Page 81 of Lizzie’s Spirit

Elizabeth and Ellie sat huddled on a rock shelf halfway up a cleft on the eastern side of the hole-in-the-wall tunnel. They were hidden from the beach—there was no direction from which they could be observed by the warriors from the village.

“Lizzie, I’ve never been so scared. I thought we would drown—but you were right, we just floated up over the wave. I was sure it would break over us.” Ellie leant closer to the rock face, her teeth chattering.

“We were lucky not to be swept into the lagoon, but the backwash dragged us out through the tunnel. Oh, Ellie, we seem to go from one calamity to another.” Elizabeth fought back her tears.

She lifted the necklaces and allowed little Ben to latch onto her breast—her relief was immediate, her anxiety draining away.

The sun had now fully risen above the horizon and the air was beginning to warm.

Mayhap, just possibly, she could face another day in the wilderness.

The warmth of the morning sun removed the early chill of the air and abated the cold that had seeped into their bones after the mad, desperate flight from the village.

But they couldn’t stay here, trapped on the ledge.

Because the days were lengthening into summer, Elizabeth decided to let a full twelve hours pass until the next low tide before attempting the route back to the shore.

Carefully, she made her way along the ledge, which passed through a narrow cleft between two craggy pinnacles.

She forced her way between them and found that the shelf, now considerably widened, gradually dropped down until it was an easy jump into shallow water at the southern edge of the island.

They were exposed to anyone on the beach, but all was quiet, except for the noisy jabber of birds convocating on the lagoon.

“Well, Ellie, either they’re hiding from us, which I doubt, or the tribesmen have returned to the village. Either way, we’ve no choice but to find a place to make a fire and brew a pot of tea.”

“Look,” cried Ellie, “Bumper is chasing the birds. If any men were about, he would be chasing them instead. Oh, Lizzie, I never thought I would enjoy mealie meal warmed with milk.”

They walked for an hour along a beach that stretched forever down the coast, disappearing to the south.

That night, they made camp by a small river that had formed a lake behind the beach, preventing the water from escaping to the sea.

The land rose sharply from the sea, and the rocky sides of the lake were exceedingly steep.

Finding a narrow place to camp at the edge of the escarpment, above the level of the tide, they made tea and porridge, then fell asleep, cradling little Ben under the blanket.

***

Bumper was missing when they awoke, but, to Elizabeth’s mind, it was a good sign.

If the tribesmen had returned, she knew he would be close by protecting them.

She spent time playing with Ben, putting him on the blanket and letting him kick his legs and stretch.

Most of the day, he was wrapped and held tightly to her chest, and the fresh air against his body was all for the good.

Reluctantly, they set out again. They had long given up wearing any form of footwear, and walking on the sand was so much easier than trudging across rocky trails and the dry, sharp grasses of the open veld.

But it was also very tiring, particularly when the tide forced them to walk on the hot sand near the escarpment bounding the top of the beach.

Their panicked dash to the sea had fatigued Elizabeth so much that after some three hours she was forced to stop for the day.

“Ellie, I’m seriously weary and still sore from birthing little Ben. My muscles ache, and I fear if we go on, I may seriously overtax my body.”

They came to a large river, but unlike those they had already crossed, this joined the sea, flowing over a submerged rocky outcrop.

The tide being low, the rocks were exposed, covered with mussels and large oysters.

They set a fire and put water to boil in the fire pot; then, they gathered mussels and heavy-shelled oysters.

Mixing the shellfish with millet, they enjoyed an appetising gruel.

Already, Elizabeth missed the plentiful meat eaten in the village.

Their milk was almost gone, but the thought of heading inland to a homestead and risking being returned to the chief of the Bhisho River was never contemplated.

Ellie had learnt not to scream; instead, she violently shook Elizabeth.

“Lizzie, elephants! Oh, the noise they are making. And there are six babies—they’re so cute.”

“Indeed, a wondrous sight. But now that I’m awake, notwithstanding I fed little Ben just an hour ago, we should pack and wait till they’ve gone.

This is their river, and we’re trespassing.

They may turn aggressive if they think their young are in danger.

If they come near, we must escape up the escarpment. ”

“But in India, people ride them—they’re not wild at all.”

