Page 82 of Lizzie’s Spirit
They stayed a week. She realised it would be foolish to journey further in her weakened condition. Each day, with enough to eat, she recovered some strength. Nevertheless, reluctantly, for she was still sore and fatigued, she decided they must renew their journey south.
“We should stay, Lizzie; there’s plenty of food, and you’re not nearly recovered.”
“Dearest, you’re so thoughtful. But we must move on. We can’t stay, for you need to get back to Lord Needham, and Mr. Darcy knows nothing of his son, little Ben. He’ll be so proud when he holds Ben in his arms—and I miss him so very much.”
“Mother missed Lord Needham, but I’m not sure he missed her. ‘Tis so hard to understand. Why did Father leave Bombay and not return when Mother died?”
Ellie burst into tears and clung to Elizabeth, who pulled her into a tight embrace. Perhaps the only person to do so, since nurse Leela had hugged her so long ago—in another place.
“Sweetheart, it’s a very strange world. For here we are, flung onto the wild African coast. But we have learnt so much—how to find cockles by digging faster than they can burrow; you taught me how to strike a flint and light a fire; and, best of all, we have become sisters.
The Xhosa named you sister, usisi. That is what we are.
When we escape this place, always remember that I am your sister, as you are mine.
I know not your father, but I do know he loves you very much.
Even now, he’s searching for you. The quicker we reach a farm, the sooner he can hold you in his arms.”
They continued on for another mile when they came upon a dead turtle exposed by the receding tide.
Bumper, of course, was pulling at the tough skin.
It was far too heavy to drag above the tideline, so they set about cutting chunks of flesh with their knives.
Having seen the Eora dry meat in Sydney, Elizabeth set up some racks using branches pulled from the bush and hung strips of the meat to dry in the sun.
Resting for another two days while the strips dried was everything welcome.
Laden with cooked eggs and dried meat, they resumed the journey; at midday, they came to another wide river. The current was slow, and they easily waded across. Upon reaching the opposite bank, they saw an old man sitting outside a small hut.
Elizabeth called to him in her very poor Xhosa. He laughed .
“Ah, Mamlambo, they said you had returned to the sea. The chiefs of the Kei and Bhisho Rivers say they scared you away—vain, lazy men. But you and your golden-haired sister are weary, I see it in your eyes—not the weariness of the body, but the weariness of the soul. Please, stay a while as my guests.”
The man owned two cows kept in a small kraal behind the hut.
These he immediately milked, giving the warm milk to Elizabeth and Ellie.
Her body could hardly get enough of it, and straightaway she felt her own milk let down.
Little Ben reacted instantly, his lips searching for her nipple.
Gladly, she let him suckle. How many words for ecstasy? —she hardly cared.
Later, she pulled a dried strip of the turtle meat from the knapsack and offered it in exchange.
The man took the meat with great alacrity.
Then, with much signing, laughter, a smattering of language, and drawings on the sand, she was able to communicate that the dead turtle was three hours behind them, near the stream where they had camped.
Abruptly, he stood and plunged across the river. With easy strides, he ran back along the beach, the way they had come. Bumper looked puzzled; then, he too, swam the river and ran after him.
“I trust Bumper gives him no trouble, for the dog believes the turtle is his—he was the first to find it.”
“Oh, no, Lizzie, it’s just that Bumper wishes to help. And ‘tis good, for we must be safe; otherwise, he wouldn’t leave.”
“Well, Ellie, our luck has changed. You were right to insist we walk on and not return inland to the homesteads. Let’s see how we can repay our good fortune. If you can collect firewood, I’ll see about baking some bread.”
Looking around the hut, Elizabeth found a bag of raw millet. She worked methodically through the steps she had learnt in the village: pounding to break the husk, winnowing, and grinding until there was enough flour for a loaf, which she baked in the iron cooking pot.
Indeed, I would have made a fine wife for the chief… Tears filled her eyes; she missed William ever so much.
The sun was dipping behind the escarpment when the old man returned, pulling the turtle now upside down on its shell.
Placing little Ben on his blanket, Elizabeth waded into the river, and, with much pushing and pulling, they managed to best the current and drag the carcass to the hut.
What a feast that night—milk, broiled turtle, and freshly baked bread!
Resting by the Kowie River was too easy.
They spent another week drying strips of meat, gathering shellfish, baking bread, and learning more of the language.
She never knew the old man’s name. Often, when grinding millet flour, he would look at her, his eyes moistened. Then, he would abruptly stride away.
He drew a map in the sand showing the coastline and marking the location of the English settlement. He would not speak of the Dutch, and Elizabeth thought him the victim of some great wrong. Perhaps he was a slave, escaped beyond the reach of the Boers.
She tore a strip off the hem of her chemise, which she still wore at night, and copied the map onto it using a piece of charcoal.
On the map, he had marked a large, curving bay.
The northern half was desert, covered with great sand dunes up to one hundred feet high, of breadth two miles, and extending forty miles along the coast. At high tide, the sea abutted directly against the dunes.
The only safe passage along the shore was when the tide was low.
“ Mamlambo, here is a secret.” The old man sat beside her as she packed the knapsack. “The desert is very dry, there are no streams. But there are springs, with good water very close to the shore. I shall mark them on your map.”
She knew he wished to say more, but she was white-skinned, even though a water spirit. It was enough that he had shared this knowledge.