by Jack Dey
The patches of reef could easily be identified from the deck of a vessel, as the green shades of the ocean changed colour to a shimmering black wherever reef was discovered. The extensive reef system around the Torres Strait was all part of the Great Barrier Reef and dropped down many hundreds of feet below the green tropical waters. As Davis scanned the surrounds, Jennings went on to explain how the pearl is collected.
“The diver wears heavy long pants and a long-sleeved shirt to protect him from the sharp coral of the reef. A cut gained from a piece of coral could develop quickly into coral poisoning and is painful, even deadly, if it gets into the bloodstream. It also helps protect divers from the severe sting of the tiny irukandji and the larger box jellyfish, whose sting is deadly. If that isn’t hazard enough, the diver may stand on a scorpion fish or stonefish, with the same result. If he survives that, the sharks are huge around the reef and prowl continually, day and night. During the heat of the long wet, is the crocodile breeding season. The large female crocs have been known to attack small vessels that inadvertently wander into a nest site and sometimes, cranky females have been seen miles out to sea. These hazards and more, the divers face each time they descend.”
Davis turned from Jennings, his demeanour not showing any interest in the perils of the divers. He instead turned his attention to the native divers pulling the swimmer boats alongside the lugger and climbing in, two people per boat. Each boat was manoeuvred into a section of reef within sight and anchored. The diver lowered himself into the water with a sharp pearling knife in his hand, taking three large breaths and diving beneath the surface. His companion dropped a net with a long rope attached to it, over the side and lowered it down to the diver, on the bottom. Davis wondered whether a mask was even necessary in the clear water.
Jennings took note of the young man’s apparent lack of interest and the deliberate snub and walked back over to Davis and continued, determined to finish his education.
“A good diver can hold his breath for many minutes before returning to the surface for a new breath. As the diver finds a patch of pearl shell, he cuts the whole shell from its position on the reef and places it into the net lowered down to him. Once the net is full, he will tug on the rope and his companion pulls up the net into the swimmer boat, empties its contents and lowers the net back down again.”
The operation of the small outfit fascinated Davis and he took mental notes on every aspect of every part of the operation, seeing many opportunities for improvement. As the day began to fade, after nearly eight hours, the swimmer boats came alongside the lugger again and offloaded their catch. There was enough unopened pearl shell to fill a forty-four gallon barrel. Although many competitor boats were seen during their time anchored, no one came near to challenge their patch. The crew secured the swimmer boats behind the lugger again, pulled up anchor and set the sail back to Thursday Island.
Jennings grabbed a large pearl shell from the barrel, which would measure a good twelve inches across and he began to prise it open with a pearling knife. The shell gave way under his superior force and opened to reveal a perfect, rose coloured shell in two halves. There, in the middle of the animal’s flesh was a flawless, teardrop shaped, rose coloured pearl.
Jennings turned to Davis incredulously, “You must have good luck on your side, Mr Davis. We don’t get too many rose coloured shells and pearls. I am holding nearly six and a half thousand pounds.”
Jennings was close enough to see Davis’ eyes dilate and the hook set firmly in his mouth.
*~*~*~*
CHAPTER 11 - TORRES STRAIT 1881
Elizabeth burst through the two large doors leading out into the grassy courtyard and walked determinedly towards the opening in the stone wall, surrounding the house. Her face was set in a fierce expression of disdain, her cheeks flushed red. The grey flowing house dress dragged slightly on the path, like a wedding train and swept along small stones and dry grass as she walked. She needed to be alone and her favourite place was her intended destination. Elizabeth didn’t often argue with her father. She loved him too much to be disrespectful. This time, however, she felt he was being unreasonable and treating her like a chattel.
“I am your daughter, Father, not a thing to be bought by the highest bidder. I don’t like him… or the way he stares at me!” she declared spiritedly.
Her father’s words kept playing over and over, and each time she replayed them, she felt sick in her stomach. “I am only asking you to act favourably toward him, Elizabeth!”
