The Confessions of a Beachcomber | Page 4

time in the
dead-and-alive duty of sitting, to the tiny sun-bird of yellow and purple,
which flits all day among scarlet hibiscus blooms, sips nectar from the
flame-tree, and rifles the dull red studs of the umbrella tree of their
sweetness.
The stalled ox is not here, nor the fatted calf, nor any of the mere
advantages of the table; but there is the varied harvest of the sea, and all
the freshness of an isle clean and green. The heat, the clatter, the stuffy
odours, the toilsomeness, the fatigue of town life are abandoned; the

careless quiet, the calm, the refreshment of the whole air, the tonic of
the wide sea are gained. From the moment the sun illumines our hills
and isles with glowing yellow until it drops in fiery splendour suddenly
out of sight leaving a band of gleaming red above the purple western
range, and a rippling red path across to Australia, the whole realm of
nature seems ours to command.
OFFICIAL LANDING
Dunk Island was not selected haphazard as an abiding place. By
camping-out expeditions and the cautious gleaning of facts from those
who had the repute of knowing the country, useful information had
been acquired unobtrusively. We were determined to have the best
obtainable isle. More than one locality was favourably considered ere
good fortune decided to send us hither to spy out the land. A camp-out
on the shore of then unnamed Brammo Bay--a holiday-making
party--and the result of the first day's exploration decided a
revolutionary change in the lives of two seriously-minded persons. A
year after, a lease of the best portion of the island having been obtained
in the meanwhile, we came for good.
Wholly uninhabited, entirely free from traces of the mauling paws of
humanity, lovely in its mantle of varied foliage, what better sphere for
the exercise of benign autocracy could be desired? Here was virgin
country, 20 miles from the nearest port--sad and neglected Cardwell cut
off from the mainland by more than 2 miles of estranging ocean, and
yet lying in the track of small coastal steamers--here all our pet theories
might serenely develop.
But it was an inauspicious landing. With September begin the
north-east winds, and we had an average experience that afternoon.
Was it not a farce--a great deal more than a farce: a saucy, flippant
imposition on the tender mercies of Providence--for an individual who
could not endure a few hours of tossing on the bosom of the ocean
without becoming deadly sick, to imagine that he possessed the
hardihood to establish a home even in this lovely wilderness? We had
tents and equipment and a boat of our own, a workman to help us at the
start, and two faithful black servants.

The year before, we had made the acquaintance of one of the few
survivors of the native population of the island--stalwart Tom.
Although our project and preparations had been kept fairly secret, he
had overheard a casual reference to them; had made a canoe, and
paddling from island to island with his gin, an infant and mother-in-law,
had preceded our advent by a week. His duties began with the
discharging of the first boatload of portable property. He comes and
goes now after the lapse of years.
They spread out tents and rugs for the weak mortal who had greatly
dared, but who, thus early, was ready to faint from weariness and
sickness. They made comforting and soothing drinks, and spoke of
cheery things in cheery tones; but the sick man refused to be comforted.
He wished himself back, a participator in the conflicts of civilisation,
and was fain to cover his face--there was no wall to which to turn--and
fancy that the most dismal sound in the universe was the surly
monotone the north-easter harped on the beach. We reposed that night
among the camp equipment, the sick man caring for naught in his
physical collapse and disconsolation.
But the first morning of the new life! A perfect combination of
invigorating elements. The cloudless sky, the clear air, the shining sea,
the green folded slopes of Tam o' Shanter Point opposite, the
cleanliness of the sand, the sweet odours from the eucalypts and the
dew-laden grass, the luminous purple of the islands to the south-east;
the range of mountains to the west and north-west, and our own fair
tract-awaiting and inviting, and all the mystery of petted illusions about
to be solved! Physic was never so eagerly swallowed nor wrought a
speedier or surer cure.
Feebleness and dismay vanished with the first plunge into the still
sleepy sea, and alertness and vigour returned, as the incense of the first
morning's sacrifice went straight as a column to the sky.
Over half a century before, Edmund B. Kennedy, the explorer, landed
on the