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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