CHAPTER I 



The Beachcomber's Domain 



Two and a half miles off the north-eastern coast of 

 Australia — midway, roughly speaking, between the southern 

 and the northern limits of the Great Barrier Reef, that 

 low rampart of coral which is one of the wonders of the 

 world — is an island bearing the old English name of Dunk. 



Other islands and islets are in close proximity, a 

 dozen or so within a radius of as many miles, but this 

 Dunk Island is the chief of its group, the largest in area, 

 the highest in altitude, the nearest the mainland, the fairest, 

 the best. It possesses a well-sheltered haven (herein to be 

 known as Brammo Bay), and three perennially running 

 creeks mark a further splendid distinction. It has a super- 

 ficial area of over three square miles. Its topography is 

 diversified — hill and valley, forest and jungle, grassy combes 

 and bare rocky shoulders, gloomy pockets and hollows, 

 cliffs and precipices, bold promontories and bluffs, sandy 

 beaches, quiet coves and mangrove flats. A long V-shaped 

 valley opens to the south-east between steep spurs of a 

 double-peaked range. Four satellites stand in attendance, 

 enhancing charms superior to their own. 



This island is our home. He who would see the most 

 picturesque portions of the whole of the 2000 miles 

 of the east coast of Australia must pass within a few yards 

 of our domain. 



In years gone by. Dunk Island, " Coonanglebah " of the 

 blacks, had an evil repute. Fertile and fruitful, set in the 

 shining sea abounding with dugong, turtle and all manner 

 of fish ; girt with rocks rough-cast with oysters ; teeming 

 with bird life, and but little more than half an hour's canoe 

 trip from the mainland, the dusky denizens were fat, proud, 



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