Sun Apr 09, 2006 2:41 pm by H.Q. Victor
The tall sail of the cutter was seen in the early morning hours of Cape Town. The timbers creaked as the ship slid easily into port. My journey, was both long and tiring. It is so good to be back to familiar settings. I just want to get home and sleep in my own bed again. As I began to gather my things together, my notes I put in a carry bag, the others I left in the trunk to be sent home later. The notes, well I had spent hours on the trip home, reviewing them. It made interesting reading to say the least.
My sister Nikki and my father Abraham met me at the docks when the ship was finally tied up at dock. Both helped me with my things, and father made arrangements for a friend to pick up the trunk later in the day. After hugs and tears all around, father herded us toward the family’s car and we headed back home. On the two-hour drive back, Nikki looked at my notes I had written and laughed at what I had wrote. She seemed to enjoy herself in the adventures. When we finally arrived at the family’s house, she turned to me and said, “Sara, why don’t you turn this journal into a book, one that others could read.”
I just looked at her, curious as to why she would say that. I had reread my notes, but didn’t think them of the quality of being published. She pointed to several pages and I glanced at them, “This would make a great story that you could publish, the tales of your adventure. It’s already good, just polish it and put it in story form, and call it...oh say your Journals. Her enthusiasm was nice, but I wanted to think about it.
By morning, I had made my decision. After breakfast, I told father that I would spend the next few days turning my notes into a story. He laughed a deep hearty laugh and said that would be nice. I found out later that he had read parts of it during the night, while I was sleeping. He spoke of it being very good, and he also asked about some of the people I had met, including a certain young man. This brought a slight blush to my face. That, would be a little harder to do.
So I now set out, my dear readers, to tell the tale of my adventures, I call them, The Sara Whitaker Journals.
Chapter 1
I sat in the home of my father, Abraham Whitaker, thinking of the trip I was to undertake. It was to the coast of Australia on a possible business venture. A gentleman by the name of Eric Sumpter had sent a cable inviting interest in a new concoction he had invented. He would not name it, in hopes of luring someone to come and see it, someone willing to invest some cash in it.
A friend of a friend had forwarded a copy to me, thinking I would be interested in the venture. I had come into some inheritance a year ago, but had not come to a decision as how to invest it. A business offer could prove lucrative, but I was going to be cautious.
Still, I cabled Eric back stating that I planned a trip and would arrive the last week of March. His response was, “Welcome and I look forward to our new business association.” Apparently, he took my coming there, as a possible investor. We will see, I thought, we will see. I took a last look around my father’s home before taking a coach to the sea port. The sailing trip would take a little over a week. I had wanted to fly on one of those new aircraft, a DC3 I believe it is called, but as the new airfield would not be ready for almost a month, I opted for sailing, after all, a sea trip was reputed to be good for the health and invigorating, or so I thought.
Since I’m writing all this down in my journal, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Sara Whitaker, and I am from Caledon, South Africa. It’s been my home all my twenty years, and I love it. My father, Abraham Whitaker, is an accountant and does very well for his family. Me, I seem to be the wild hair of the family. A little too outgoing as father says. But, I look at it as just standing up for myself and wanting an interesting life.
Even in school, I had an adventurous spirit about me, studying geography, history and horticulture to diverse myself. There was something that drove me, to explore, and learn new things. It never sat well with the family, who thought I should take a more lady like approach in school, then attend a university to become a teacher. That kind of life never appealed to me. It seemed too boring in comparison to what I dreamed about.
The ship, was a clipper ship, such a beautiful sight to me. Her name was The Celeste, and looked to be rather new. Father had them load a trunk and two suit cases for me. Momma had packed some provisions in the trunk for me, as she was worried that I would neglect my eating, in search of adventure. She was partly right, I did neglect eating at times of adventures, but this trip would not be like that. I planed to enjoy myself this trip, regardless of wether I invested or not.
I was able to secure a private cabin, at a bit of expense, but as I was traveling alone, I preferred my privacy and wanted to spend sometime in my thoughts. And yet there was still need for direction in my life. Adventures are one thing, but women are looked down upon for it in this day and age, where they are expected to stay home and care for their children they were expected to bare. I just guess I liked trouble. My father said I always seem to find it. I just responded, I never go looking for it, that it just seemed to find me. I smile at the thought of that. It was true that things I chose to get involved in, brought troubles or at least comments that followed the status quo.
If the truth be told, it wasn’t that I wanted to buck the traditional way of things, but rather I had a thirst for adventure, for new things to learn and see. It was a thirst that never seemed to be satisfied for long.
The first night at sea, I sat at the aft of the ship, gazing up at the stars. So many filled the night sky. It was an amazing sight. To think that God created every one of them, just to light the night sky. The ship’s crew looked at me as if I had lost my mind, but other wise left me to my stargazing. A wisp of a smile came to my face, as I thought of the people I would meet. Australians, some native born, some who had been sent there to the penal colony, Botany Bay and the aboriginal peoples as well. These I had only read about, but never had the opportunity to meet. I relished the opportunity to meet these people and learn about them.
