my ‘ebenezer’

Before i leave this fatal shore, I must give thanks and raise a stone, an Ebenezer.  I must honour my James, my Lord and honour our Lord and Saviour.

When we first landed upon these shores my husband gave thanks, quoting the good book and declaring “Hitherto hath the Lord helped us”.  In this he followed the example of the old testament prophet Samuel, who said these words when he erected a stone and called it “Ebenezer.” He was celebrating the help that God had given Israel to achieve victory over the Philistines.  They were also remembering their failures and how they had turned away from God.  I too had turned from God and faith, but now must restore my faith anew.  Above all else I must believe the glory of God has not departed me and can be restored.  

Before I leave these shores, like Samuel and my husband, I must set up a stone. Whilst Samuel’s Ebenezer was most certainly a stone of substance, mine must be one more humble.  But the meaning is constant.  My monument might not stand throughout the ages, but it will represent the truth, and one that my husband believed. Vale to my Captain who still believed.

” hitherto hath the Lord helped us.”

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swept away

I am not sure that I have ever been swept off my feet quite so literally, or so unexpectedly as the night of my rescue.  One moment I was watching shimmering flames and sinewy limbs, wondering if the ritual enacted before me may take a nefarious turn, and the next I was swept high into the air.  The jolting gait of my possessor signalled to me that this was no heavenly intervention as surely if I were to be rescued by angels they would spirit me away to the clouds with nary a bump.  The skies could be seen through the treetops but they did not rush to greet me as I beseeched them.  The moon laughed at my calamity and the stars twinkled in amusement.

My displacement ended with my delivery into a small boat and a hasty journey across the lake.   The man before me was no gentleman, but he bore the marks of civilisation.  His kindness was evident as he offered garb to cover my nakedness, turning from my pitiful state until I could command some decorum.  John Graham had been a convicted man transported to Moreton Bay, but had espaped and lived with the natives for many years before being captured and returned to the colony.  He had volunteered to come to my rescue and in this act demonstrated the most noble of sentiments.   “I have come to save you Ma’am” he said, and in that moment, I knew that he would.

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The finale?

Sweetness turned to dust and my dreams of heaven were peopled by angry giants with faces grotesquely painted and full of accusation.  Pounding rhythms surrounded me and were inside me.  The throbbing in my foot beat an angry rhythm out of time with the stomping cries of a native corroborree.  My heart galloped its own race as a wave of panic swept over me and wrenched me from sleep.  The pain, the panic and horror did not leave me though, but were coupled with a complete sense of desolation.  Was this to be the end then?

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walkabout to where?

Reaching the other side delivered no immediate salvation or comfort.  To hide our tracks, we waded in shallow waters for miles before making for shore.  Thereafter we walked again.  I did not speak for days, I had no desire to commune with one who was no companion.  We continued walking without  talking… silently walking … across endless sand and water, water and sand, water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink… even though I could now find food and water for myself there was no time to stop and forage.

As my legs felt detached from my body and my mind began to wander, we headed inland. We crossed dunes and swamps, creeks and more water.  Any hopes that we were close to Moreton Bay were shattered as we were surrounded by natives, whether by accident or intent.

Like a carnival doll I was passed from one to another and stationed in one of their huts.  It seemed I was the object of considerable interest and spectacle.  Different groups were brought to look upon me and some version of my capture shared amongst them.

No protest was uttered from my lips, no tears burnt my lids, no fight drove my limbs.  I closed my eyes to the world and prepared to surrender to the inevitable.  I dreamt of floating on gentle waves, of delicate arms holding me and caressing me as I drifted in balmy waters beneath perfumed pink heavens.

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bargains with knights and knaves

There Chairon stands, who rules the dreary coast
A sordid god: down from his hairy chin
A length of beard descends, uncombed, unclean;
His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire;
A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire. (Virgil)

As Virgil described the ferryman so might I.  And like the tortured souls who must pay a price to cross the river Styx, from the world of the living to the world of the dead, I too had a price to pay.  My knight was in fact a knave whose heart was as dark as hades.  The waters shimmering before me had confirmed we were, after all, on an island, and any chance of reaching Moreton Bay depended on my heading south on the mainland.  His leering smile revealed his dark desire, his belief that my compliance was inevitable.  I was not about to bargain away my last shred of dignity so readily, though bargain indeed I must.

So what is the most exacting to endure, striking the bargain, enacting it, or living with the consequences.  I can tell you now that the nightmares that repossess you again and again are indeed more difficult to live with than the act itself.

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an answer to my prayers?

My bonnies lie over the ocean
My bonnies lie over the sea
My bonnies lie over the ocean
Oh bring back my bonnies to me…

Bring back, bring back,
Oh bring back my babies to me, to me
Bring back, bring back
Bring back from over the sea.

