard and seen nothing, but somehow knew they were close at hand and watching her.

By late morning she was weary, her limbs ached and she felt very strange, which she put down to lack of proper food. She sipped some of her water and to distract herself decided to walk through the coastal fringe of growth behind the white low sandhills. But after some distance with nothing but low scrubland, sandy red soil, spindly trees between spa.r.s.e large gums, the heat began to affect her. So when she came upon a small clearing she sat down in the shade. She closed her eyes then gulped in shock as she felt her body become gripped in an iron clasp of pain. She drew up her knees as another spasm rippled and stabbed at her and the terrifying realisation hit her that she was going to have her child all alone in this wilderness.

Crying out aloud, she struggled to her feet, her arms cupped beneath the weight of the child which was pus.h.i.+ng insistently and agonisingly downwards. After staggering a short distance, the pain once more forced her to the ground. Curling up on her side, Olivia rocked and moaned as the contractions rippled through her body. She lost track of time and sense of where she was, as she focused on the point within her body that was causing this anguish. She was vividly aware of her predicament, fearful of its outcome and screamed for her husband. Finally, she lapsed into semi-consciousness.

Through the mists of her mind Olivia became aware of a gentle hand soothing her hot brow, and firm hands straightening her legs. She felt herself being lifted.

'Conrad, I knew you'd come,' Olivia sighed and struggled to regain consciousness. Opening her eyes with relief, instead of her husband, she found she was staring into the dark eyes of a black woman. Two other Aboriginal women murmured words that had no meaning and pulled at her clothes but Olivia was too wracked by another contraction to fight them. She soon realised they were there to help her, and she began to work with them. Her voluminous skirt and petticoats were dispensed with and she squatted forward, supported front and back while the third woman directed proceedings. She felt the baby slide from her body as she arched and heaved with a panting cry and the satisfied grunts from the woman in charge comforted her. In a rush it was all over and the child was turned to face the earth, the cord pulled free and cut with a sharp stone flint. Olivia felt a hard push on her belly to expel the afterbirth.

They settled her and busied themselves with the baby after lifting it to her with broad smiles, showing her it was a son. Olivia, weak and shaking, could only gasp until they placed a wad of gummy substance in her mouth. She sucked on it as they had shown her and could soon feel her energy returning. Now trusting these women completely she watched as they tended her by rubbing some kind of ash paste on to her torn parts. Then they turned their attention to the infant. A small fire was burning. Olivia had no recollection of it being started or of the hole being dug in which they were now burying the placenta. After placing green leaves on the fire and holding the baby above the smoke they drew a pattern on its pale skin in ash and red paste.

The three women were chanting softly together, words of a familiar and ancient rite as they tended the baby, joining it with mother earth and giving the child its Dreaming place, its place of belonging, the place where its spirit would return when its time in this place had pa.s.sed. But Olivia understood none of this, seeing only her child, calm and alert in capable hands. When they handed the child to her, Olivia put it to her breast and, for the first time, she smiled.

Later she slept and as night fell the women who had squatted patiently by, helped her and the child return to the shelter. The fire was burning and the smell of food gave Olivia great pangs of hunger. A fish was cooking in the embers and as Olivia settled herself one of the women dragged the fish from the fire with a stick. After letting it cool, she then sc.r.a.ped away the burnt skin, broke off the cooked white flesh and handed it to Olivia who ate greedily. They threw more green leaves on the fire which gave off a pungent smelling smoke and left her and the child to sleep. Olivia lay by the fire with her son, delighting in the wonderment of this small and perfect being she cradled in her arms.

CHAPTER FIVE.

The day came wrapped in a wet blanket. Olivia felt as if she was being smothered by the moist air, her limbs were heavy, her skin clammy, insects were annoying her and the fretful baby. She felt lethargic and drained and knew it was not the reaction to giving birth but to the physical conditions about her. As she struggled to settle the baby at her breast, a depression born from feeling abandoned seeped into her like the dampness soaking through her uncomfortable clothing. Had something happened to Conrad? Why hadn't he come back with the dray? The realisation of responsibility for this small dependent creature she held in her arms was daunting under ideal conditions, but here was the added weight of loneliness and helplessness. It was almost overwhelming. How was she going to get through the next few hours, let alone face the days and months and years ahead? Olivia weakly tossed a branch onto the fire, knowing she should rouse herself and eat to keep up her strength.