I recorded all my thoughts in notebooks so I could look back at them later on and remember what the adventure brought, and what I learned from it. Having thought of wanted to gather the information together, so that I could write a paper on the travels and one day, publish it. For now, I must tend to the basics.
Back in my cabin I stand looking at my face in a mirror. I reach of my bush and begin to brush out the tangles that the sea breeze brought today. My auburn hair is now down to the middle of my back. Yet it seems too short sometimes. I think back to when I was a little girl, and Momma asked us to chose how we would keep our hair. My Sister keeps hers tied back, but I choose to leave mine down and unadorned with ribbons. I knew even then, I wanted different than other girls. So I settled on having the longest hair around. Now though, it can get a bit tiresome brushing it out every evening.
Sleep came soon enough, the pitch of the ship even help to relax me. The dreams though, were not surprising, but of the trip and my ideas of what would happen. But in the middle of the dream, was the face of a man. He had short sandy brown hair. His face, well I think its called a Goatee though for the life of me, I failed to see what it had in common with a goat. His smile was wide and bright as the sun. He stood tall, taller than I was and I’m five foot nine. He was just a few years older than me, I think, but I am judging that by his face.
When I met him in the dream, we spoke and talked at length about our interest. He had many that I have and then some. My accent is that of a Dutch back ground, but his, well it wasn’t from the crown or any colonies. It was as if he had no accent. I think some have spoken of this as an American accent. I have yet to meet any from that land. It had a melody all it’s on.
By the end of the week, the Captain said we should site land by the noon hour. I looked forward to it. The voyage was nice enough, except for two days ago when a squall threatened to over take us. But by the grace of God that it turned away and let us be. “Land Ho, Land Ho” came the call from the lookout. I could just see it on the Eastern horizon. The Captain said after a few hours layover in Perth, we would continue on to Geelong on the other end of Australia. That was where I was to meet Eric Sumpter. It was to be another two days sailing, providing good winds. We sailed all night rather than dropping anchor, which helped with the timing. I knew Eric would wonder if I had changed my mind, being at least two days later arriving than I said I would.
Finally, we arrived in port. My trunk was a bit litter, and the tip to the porter help me be underway that much quicker. The Captain cautioned me about traveling the area alone, that “Men of ill repute would take advantage of me”. I smiled at this and thanked him, but said I would be fine, as my eye caught a glimpse of the one I came to see. He looked every bit the image he described in his cables. His smile and wave was warm enough. I pointed the porter towards him and the card he stood by. It looked as if he anticipated my luggage situation quite nicely.
Eric was a perfect gentleman. He gave me a short tour of the area. It had a rugged beauty all its own, even in the dry, barren areas. A quiet if you will, seemed to settle over the area as we rode. The town itself was a hive of commerce and travel and its own share of noises. But at where Eric lived, was solitude in area. Scarily any neighbors around. He informed me, when I mentioned this, that he liked his privacy and could work uninterrupted in his research.
Just before heading into his house, I noticed what looked like small wild dogs running loose. Eric explained they were dingos. They hunted in packs and could prove dangerous at time. After offering me some cool water, Eric went into his store room to return with a case of bottles. This, he said, was what he hoped to interest me in to invest. A drink he worked on to sale to the public. He called it Ginger Beer. He explained a little about it, and concluded that this type, was non-alcoholic so that it would be available for all ages.
I sampled a bit in a glass, but it had a taste that to me, wasn’t too bad, but nothing to write home about as they say. Eric explained that he could mass produce it, but needed an investor to help with the bottling and merchandising of it. I asked him to let me think it over overnight, and I would let him know. He offered me his guest bedroom for the night, and we turned in. I don’t know if it was the drink or just the trip, but I had some rather vivid dreams. The OutBack as its called and people, all walking. It seemed so real to me.
Morning came with the pleasant aroma of coffee. It was a beautiful day, sun rising to a clear sky. After refreshing myself, I joined Eric for coffee and pastries. I had come to the conclusion, that I would not be investing in this venture and explained my reasons to Eric. We was understandably down about it, but said he understood. After repacking, Eric took me to the airfield so I could catch a plane back to Perth and then a ship from, there back home.
After dropping me off, I bid Eric farewell and good luck in finding what he needed. I went into the terminal building to purchase my ticket for the flight, and made arrangement for two of my bags. I was informed that the trunk was too large to transport on the plane, but could be sent on the next ship heading to Perth. I agreed and transferred what I did not need to the trunk so that I had only one back to take on the plane. I cabled father that the trunk would be coming at a latter date and to watch for it.
The aircraft was sitting on the tarmac, and it looked like the pictures of the new DC3 airplanes. It was then that I notice others waiting for the flight to leave as well. There was a young couple sitting together, they looked like newlyweds. It struck me a little that they seemed to notice no one else around them. There were two men who seemed in a heated conversation to the point of paying no attention to anyone else. To me, they appeared to have English accents, not too dissimilar to mine.
A group of three others were in mild conversation as well. A forth was by himself, sitting at a small table with a drink in hand. He caught my attention a bit more. He had a bit of a shaggy beard, appeared to be tall, thinner than most the other men present. He looked not too much older than I am. He was absorbed in a newspaper article on the table.
