In His Hands

Part 7 - Escape

Hannah came back to the jungle. Birdsong trickled through the trees. Far below, the whisper of the waterfall could be heard. She shivered, remembering that night. It felt like a lifetime ago. No wonder her mind had chosen to forget it. With wobbling limbs, she made her way down the rope ladder, and stumbled to the pool where she drank of the cool, clear water.

Now what? Now she knew the truth, was it any help? She was trapped here. Clearly, the slaves had left her here to die. Perhaps they didn't feel right taking the life of a young girl. They'd left her to fate, instead. But her life now teetered at the mercy of the elements.

In all the time she'd spent in the tree house, there hadn't been sight of a ship coming close enough to rescue her. What was she to do?

She sat up and thought about her choices.

Stay here. In a way, it felt like home. Fully immersed in jungle life, Hannah had found a freedom and a peace unknown in her former life. But sometimes the agony of being alone suffocated her.

Kill herself and end it all. If there was no escape, was there any point living as a jungle creature? It wasn't a new thought, by any means, but she lacked the conviction to carry it out. Wasn't suicide a mortal sin? Her faith didn't allow her to believe suicide was a way out. Her prayers meant nothing if she killed herself.

Escape. It would have to be by sea. Maybe she could make a raft. The tree house was constructed of wooden planks and nails, and she had a rope. And an ax if she needed more logs. She didn't know if she could make something decent enough to sail, but it wasn't as if she lacked the time to try.

What about some kind of canoe? Like the natives used. She could hollow out logs, somehow. Maybe burn them out.

But, say she got as far as making a seafaring craft where would she go? Her home was probably burnt to the ground. She didn't know how long she had been here. It could be anywhere between a few months and a year.

Could she make a new life somewhere else? Or should she try and avenge her father's death? Did she owe it to her father's township to go back to them and sort out his legacy?

Or would she die on the ocean bed?

Once again, the choices flew around Hannah's mind over and over. As was her habit, she calmed herself with prayer.

"Show me the way, Lord. Your way."

***

The canoe structure was nearly finished. In the end, Hannah had felt led towards attempting escape. Life here was half a life, and if she stayed much longer, she'd forget how to be human. The thought of living and dying here like an animal was tempting but felt like the coward's way out.

She spent the time coming up with a possible sea craft. She had found three large trees and managed to hack them down with an ax, a bit at a time. Then she carefully burnt out the middle of each trunk, leaving a hollow big enough to sit in or store things.

Hannah dismantled part of the tree house, saving the few nails. Using the lengths of rope, and the nails, and a rock for a hammer, she managed to lash the planks of wood and the three canoes together to form a hybrid raft-canoe craft.

The knots felt tight, and she wet them and tightened them again and again, until she was sure they held fast. She ventured on a short trip around the island in her craft, to test it was seaworthy. Nothing of interest could be seen in the thick jungle. The craft, thanks to her careful work, seemed sturdy.

Hannah created a sail out of palm fronds threaded together and a sharp stick, which she hammered into a knothole. And she fashioned two paddles out of woven palm leaves. The skills she had learnt when repairing the tree house roof came in useful.

It took a few months, and several more trips around the island, before she was satisfied she'd given herself the best chance of survival on the ocean.

***

One morning, a stiff breeze blew across the beach. Hannah stood on the shore, holding onto the raft-canoe with a length of rope as it bobbed in the shallows.

Her supplies were packed--dried fish, dried fruit, and the water skins she'd found in the tree house, now full.

Cat sat on the beach behind her, his tail swishing from side to side. He didn't like the water. Hannah would miss Cat immensely. Cat stared at Hannah with his big, yellow eyes, and she thought back to the first time he came out of the jungle. Her furry savior.

No words were needed between fellow survivors. Cat blinked his yellow eyes, long and slow, then turned and padded back into the jungle, tail held straight up in the air. He did not look back.

Hannah waded out to the craft, sat in the middle canoe, checked her supplies on both sides, and pushed off with the palm paddle.

Behind her, the island gradually disappeared into the distance, until it was a small speck on the horizon. A feeling of incredible loneliness and fear overcame her, as the blue sea spread around her with no sign of land.

The cloud patterns told her the weather should hold for some days. Surely that was time enough to find land or a ship? And where she landed, that would determine her next course of action.

If revenge was her duty, her craft would take her home. If a new life was her fate, the Lord would send her to a ship or new land. If the end was near ... so be it, a greater home awaited.

Hannah sailed on into the blue, softly singing to herself:

"The Lord my shepherd is,

I shall be well supplied;

since he is mine and I am his,

what can I want beside?"