As Olivia sat cradling the baby she heard voices, then saw that the three Aboriginal women had returned, bringing with them a young girl who eyed Olivia with shy curiosity. The women had brought food which they put before her in a little wooden dish. The older woman gently reached for the baby then held him to her breast. Olivia was stunned and felt an urge to reach out and s.n.a.t.c.h the baby away from the black breast, then relaxed. The gentle smiles and tender handling of her baby rea.s.sured her. She no longer felt so lonely or abandoned and gingerly sampled the strange food. The young girl, who looked about ten years old, giggled and made eyes at the baby. The women loosened the cotton shawl and let the naked baby stretch in the warm air. One waved a swatch of green gra.s.ses over him, keeping the insects away.

Olivia found the food delicious, a sort of seed cake soaked in wild honey, and a nutty tasting, fingersized white 'cigar' she couldn't identify and from its slug-like appearance she decided not to look at too closely. When she finished she felt better and she gave them all a smile of appreciation and licked her fingers. The women stood and with gestures, unfamiliar words and laughter made it clear to Olivia she should come with them. Olivia was a little reluctant to move, but these seemingly primitive women had been so caring and she knew she had to trust them. They unrolled a simple string sling lined with kangaroo fur and hooked it over her head so it hung across her chest. The baby was put in the bag where he snuggled comfortably against his mother. Leading her from the shelter they pointed inland. Suddenly lamenting the loss of her straw bonnet, Olivia tied on her second best hat and, taking the stick the little girl handed her, followed the women into the bush.

It was a slow walk, but the women were patient and in no hurry, sometimes pausing to pick wild berries. Olivia tired quickly and she realised that these people must think it normal for a woman to walk soon after giving birth. It was a great contrast to the customs in her world. One of the women offered to carry the baby, and Olivia gratefully handed over the weighty little baby bag.

How she wished she could communicate with these women as they chattered softly amongst themselves, but she was glad enough for their company and felt safe in their care.

They soon came to a billabong surrounded by panda.n.u.s palms and river gum trees and they all settled in the shade. Olivia sat with her back to a tree and watched the women gather food from the water plants and shrubs in the mud beneath a floating carpet of broad-leafed plants. One of the women found a huge water snake that was brought ash.o.r.e with shrieks of delight and quickly killed. With gestures they indicated to Olivia that it was going to be part of their next meal.

On the way back to her camp they stopped and used their digging sticks to unearth two large eggs buried in the sandy soil, to catch a small goanna and to whack a tree and shake free its seed pods which were collected in a little wooden scoop. The short heavy sticks with a fire-hardened pointed end seemed to Olivia to be of huge importance and no woman moved far without this versatile and practical implement. They left their grinding stones at the main camp but around their waists they wore a braided hair belt into which they tucked small tools, which left their hands free to carry children and to hunt. Olivia was fascinated at their skill in catching small animals.

Late in the day several men came out of the scrub further along the beach. The women signalled to them to come into Olivia's camp. The men hesitated, chuckling and discussing the entreaty before edging forward as a group. Olivia felt as shy with them as they obviously were with her. Their near nakedness embarra.s.sed her but nonetheless she couldn't help admiring their lean and muscular physiques. The three women pointed at the sleeping baby and were obviously talking about the food they had prepared for Olivia. This brought a surge of talk, with the men pointing to the water's edge. For the first time Olivia noticed a long low stone wall of loosely packed stones that ran across the mouth of an inlet between two rocky outcrops. This wall was covered by the sea at full tide and as the water receded through the gaps between the stones, fish were trapped behind the wall, making it an effective trap. It was now low tide and the men and women went to the trap and began scooping up the fish. Molluscs and sh.e.l.lfish were also collected and added to the stock of food.

Back near her camp small fires were lit and allowed to smoke to keep insects away, while a large cooking fire blazed in a ring of stones. When it had died down the fire was sc.r.a.ped to one side and the fish and sh.e.l.lfish were buried in the hot sand and covered over with ash and hot embers to cook. Olivia watched from a distance, marvelling at their self-sufficiency and skill. How interested Conrad would be in this, she thought, and with a pang realised it was the first time she'd thought of him for many hours.

She sat by her own small fire in front of her shelter not wis.h.i.+ng to intrude, for she had noticed their etiquette involved periods of simply sitting and observing. When the time was deemed appropriate, it was the young girl who shyly approached and gestured for her to join the others.