I headed his way when the one of the three men in their group said a little louder than under his breath, “What does she think she is, an explorer or something?” This drew chuckles from the other two men. All three looked to be in their late thirties, dressed as business men and wearing fedoras.
I don’t know if it was the attitude, or just what was said that did it, but something in me just clicked and my anger rose. I knew I shouldn’t let others remarks bother me, but at that moment it did. I turned to look at them. You have to have been there to see the site, I put my hands on my hips and walked two steps towards the man who had made the comment. His shadow just reached my shoes where I stopped.
“Do I understand that you don’t think a woman should be an explorer?” I was just below a boiling anger.
The man who had made the comment just chuckled as he nodded his head. His next words though, were the last straw in the situation. “Women should be at home, rasing families and taking care of their husbands, not tramping though the wilderness.”
I think it must have been hundreds of stars he saw next. There was little time for him to enjoy his words as he grabbed the shin I had just hauled off and kicked. His face took on the deep red hue of a flush that stayed for a moment. He grit his teeth as he held his leg. Falling now, he landed with a thud and a dust cloud as his backside hit the ground. Just sitting there, was enough to make him a laughable sight.
I glared at the other two who held up their hands in mock surrender. Apparently, they wanted nothing to do with me and my anger. What this whole thing did do, was disturb the lone man at the table. He had walked over and while looking at the man on the ground, still holding his shin, asked me “Is everything all right miss?” When our eyes met, the sight of his soft blue eyes melted what little anger I had left. I replied that I was fine and even blushed a little . His smile was bright, his eyes shining with peace as they took in the surroundings. He apparently had seen most of what had occurred, but was still concerned about me. That thought alone was nice.
After seeing that all was well, he resumed his reading at the table. I moved away from the three men as two of them helped the third to his feet. He was to have a bit of a limp for a while, Serves him right, I thought. My anger would dissipate over time though. I was never one for holding a grudge.
“Hi, mine if I join you?” I asked the young man.
He looked up, the wisps of a smile on his lips. He slid back his chair as he rose. “By all means, please.” He pulled up another chair for me. As I sat, I noticed an amused look in his eyes, one that held a thought just short of a laugh.
This man intrigued me a bit more now. I found his presence, warm and inviting. Not like any other man that I have met before. He noticed me looking at him, and it brought a slight blush to me, yet I could not take my eyes off him. His smile broadened now, bright as the afternoon sun overhead.
“What, what is it?” he asked innocently enough. And, I believed it about him. He didn’t realize how he affected me, and truthfully, neither did I.
“Just your eyes, almost a pure blue,” I spoke, my voice dropping to almost a whisper. For the first time in years, a shy spell decided to kick in at that precise moment.
“Oh, forgive my lack of manners, my name is Jason Walker” he spoke and held a hand out to me. It was at that moment, I decided I liked him.
“Sara Whitaker” I responded. He squeezed my hand gently, but firmly. His touch was nice as well. Softer than I would have expected for an outdoors man. The sun created differing shades of color in his hair, as a breeze swirled around us. He was handsome as well and a gentleman.
“Listen up people” the aircraft personnel spoke loudly, “Your baggage has been loaded, and its time for you to board as well.”
Jason and I gathered our things and headed for the plane. The couple were already on board, and the two gentlemen who were in discussions, climbed the small steps into the plane. I was inline behind the man with the sore shin and Jason behind me. We found our seats at the rear of the aircraft and got stowed and seated.
Just as the hatch was being closed, the engines were started, throwing up a rather large cloud of dust. My view out the small window was covered until we started to move. We rolled for about five minuets, until the pilot looked back into the cabin and said, “Everyone strapped in?” Several nods and a few replies were enough for him. We started the roll for take off. My first flight, and I was a little giddy, but not scared in the least.
The flight was suppose to be a little over three hours, so I pulled a book out to read. Jason, who was seated beside me, had dosed off about two minuets after takeoff. I just looked at the serene expression on his face then turned to my book for a while.
At some point in the next hour, I dosed off. I don’t recall too much why, but took it to the fact of the motion of the plane. What woke me though, was turbulence. It would have thrown me into the floor, if I was not seat belted in. Jason was a wake now as well. There were some rather dark storm clouds outside, punctuated with several lighting bolts.
We bounced and dropped as the flight continued. The co-pilot looked back into the cabin and spoke, “Everyone, hold on tight, if the storm gets worse, we may have to ditch.”
The young couple clutched each other, panic on their faces. The two in discussion, seemed un effected and continued their discussions, as if nothing were happening. “Whoa, what was that?” I called out to no one in particular. The plane was just hit on the right side and took a deep dip and began to bank to the right.
The co-pilot looked back and said, the wing was hit and we were going to ditch. He explained the best he could about the life vest, but had to cut the talk short to help the pilot control the plane. It was dropping at a faster pace now. I could see the sea and waves breaking on a beach to the right of us, the direction we were turning in.
The beach loomed ahead, daunting as it seemed, but what caught my attention was the boulders that also lined the beach. This, I thought, was going to be a rough landing, and began a silent prayer. It looked to me, as if we wouldn’t survive.