Her mother had supported her father’s view.
Apart from her mother, Elizabeth had no other friends on Thursday Island. She would wander the hill slopes around her home and chase butterflies, spending hours walking amongst the flowers and birds or sit for hours at her favourite spot, a cliff above a secluded bay and paint. Although she was alone, she was content. Her mother would sometimes accompany her on her walks and they would enjoy each other’s company.
This man who had suddenly appeared on their door step, was an unwelcome rain shower on the blue sky days of her life and she was feeling closed in. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see him staring at her, like a wolf about to devour a hen.
“You will find out, sir, that this hen has claws!“ she huffed indignantly.
By the time she arrived at the cliff, overlooking the bay, the twenty minute intensive walk had eroded some of her fire. She sat down on the cliff edge and hung her feet over the drop. The day was warm and the afternoon sun, directly on her back, burnt away the rest of her fierceness. Tiny swallows played hide and seek in the patches of dry grass dotted around the cliff and shrilled when a hiding place was discovered, chasing the uncovered playmate into another clump of grass. A large, black and white butterfly wafted past her face, nearly colliding with her nose. She laughed at its crazy behaviour and bid it on its way.
She began to feel more like herself again.
Elizabeth peered out over the bay and watched a pearling lugger, with its sails making a deep ‘D’ shape in the face of the wind and towing six smaller boats behind, slowly making way along the channel between Thursday Island and Hammond Island. The water was a deep green colour, almost fiery green in the afternoon sun and the view made her feel warm inside. The cliff was a hundred feet above the bay and dropped sheer onto the rocky waterline. The lugger’s sojourn through the channel created a small bow wave and was gently stirring up the rocky shore below her feet. The quiet, interspersed with birdsong, had calmed her and she felt good and happy again.
Without warning, a sudden, violent movement stunned her, sending her world careening crazily out of control around her, as the cliff edge she was sitting on suddenly gave way, knocking the wind from her lungs and stifling a scream. She tumbled down the cliff face, arms and legs scraping violently as she fell.
Her dress suddenly caught on a tree stump, which looked like a giant beaver had chewed into a point. The dress made a ripping noise as it arrested her fall, pulling heavily against her body. Bruised and bloody, she looked down onto the rocky shore some fifty feet below, dangling against the cliff face like a load hanging from a crane hook. The taste of blood seeped into her mouth and her body felt like she had been in a boxing ring. She hung, frightened and much alone. Pain signals started to stream from every part, as if the brain was doing a roll call check.
Arms? Yes, we hurt.
Feet? Oh definitely, we hurt.
An hour turned to two and then three. She cried at her predicament, scolding herself for sitting too close to the edge.
*~*~*~*
The young native couple had only been married for a few days. The whole village had been celebrating their union and time to be alone was difficult to find. The young woman whispered into her new husband’s ear. He nodded his agreement and they smiled at each other. The couple, holding hands, silently slipped out of the celebrations and made their way into the deserted eastern end of the island. Hand in hand they walked, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine
and the peace, lost in love. The young man was tall and strong, his ebony, muscle set features gave him the appearance of an athlete. The young woman was shorter and her dark eyes, thin frame and fine features made her a striking beauty.
They were happy to be finally alone.
*~*~*~*
Elizabeth thought the slowly increasing, late afternoon breeze was playing with her ears, but no, there it was again. She mustered all the strength she could and yelled.
“Help me...! Help me, please!”
The young native woman stopped abruptly and turned to her husband. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” he replied.
She turned from her husband and ran over to the cliff. There, fifty feet below, was a white woman hanging from a tree stump, caught by her dress. She motioned for her husband, waving her hand at him frantically.
“Come quickly!”
He ran over to the cliff face and looked down.
She called down to the white woman. ”Are you hurt?”
Elizabeth called back weakly. “I can move, but I am hanging by my dress from a stump. Please help me!” she whimpered.