The men had finished eating by the time the sun began to dip into the sea. Sitting to one side, they regarded Olivia with clinical detachment. She was handed the seafood and ate hungrily. How could she ever repay these people? She just hoped they would stay around until Conrad returned. She had no doubt he would turn up safely. He simply had to, she told herself. So she sat with the baby in her lap and watched and listened as the group talked. She suspected they were part of a bigger group who were some distance away as she noticed food was put to one side to be taken with them.

Olivia gave them a grateful smile and indicated the food was good. They nodded with satisfaction. They obviously understood how ill-equipped, mentally as well as physically, she was to survive alone here, and for the first time it fleetingly occurred to Olivia that these people were actually playing host in their own land. Was she, Olivia thought, on land already owned?

Her thoughts were pushed aside when the baby began whimpering. Turning away from the men, she went to put it to her breast, then thought how silly it was to be modest when everybody else was virtually naked. So she ignored her feelings and watched the infant suckle greedily.

At sunset they doused the fire, collected their tools and weapons and the women followed the men into the bush. Only the young girl gave Olivia a backward glance.

Olivia realised the smaller smudge fires of the Aborigines had indeed kept the marauding mosquitoes and sandflies at bay, so she copied them and lit two smaller fires from her campfire, putting the same leaves on them. The pungent smoke was effective and Olivia crawled into her rough brush shelter and curled up to sleep with the baby beside her.

In the morning Olivia found she was following a basic routine just as if she was in a house. She took the baby to the sea and cautiously bathed him in the ocean, returning to the camp to sponge off the salt with fresh water. She felt full of energy, delighted in her placid baby and knew in her heart Conrad was on his way. She tidied her camp, found it too hard to identify and unpack whatever container held baby items, so she ripped a petticoat and made diapers and cotton wraps for him. Then, settling the baby in the Aboriginal sling, she set off along the beach. Olivia found she enjoyed the exercise and was amazed at her ability to be up and about after giving birth, rather than languis.h.i.+ng in bed sipping consomme as would have been the expected routine in London.

She found some sh.e.l.ls, including a magnificent trochus, wiggled her bare feet in the wet sand as she'd seen the tribal women do, and to her delight collected a half dozen small mussel-like sh.e.l.lfish.

When she returned to her camp several men were at the water's edge setting off on what she a.s.sumed was a fis.h.i.+ng expedition. One man pushed off in a small dugout wooden canoe while two others balanced precariously on mangrove log rafts. They were carrying nets and spears. One of the men she recognised from the previous evening lifted an arm in acknowledgement and pointed at her shelter. When Olivia reached it she found a curved and smoothed piece of bark with a soft hide lining it and she realised it was meant to be a baby cradle. Delighted with this gift, she lay the baby in it and he rested comfortably, staring trustingly at her. How right the white man she'd encountered on the beach had been in telling her to make friends with these people. She and Conrad had read the writings of early explorers who described the natives as primitive barbarians. While they could be seen as primitive and their lifestyle simplistic compared to the trappings of Olivia's civilised world, sitting here she began to consider that maybe they had evolved a system which best suited their needs.

She and Conrad were about to travel to what they believed was free territory, a lapsed leasehold bought from the government in Perth. They had a dream of clearing the land, building a home, planting crops, raising livestock. The dream did not include the Aborigines or the vagaries of nature in an alien land. It did not acknowledge the chance of failure or the possibility that all trace of their presence could be obliterated as easily as footprints in the sands of the north-west dunes. Yet already the land was perplexing Olivia. It seemed so terribly harsh. The Aborigines, she observed, lived with it, flowing along to where the food, shelter and friends were. They seemed-her thoughts struggled for the right word-comfortable. Yes. That was it, comfortable with the land.

Olivia sighed. It seemed too big an issue about which she knew very little, but she resolved to learn what she could and wished she could speak the local language. Sitting peacefully in the shade by her child, she watched the men paddle along the sh.o.r.e over the patterns of light on the moving surface of the water. She heard the call of strange birds, felt the humid breeze lift a strand of hair, and absorbed the rhythm of the place while she stoically waited for the return of her husband. She felt no need for anything further in her life at this moment. The sense of oneness was calming and she wondered why she'd never experienced it before in her life.

