It was the absence of his laboured, rattling breathing that alerted her to a change and when she tried to wake him his skin was cool to touch. For a moment she thought his fever had broken but then she saw his sightless eyes and with a choked off gasp realised the truth. She had to admit she wasn't surprised, the fetid odour from the seeping wound in his side a constant reminder of their predicament but she had prayed so hard for him, to not be left alone, it was almost a shock that God had not answered her prayers. Unsure what to do she left him where he was for the better part of the day until she realised that she couldn't sleep next to his corpse. Grunting with effort she dragged him out onto the beach and then, breathing heavily, flopped down onto the sand next to him. Glancing over at the body of her only friend she shuddered and then reached across to close his eyes, smoothing his dark curls from his forehead as an afterthought before she broke down weeping. It seemed that she should have run out of tears by now but they still kept coming, choking sobs of anguish, anger and terror. A few minutes had passed before she was able to compose herself, taking a deep breath and scrubbing at her face with one hand. She sniffed noisily and then went down to the water to splash some on her face, closed her eyes briefly and considered her situation. Ideally she would have buried him but having picked a spot further down the beach and digging for some time with her hands she was forced to admit defeat. She didn't have anything remotely resembling a shovel and the dry sand collapsed in on itself as quickly as she could dig. After half an hour she had only a small hole and the whole task was proving fruitless and frustrating. She sat back down on the sand again and stared out to sea until she noticed that the tide was going out. She scrambled quickly to her feet thinking hard. Sailors were buried at sea she knew so perhaps she should give William back to the sea, it seemed fitting. Laboriously she dragged him down the shore and into the surf, relieved to find that for the most part he floated, making her task considerably easier. Getting him past the breakers was a little harder but she managed it eventually, soaking her skirts once more in the process. Once past she gave him a hard push to send him on his way and watched as he drifted slowly out, the tide taking him further and further away.
Clasping her hands to her chest she prayed quietly, 'God, our Father, I entrust William into your hands. Today I thank you for William and for what he has given and received. Help me in my mourning and teach me to live for the living in the time that is left to me. Thank you for eternal life that can give light and joy to our days and years already here on earth. Amen.' She paused and then whispered, 'Thank you William for helping me to live, I am sorry I could not do the same for you.'
She bowed her head and silently prayed for the strength to go on in the face of her adversity. A last glance at William's receding corpse and she turned and made her way back up the beach, fervently hoping that he did not return on the morning tide. However, when he did not Sarah felt strangely bereft.
The next couple of days Sarah set about keeping herself busy and improving her living arrangements. Her first action was to do something about her water supply. She considered moving closer to the stream but was disinclined to leave the area that she had washed up in, vague logic assuming that the currents led there and anyone who might arrive would do so in that area. She had not yet given up hope of rescue. It was probably a fallacy but her shelter was here and she might not be able to tie the knots again to secure it without William's sharp direction, so she decided to remain where she was. She picked up the small cask and her basket and started down the beach towards the stream. Her plan was to fill the cask with water meaning she would only have to make the trip every few days and not twice a day for a meagre amount of water. What she had not counted on was the weight of the cask when she had filled it to the brim with water, scooping it in with her basket. She was perched on the edge of the stream heaving and grunting for some time before she admitted defeat, her innate stubbornness refusing to let her give up. Carefully she tipped small amounts of the water away until she could shift the recalcitrant cask, it was only about half full by this time but infinity more water tight than her basket. Her first few steps had her stumbling and spilling even more of the water so grumbling under her breath she went back and refilled. Her next attempt was considerably slower and more considered and she was relieved to find that once she got to the beach the sand smoothed the dragging somewhat. Still, by the time she returned to camp she was sweating profusely, the sticky trickle of sweat down her back making her itch and long for a cool bath. She had a few mouthfuls of water and then with a quick glance around the vicinity, not that she was really expecting to see someone, she began stripping off the remnants of her clothing, bodice first and then her stays. She scratched at her ribs through her chemise and enjoyed the sensation of freedom and relief from constriction, then turned her attention to her skirt and petticoats, pulling them all off as well, and placing her pockets, now also containing William's knife and tinder box carefully to one side. With her chemise providing her with the illusion of modesty she entered the sea allowing the cooler water to rinse away the filth of the last few days.
Once clean she walked back to her shelter and found her comb, sitting on the sand and laboriously brushing out the tangles and snarls that had accumulated. It took longer than she thought it would but the prosaic action was somehow soothing, however she silently berated herself when she realised how much of the day had gone. She was getting tired of her diet of solely fruit, not to mention the rather unpleasant side effect on her guts and had planned to try to find something more substantial for her dinner. She had fond memories of fishing trips with her brothers, her brother James solemnly explaining the best places to catch a monster fish. It amused her now to think of James parroting the words of his elders to his younger sister as if he were the fount of all wisdom, although at that age she had thought he was. They had spent many a day by the river, James and Henry teaching her how to shape a hook correctly and what was the best bait for each type of fish. They would tie the fishing lines to their toes and lie in the grass at the edge of the water hoping for a bite. Of course, Sarah never caught anything, her youthful restlessness would soon find her running around the meadow chasing butterflies or making daisy chains but she hoped she was a bit more patient now. She thought she remembered a few times Henry catching some sizable fish. She just hoped her memory did not deceive her.