“Oh, Ellie, they’re not like dogs. Some are tamed, but these elephants have grown up wild; they don’t know people at all—also, we’re white-skinned and unfamiliar. Please, don’t go near them.”

Elizabeth looked frantically down the beach. “Where’s Bumper? I hope the silly dog doesn’t chase them!”

Just then, Bumper came running up holding a small rabbit, which he proudly deposited by the fire. He looked across at the elephants but ignored them—the were too big and intimidating. He lay down, curled up, and promptly went to sleep.

“Ellie, I’ll skin the animal, and then we best cook it for dinner tonight. Can you collect mussels and oysters? Looking south along the shoreline, there are no rocky promontories—we may not be able to harvest more shellfish until the beach ends. And I do not know how far it extends.”

They crossed the river when the tide was low, stepping from rock to rock, and began the slow trudge down the coast. They passed many small streams, some of which ended in small ponds trapped behind the beach, holding stagnant, smelly water—if Bumper wouldn’t drink from them, then neither would they.

Indeed, the land above the escarpment bounding the beach was becoming increasingly dry, and the vegetation scraggy.

The rainfall was insufficient to keep the rivers and streams flowing year-round.

A fortnight passed, each day harder than the one before.

Elizabeth hardly ate enough, and the monotonous diet of shellfish and the occasional flesh of some animal Bumper had caught wasn’t providing sufficient nutrition for both Ben and herself.

He became fretful, needing more frequent feeds, and his desperate sucking told her that her milk supply was diminishing, now barely adequate.

There was no cow’s milk; the bread was gone, and the little hulled millet they allocated each day was barely enough for Ellie alone.

The exertion of fleeing the village, running some twenty miles, swimming through the sea cavern, and climbing the rocky ledge—all too much for a mother just four weeks after giving birth.

She was, indeed, overtaxed. How often had she implored mothers not to exert themselves in the weeks following delivery—yet for her there was no alternative.

“Lizzie, you’re worn out, and little Ben fusses so—he’s hungry. Please, have my portion, for I’m surely stronger than you.”

“No, sweetling, we must share. I already have more than you, and you’ll need all your strength to run ahead if I need to stop for a while longer.”

“Perhaps we should turn away from the beach, Lizzie. It’s awfully tiring walking on the sand, and nearby, there’s sure to be a homestead with milk and maybe millet bread. We’ve come so far; the Bhisho River chief will surely leave us alone.”

“A nice idea, Ellie, but here, on the beach, there’s still shellfish and cockles to find if we dig fast enough.

But the land away from the coast is dry—there’s no certainty there are any homesteads nearby.

In any case, I don’t think I could walk more than a few miles inland—certainly not ten if we needed to go so far. ”

She dropped the knapsack and guitar onto the sand. Then she sat and suckled Ben; he was restless, not latching onto her breast. She, too, was angry and frustrated. No, it was selfish to always make decisions for Ellie; the girl had become so helpful, much changed from that spoilt brat in Tarala.

“Do you wish to turn inland, Ellie? I must be truthful. We may starve on this beach, for there is little food, even with that caught by Bumper. But going inland risks both of us being taken in by a tribe. We would live, but become Xhosa .”

Characteristically, Ellie screwed up her face. She dropped down next to Elizabeth and placed her arms around her and Ben. Tears formed in her eyes.

“Oh, Lizzie, you’re a lieutenant governor’s wife. It would be most improper, terribly wrong, for you to marry again. No, I hate it, I hate it!”

They made camp and cooked a meagre meal. No tea—the leaves had been recycled too many times even to taint the water—no mealie meal. Just some cockles and a sprinkling of millet.

***

Reit River, November 27, 1813

“Lizzie, why’s Bumper digging? Oh, a very large bird’s nest—filled with eggs! But what bird nests in the sand?”

“’Tis not birds but turtles! Quickly, Ellie, let’s gather the eggs before Bumper eats them all. What say you to poached turtle eggs for dinner!”

The place proved to be bountiful. The water in the river, though trapped behind the beach, was fresh and palatable.

Three hundred yards along the beach, a rocky outcrop yielded mussels and oysters; and, best of all, Bumper dug up another nest of turtle eggs.

To preserve them for their journey, Elizabeth had the shellfish cooked and rubbed with the salty foam cast up by the surf; they boiled the eggs.