Some distance north, a small white schooner drew into the sandy shallow water of a tiny island close to the mainland where sandy bays and inlets were a rich trepang hunting ground. The island was two kilometres long and half a kilometre wide but the main beach was a hive of activity. A small fleet of praus praus from the Dutch East Indies, a scattering of huts and the smoke of many fires along the beach gave the island a settled air. John Tyndall, master of the sailing schooner from the Dutch East Indies, a scattering of huts and the smoke of many fires along the beach gave the island a settled air. John Tyndall, master of the sailing schooner Shamrock Shamrock, grinned as he took in the scene and with a practised efficiency lowered the mainsail, then held the bow into the wind. His Malay crew hand, Ahmed, stood by the anchor chain as the boat drifted towards the sh.o.r.e. When it was calculated to be close enough that they could row ash.o.r.e in a minute at low tide, Ahmed hit the securing pin with a hammer and the anchor chain rattled over the side with a clatter that set the seagulls on the beach shrieking into the air. Tyndall relaxed at the tiller and once again scanned the sh.o.r.e, recognising some of the boats. This was the life, he reflected. A tropical paradise, more or less, and a chance to do a little business. The problem however, was that it was indeed a little business and John Tyndall yearned to do big business.

He found life full of surprises, delighted in its unpredictability and had decided there was no such thing as coincidences in this world. It was all a matter of recognising a pa.s.sing possibility of a new direction and boldly grabbing it. As soon as you settled on a plan, those so-called coincidences fell into your path. He was told he had the luck of the Irish, he always said it was a matter of 'jumping off the cliff, knowing without a shadow of a doubt, you'd fly!'

John Tyndall sometimes marvelled at where life had led him with its joys, sadness and adventures. Apprenticed to a Belfast s.h.i.+pwright the sea had always been in his blood. He'd gone to sea on trawlers as a boy. Being a bright lad, he had learned quickly and had graduated to working on windjammers crossing the Atlantic where he earned his Second Mate's certificate. He was never short of female attention but Tyndall, despite his sea roving life, was shy in his flirtations and hesitant about any serious involvement-which had made him a sitting duck for the ambitions of pretty Amy O'Reilly. She worked as a serving girl in a boarding house and what she lacked in formal education she made up for in streetwise survival tactics and a deep ambition to make something of her life. John Tyndall with his good looks, cheerful disposition and blossoming career presented a chance to break away. She contrived to cross his path and, as she planned, he found her charms and beauty irresistible. Before he knew it, at twenty Tyndall found himself with a pregnant wife who urged him to improve and change their circ.u.mstances. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the opportunity to sail to Australia to find what opportunities existed.

Upon his arrival in Sydney, he obtained work immediately with a s.h.i.+pwright in Balmain and sent his first substantial savings home to Amy, advising her he was going to sea again, on a whaler, as he could make more money that way.

Amy was not impressed with his description of Sydney or their prospects for the moment and began to rethink her situation. Unbeknownst to Tyndall, she used the money he had sent her to travel to London to look for work and be ready to join Tyndall on his return. When Tyndall's second draft of money arrived at their Belfast home, Amy's drunken father with whom they had lived, had promptly cashed it and spent it on booze. Shortly afterwards he received a letter from his daughter lamenting that she had lost the child she had been expecting some time previously and was in a bad state, as conditions in London were tough due to an epidemic. She asked if more money had come from Tyndall. Her father sent her a note denying any money or letters had come and saying that he was upset to hear of her miscarriage.

Not one to miss an opportunity to better her circ.u.mstances, Amy teamed up with an elderly Scottish landowner and travelled north with him. With the loss of the child and a husband on the other side of the world she chose immediate comfort. In the meantime, during the flu epidemic in London, her boarding house was burned down and some people died. The local priest in London wrote to Amy's father with the news of the fire and of Amy's disappearance. He hoped she hadn't been one of those who died in the epidemic. In a drunken state her father relayed the confused news to drinkers in the pub that Amy had died. That night staggering home, he fell into a pond and drowned. When Tyndall's next letter arrived, the village postmaster returned it and wrote to inform him of the sad demise of Amy and her father.

Neither of them had close family so Tyndall had then turned his back on the old world.

Now, at twenty-five, he was a handsome bachelor in transition from adventurer to solid citizen of the north-west of Western Australia, a frontier that attracted the adventurer, but a developing area that appealed to his business instincts. He was respected and well liked among the waterfront people and merchants he serviced along the coast. He could drink his way through the night with a bunch of seafarers down by the wharf, then scrub up and next night be all charm, wit and tact at a dinner party given by one of the middle-cla.s.s merchants with a daughter or two of marriageable age. The daughters of the rather limited upper cla.s.s and very wealthy also eyed John Tyndall, but not with serious intentions. They were simply fascinated by his handsome looks, swaggering nature and the stories that were told in whispers about his past, stories more often based on fantasy than fact.