The native man studied the cliff face and worked out a path to pick his way down to the woman. He lowered himself one step at a time, gaining a few feet with each new grip. The sun was beginning to set and the shadows were growing long.
The man slipped and slid down the face, a yelp coming from the native woman. He grabbed furiously at the cliff face and arrested his fall, his muscles straining.
He cautiously picked his way down till he was right next to Elizabeth, but he could not let go of his hold to pick her up. He saw a small rock shelf jutting out from the cliff, just below her, big enough to rest his foot on. He slid past Elizabeth, sending sand and rock plummeting to the bay below and then lunged for the ledge directly below her, feeling relieved as his foot made contact with solid rock. He was now looking back up at Elizabeth.
He gently called to her, “I am going to lift you off the stump and put you over my shoulder. Do you think you can hold on?”
She quavered, trying to trust her rescuer, “I will try.”
The young man reached up towards Elizabeth and lifted her body off the stump. She whimpered as a new batch of pain signals reported in. Elizabeth’s head was facing down towards the rocky bay below, as the young native man carefully picked his way back up the cliff, sliding a couple of times. Elizabeth unconsciously dug her sharp, long fingernails into his back, causing him to wince. The young native woman reached down over the cliff and held onto Elizabeth as she came near the top, still on her husband’s shoulders.
One more step and they were back up. Elizabeth cried with relief, her heart bursting with appreciation to the young couple who had risked their lives to save her. The young native man carefully took Elizabeth off his shoulder and laid her gently on the ground; the young native woman checking her for injuries.
“I think you are in good shape, considering where you were hanging,” she remarked to Elizabeth.
“I am in debt to you both. My name is Elizabeth,” she said appreciatively.
“This is my husband, Jundah, and my name is Merinda.”
*~*~*~*
CHAPTER 12 - MARCH 1855
Waves rose up in front of the tiny, wooden boat like an ant climbing a mountain; the sea, disturbed and impatient, growing more violent and shaking the very boundaries of the deep. A man, a tiny man, insignificant and alone in the depths of despair, rattled by the gathering tumult and swooped by evil angels, hidden by the squall but bent on his destruction. The air, dank and heavy, miserably trying to hold back the rain and bending dubiously under the strain, till the walls of the cloud could hold the maelstrom no longer, rupturing and spilling a flood of bewilderment into the thickening storm. It was still daylight, but the fury around him made it feel like night. The hairs on his arms bristled and he cowered against an electric explosion, followed by a sickening crescendo of noise, crashing and rolling across the angry sky.
Slowly, the boat was drawn backwards over an agitated, moving mountain and topped the huge wave, only to slide down its crest, tilting crazily and crashing into another forming formidable wall of green water. In a moment, the doors of the storm burst wide open and unleashed its fury, intent on leaving no prisoner to tell of the wicked scene. Unchecked and stirred by an unknown force, the wind was howling and the rain blowing sideways, like tiny bullets stinging his body. The wooden craft was filling with water and an outrigger was torn from its place, leaving splintered wood and a hole in the side of the boat; his despairing mind, frightened and falling backwards over the edge of insanity, until a figure arrested his decline and crested a wave.
A woman trudged through the confusion, coming closer to him. She seemed unaffected by the violent storm raging all around. Her body momentum pushed her down the slope of one monster wave, causing her to run and then lean hard as she strode towards the crest of the next. Warrammarra peered at the image in disbelief as she came close enough for him to see Nirrimi’s grief stricken face staring back at him, arms outstretched... pleading with him and crying. He reached out to her, beckoning her not to leave him, until she too vanished and left him whimpering in anguish.
“No...! No...! Don’t go...! I love you, Nirrimi.”
Still pleading to the mirage of his wife, tears of grief and anguish ripped at his heart, when a sudden violent gust of wind tore the remaining shreds of the sail from the mast. The canvas flapped crazily past him as it disappeared somewhere into the turmoil. He felt a sudden pain across his body and he could not move. The mast had suddenly snapped and pinned him onto the wooden seat, forcing him to lay backwards under its weight.
