Coronavirus Lockdown Day Five – I taste the goat and decide to re-visit the wreck
It is as I suspected. Today is almost certainly not Friday and yesterday was not Thursday. In fact, it was
all a lurid dream brought on no doubt by remnants of that fever from which I am now mainly recovered. Or at least I think I am.
And now of course, my priorities have changed. I am intent on taking to the sea again and am determined to return to my native Largo come what may.
Meantime personal survival must be my focus.
And now of course, my priorities have changed. I am intent on taking to the sea again and am determined to return to my native Largo come what may.
Meantime personal survival must be my focus.
Alongside
my need for potable water I will need a supply of meat to provide sustenance
while I plan my escape from this island. And I now realise that the shooting of
the feral goat was at best a jerk reaction and I now regret not having tamed
and fattened the angry beast before firing that fatal shot.
The corpse
was at best thin and stringy. The meat was tough and my scurvy made chewing
difficult. In short, the goat was not up to expectations. But since all now done and
dusted, I cannot now make amends for my miscalculation other than to vow that next
time I shall do much better.
It is I
think now safe to venture over to the shipwreck, such as it is. The storm has largely subsided and the body of the captain is now consigned to the deep. As for the
ships mascot - a black dog named Malcolm, I cannot tell. Perhaps he is also overboard and in some watery grave.
The once splendid craft still sits stranded on the reef but now in tatters and
a mere shade of its former self. I am hopeful of obtaining further supplies from
amongst the wreckage. But will take a rain-check at dawn tomorrow
That single footprint in the sand still troubles me however and I now recall a scene from my fevered dream from some days ago when a man – a black man, perhaps a slave washed ashore from the shipwreck, screamed something which sounded very much like ‘Oh no, for Gods sake I beg you, please please don’t eat the other leg!’.
That single footprint in the sand still troubles me however and I now recall a scene from my fevered dream from some days ago when a man – a black man, perhaps a slave washed ashore from the shipwreck, screamed something which sounded very much like ‘Oh no, for Gods sake I beg you, please please don’t eat the other leg!’.
But I
could have misheard entirely. I shall perhaps sleep on it and report further in my journal in the morrow.
Duncan
Harley is a writer and blogger living in the Garioch. His books are available
from Amazon. Just search for Duncan Harley in the Amazon search box. Signed
copies are available @ Inverurie Whisky Shop.
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