I could let myself slip away, but I will fight to the bitter end to prevent my children becoming orphans.  God of miracles and wonders, you who parted the Red Sea, brought plague and pestilence, protected Daniel in the Lion’s den and raised Lazarus from the dead show some mercy for this poor wretched woman now.  The laws of nature are no barrier to you, you control the forces and command the universe, send me a sign, a miracle, a message. I will maintain my constant prayer and entreaty to you.

Gentle Jesus meek and mild
Look upon this little child
Little ones to him belong
I am weak but he is strong.

K’gari administers to me, she understands my sorrow,  she knows of great loss.  I mumble my prayers, my songs and entreaties –  to her it is senseless but not without meaning.  She leaves me food which I can not eat.  I search the heavens and continue.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,
Bless the bed that I lie on.
Four corners to my bed,
Four angels round my head.
One to watch and one to pray,
And two to bear my fears away.

When first his face appeared above me I felt certain I had been visited by an apparition.  The man’s face was weather-beaten to such an extent he almost appeared native, but the contours of his visage suggested otherwise.  He signalled for me to remain silent and to follow him away from the camp.  Was this man my knight, my deliverance, my sign?  Were there others with him and who had sent them?  I dare not believe yet but followed anyway, matching his footsteps, heading down well-trodden pathways.  At first the territory was familiar, paths I had travelled in our never-ending food foraging expeditions, but then the darkness deepened and we were on foreign terrain.

Angel of God, my Guardian dear,
To whom God’s love commits me here;
Ever this day, be at my side
To light and guard
To rule and guide.

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cold to the core

I am so cold and frozen to my very heart.  Through every layer of my body the cold has crept.  It is impossible to sleep.  I shiver, I scratch, I try to wrap the bark around me and creep as close as possible to the campfire embers as i can.  I am barred from the native’s huts, I sleep with the dogs and the fleas.  I wait for the dawn and wonder if it will be my last… am I the last of our crew to survive?  Mr Brown, the First Mate has gone and who knows the fate of Mr Baxter. And yes, my husband has passed from this world to join Our Lord and Saviour.  It gladdens my heart to think that he is no longer suffering and I envision him at the Lord’s table, dressed in his finest captain’s accoutrements. He is healthy and happy,  enjoying the most sumptuous feast and celebration.  Friends congratulate him on his life’s work and Jesus smiles as he welcomes him into the heavenly kingdom.   Angels sing, harps ripple and my dear, sweet James is honoured and at peace.

Make me to understand the way of thy precepts:
So shall I talk of thy wondrous works.

My soul melteth for heaviness:
Strengthen me according under thy word.  Psalm 119.

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a woman’s work

A child lies in my arms, he drinks from my breast and grips my right thumb.  You may think I am dreaming, or delirious perhaps, but this time you’d be wrong.  He is real flesh and bones, dark of skin and eye.  For some days after I became attached to this clan, the women insisted I accompany them on their foraging forays.  They laughed at my inadequacies and seemed incredulous when I knew not how to prepare certain roots for consumption.  Some of the women tired of my failings and their laughter turned to distain and derision. One of the women, I shall call her K’gari after this place, showed some compassion though.

When first she led me away from the others, I expected the worst.  I thought she was perhaps trading me to another group… but then she sat me down and took my hands.  She began to point to the bites and swellings on my arms and there was concern in her eyes, not contempt.  When she began to rub a fetid substance on my arms, I pulled away at first.  What was this paste that smelt of smoldering fats, herbs and charcoal?  She continued in her ministrations and I had to admit there was some relief to be found with its application.

Since then she has shown me favour on multiple occasion.  Morsels of food, soft bark to sleep on, bright coloured feathers and necklaces of shells.  These simple gifts, virtual treasures within this meagre existence.  When she first brought the child to me I was not sure what she expected.  He was a sickly child, crying and whimpering, ill-nourished and sad.  It then became evident that my work was to mind the child, for much of the day passed into my care.  I can not say I relished the task, it was enough to maintain my own equilibrium.  There was such strangeness and familiarity in the holding of a child in my arms, memories of my own three children overwhelmed me and so …I felt urged to find comfort in the body of another.  When he sought comfort at my breast, I resisted initially, felt sure he would find no nourishment there.  He clung on though, demanding and persisting, and the crying ceased.  To my amazement my body responded, with a powerful rippling and surging which exhausted me.  How could this be so, it was weeks since I had bound my chest, attempting to stem the flow.  I was embarrassed yet proud when K’gari returned.  Here was a babe in my arms where one should have been.  Had she known, had she sensed, had she seen?

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