She took out one of her five precious needles, inspected it for a time and then using a pair of rocks she had found in the shallows carefully tapped it into a hook shape. The rope she had chosen took a bit of time to unravel but eventually she had a good length of thin but reasonably strong cord. The threading of the needle she had not even considered and by the time she managed to pull the cord through she had nearly given up on the whole venture several times over. She gave a little crow of satisfaction and then looked up sharply. She had a sudden and unnerving feeling of being watched, like a whisper of breath against the skin of her neck. She stood and looked around but there was nothing and no-one there. Shaking her head at her whimsy she began pulling on one of her petticoats, tying them neatly at the side. The hat she had woven the day before was last to go on, secured with a wide strip cut from the bottom of one of her petticoats tied in a bow under her chin. She had no shoes, one having been lost in the wreck and the other stowed neatly with her other meagre possessions until she found a use for it.
She wandered down the beach towards the caves and rocky outcrop she could see at the end. She remembered that fish tended to accumulate in the shaded areas and hoped that she would find a suitable spot. Clambering over the rocks, her skirts hiked up to her knees to avoid tripping, she found a good, flat topped rock that jutted out into the sea enough for her purposes and settled down with her fishing line and her basket that contained some small pieces of fruit, the only thing she could think to use for bait. She attached a piece at securely as she could to her needle hook and dropped it down into the sea, the other end of the twine wrapped securely around her wrist, before settling down for a long wait. Several hours went by with no luck, the denizens of the ocean seemingly only inclined to nibble away at her fruit without eating the whole thing and catching themselves on the hook. She replenished the bait several times feeling that a proper bite was only a matter of time and so it proved. She gave a little squeal when finally there was a significant tug on her line and tightened her grip as something began to pull in earnest. But even as she started to haul in the line it suddenly went slack and when she pulled the rest in there was only the frayed end and no hook. She stared at the rope in dismay, feeling suddenly deflated and anxious. She had only five needles, four now, and no fish. The urge to weep was intense but she held it determinedly at bay, she was normally so controlled and composed but the events of the last few days seemed to have broken something in her and she was rapidly turning into a watering pot. Throwing the remnants of her line in the basket with the remaining fruit she got up and muttering to herself about the contrary nature of fish, her line and life in general she started back down the beach, morosely contemplating another meal of fruit.
When she was about half way back to her shelter a crab sitting motionless just above the water line caught her eye. She got out her knife and approached as stealthily as she could. Still the crab remained. She was practically standing on top of it, knife poised, when she realised it was already dead. Feeling slightly foolish but pleased with her find nonetheless she poked it with the point of her blade, dead indeed. Picking it up gingerly she gave it a little sniff, it smelled fresh, and at this juncture she wasn't inclined to be fussy. Trying not to think about buttered crabs she had eaten at dinner parties in England, the memory of the rich dish making her mouth water uncontrollably, she placed the crab in her basket and trotted back to her shelter. Quickly she piled a bit more of her stack of dried driftwood on to get the smouldering remains of her fire going again. Her lack of cooking pot was a problem she had been considering for several days, her solution was two flat rocks she had found on the beach heated in the embers of her fire. She flipped one stone rather ineptly with a couple of branches of green wood stripped from a nearby tree and placed the crab onto in where it sizzled satisfyingly. By the time she was sure it was cooked the shell was scorched and blackened and she had to wait, stomach rumbling audibly, until it was cool enough to touch. She cracked the shell and proceeded to greedily devour the contents, sighing with pleasure at the taste and the break from her monotonous diet. It wasn't quite the buttered crab of her previous life but it wasn't bad.
It was only later in the night when her heaving stomach dragged her from her shelter to vomit copiously at the edge of the jungle she realised that perhaps it hadn't been as fresh a crab as she had thought. Clutching at her cramping guts she groaned before another wave of nausea swept over her and another revolting mix of half-digested crab and fruit fought its way back up her throat. By the time she had stopped being sick she was limp and exhausted and the only thing she could manage to do was drag herself back to her shelter and pray that there was no further recurrence. The morning found her still nauseous but free from vomiting, however her heart sank when she remembered that she was going to need to refill her water cask. She didn't have the energy to walk to the stream, never mind dragging the cask full of water back with her but her mouth was parched and she knew she would need to drink to replenish her body. Wondering if perhaps there was a small amount still left with which she might moisten her mouth she crawled over to the cask, which to her surprise was half full of water. She blinked, confused, she could have sworn it was almost empty. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth and passed the point of really caring she gratefully scooped up a mouthful of water. She cringed a bit as the first of the water hit her stomach but aside from some violent churning she didn't seem to be inclined to bring anything back up so she carried on drinking. When she had finished she crawled back to her bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.