Tyndall felt no pull to cement his boots ash.o.r.e. He loved the sea and his boat. He loved the freedom. He had dallied with dusky maidens on a score of islands from Tahiti to Thursday Island, but was yet to meet another woman of his own race to confuse his reasoning with any sort of love he had briefly experienced with the now forgotten Amy. He believed that out there, somewhere, was a woman of spirit, beauty and loyalty who was ready to match his spirited run at life. John Tyndall had his dream too. But in his philosophy, in love, as in war, it was every man (and woman) for himself.

The little temporary settlement on the island beach reminded Tyndall of the odd circ.u.mstances in which he found the Hennessy woman on a beach some days ago. He grinned to himself. At least no one was going to pull a gun on him on this this beach. She had guts, he reflected, but was she really strong enough to survive this rough and remote land? Like so many from the old country, she probably didn't have a clue what lay ahead of her. Her husband was lucky to have such a pretty and plucky mate at his side. He hoped all went well for her and made a mental note to sail past the beach on his return to Cossack to see if there was any sign of the Hennessy camp. beach. She had guts, he reflected, but was she really strong enough to survive this rough and remote land? Like so many from the old country, she probably didn't have a clue what lay ahead of her. Her husband was lucky to have such a pretty and plucky mate at his side. He hoped all went well for her and made a mental note to sail past the beach on his return to Cossack to see if there was any sign of the Hennessy camp.

A soft word from Ahmed snapped him out of his reverie and he prepared to go ash.o.r.e.

This island had been used by the Maca.s.san trepangers for several generations. The economy of many Sulawesi towns relied heavily on trepang, which was sold to the Chinese merchants. The men sailed from Ujung Pandang, blown in their praus praus on the north-west monsoon to the land they called Marege in about ten days. They had their regular routes and bases and some on the north-west monsoon to the land they called Marege in about ten days. They had their regular routes and bases and some praus praus, manned by up to twenty men, ventured down to the Kimberley waters. They had long ago established trading and social rituals with the local tribespeople and each year returned home when the south-east trade winds began.

Aboriginal women were offered freely to the Maca.s.san captains and many of these liaisons were re-forged each season. Children they fathered were absorbed into the extended Aboriginal families. Occasionally the Aboriginal brides who had been taken away to Sulawesi and the other islands returned to visit.

Already the beach resembled a village. The praus and their wooden canoes were beached along the sand, portable bamboo smoke houses had been erected to dry the trepang, and men were busy at the lines of circular stone hearths stretched along the sh.o.r.e where iron cauldrons of the sea slugs were boiling before being dried. Piles of cut and dried mangrove wood, prepared on a previous visit, were heaped by the hearths. Several men sat pounding kaolin clay rock to make caulking paste for the boats. Crude thatched shelters were scattered under shady trees and at a large campfire sat Aboriginal elders from the nearby mainland and the leaders of the Maca.s.sans who were offering around their tobacco pipes.

They hailed Tyndall as the dinghy came to rest on the beach. Speaking in Malay and a local pidgin Aboriginal language, he greeted his friends.

After stumbling upon this place two years before, Tyndall had returned annually and learned much from the visitors and local tribespeople. It had also proved a valuable bartering situation. He brought fresh food, rice, flour, sugar, jams, fis.h.i.+ng gear, kerosene and small boat gear which he exchanged for dried turtle and sh.e.l.l along with some trepang that he sold to the Chinese in the towns along the coast and in Fremantle on trading trips.

Tyndall realised that the present peaceful co-existence of these two disparate communities and their trade alliance had developed through patient understanding of each others' customs and etiquette. He had heard stories of occasional hostilities resulting from the theft of coveted items, disagreements over women or some breach of custom that warranted reprisal. But for centuries it had been largely a peaceful and mutually beneficial arrangement, ritualised with obligation and traditional behavioural patterns understood and reciprocated.

Once, on a trip inland with a group, Tyndall had been shown ancient rock paintings of these encounters on the coast which had pa.s.sed into Dreaming stories and the fabric of their oral history in song and dance.

Tyndall joined the men at the fire and they swapped news. Later would come the exchange of gifts and that evening 'good food' would be prepared and possibly some of the Maca.s.sans' liquor shared.