126 TROPIC DAYS 



vindictive and envious foes than this helpless old savage 

 who possesses nothing save a grimy shirt and the frag- 

 ments of a blanket ? 



Cassowary, an old man when I first met him, was 

 of the sort which does not make friends with white 

 men. Silent, resolute, reserved, a man apart, he dis- 

 dained the race-shattering language his fellows hastened 

 to acquire. His pidgin English, limited to a few words, 

 was almost as unintelligible as his own rude tongue. 

 Once I landed on the beach which was his favourite 

 resort, and as the anchor slipped into the sea, smoke 

 puffed and drifted from the camp and the lonesome 

 man's dogs barked; but by the time the camp was 

 reached the smell of the fire had gone, and all tracks 

 had been obliterated as if by the efficient touch of the 

 wind. The heat of the sand at the entrance of the dome- 

 shaped humpy revealed the site of the covered embers, 

 and the rest was silence. 



At the back of the humpy, concealed by carelessly 

 disposed bark and grass, was a bark canoe which Casso- 

 wary, fisherman and oyster-eater, was never without. 

 In those days he deserved the reputation of being an 

 unrivalled maker of canoes which, during the first few 

 weeks of their prime, were sound, neat of appearance, 

 quite seaworthy, though of small dimensions and ex- 

 ceedingly light. Others might be expert fishermen 

 and skilful in more exacting sport of turtle and dugong 

 catching, but all acknowledged his special superiority. 

 Though custom had made him a king, Nature had de- 

 signed him for a canoe-maker, while with that invincible 

 irony with which she rebukes the self-esteem and baffles 

 the ambitions of mortals, she discounted her gift by the 

 bestowal of frank distrust of the sea. He was so 

 impelled to the exercise of the one talent that during 

 youth and manhood his chief occupation and never- 