A colossal wave peeked behind the boat, sucking the little vessel backwards into its mountainous, forming crest. Over the top of the wave, a giant black warrior hovered, his mission... destroy Warrammarra, once and for all. He stared directly down at Warrammarra, his eyes glowing red, filled with venomous hatred, his huge sword drawn above his head, about to smash downward and finish off what he had been sent to do.
Warrammarra screamed, “J-e-s-u-s!”
The sword came down and the boat tumbled over and over in slow motion, cracking and splintering, smashing to pieces. Sea water... commotion... gasping... floating... tumbling... pain... drowning... dying... rainbows... colour...
Blackness.
A light broke into the darkness, somewhere, nowhere, everywhere all around, becoming brighter. Warrammarra looked all around him. Water surrounded him. Calm, green water backlit by the warm, bright light. He was in deep water, the bottom nowhere in sight, but he wasn’t afraid. He could breathe the water and it did not hurt him.
A man. A Son. A God. Jesus. Jesus.
Jesus!
Warrammarra laughed and hugged him.
Jesus threw his arms around Warrammarra. “It is good to see you, Warrammarra,” Jesus said, laughing. The two men hugged and danced around the watery place, joy beaming from their embrace, bubbling and laughing like a brook.
“Come. I need to show you much, my beloved Warrammarra,” Jesus said.
Jesus took hold of Warrammarra and they began descending down into the depths. Warrammarra was perfectly at peace and the scene playing out before his eyes did not bother him. He was in the company of the Creator.
Almighty God.
Their descent began to speed up and they passed by huge underwater caverns. They dropped down into a trench with rocky, mountainous walls. Down, down, further and further, until they passed through the rocky bottom as if a door had opened to them. The scene before Warrammarra confused him.
“Jesus, am I dead?”
Jesus turned to Warrammarra and his compassionate eyes were filled with tears. “I don’t like coming here,” He said softly.
The sudden entry into this world tore at Warrammarra. Groans, screams and blood curdling cries wrenched at his ears.
He pulled in closer to Jesus.
The unde
rworld was a great molten lake as far as the eye could see in all directions. The heat and the smell burnt into Warrammarra’s senses. Chains held the tormented souls in the fire, souls grasping at invisible things just outside of their reach and angrily tearing at the chains, frantic in their desperation to release them. Fire flashed up in front of them as if someone had thrown in new fuel. All the while, the pain, the groans, the screams.
Blood curdling screams.
The torment never stopping.
A hand engulfed in fire lifted up towards them.
“Please... p-l-e-a-s-e! Stop the pain... P-L-E-A-S-E!”
*~*~*~*
The scene closed in front of Warrammarra and a new scene opened.
It was a garden.
Full of sunshine. Filled with flowers and green grass. A brook babbled in the background. Happy children skipped and sang, waving at Warrammarra and Jesus. Birds twittered and chased each other around. The children played and frolicked with lions and tigers; the lions rolling with the children in the grass and licking the children’s faces.
It was a scene of peace and happiness.
Large, shady fruit trees grew close by, covered in delicious fruit always ready to eat. Jesus lay down on the rich green grass and the children ran up to him and jumped all over him, playing and laughing.
“Come play at the brook, Jesus,” the children begged.
“Soon little ones, soon,” He laughed.
They ran off skipping and laughing.
“I don’t understand, Jesus. All those souls in chains and the heat, pain and torment and this… such a contrast. What does it mean?” asked Warrammarra, confused.
Jesus looked at Warrammarra with those deep, compassionate eyes and said, “The souls in torment are the ones who have heard me and my message and have rejected it. They died without me. My people, the ones who heard and accepted me, when they die, come here. There are still a lot who haven’t heard and will perish in the Lake of Fire if they are not told.”