i66 CONFESSIONS OF A BEACHCOMBER 



The flesh of a young dugong is sweet and tender, and 

 the blubber, dry-cured after the manner of bacon with 

 equal quantities of salt and sugar and finally smoked, quite 

 a delicacy. 



Not long since an opportunity was given of examining 

 the effects of a bullet on a dugong. We had harpooned a 

 calf perhaps a year and a half old, and as it rose to the 

 surface in the first struggle for freedom, I shot it, using 

 a Winchester repeating carbine, 25-35, carrying a metal 

 patched bullet. There was no apparent wound, and on the 

 second time of rising another bullet was lodged in the head, 

 causing instantaneous death. When the animal came to be 

 skinned, it was found that the first bullet had completely 

 penetrated the body, the tough, rubber-like hide so con- 

 tracting over the wounds of entry and exit as to entirely 

 prevent external bleeding. The fatal bullet had almost 

 completely pulverised the skull, the bones of which were 

 ivory-like in texture. The appearance of the skull might 

 have led to the conclusion that an explosive instead of a 

 nickel-plated bullet had been used, while if the first bullet 

 had not penetrated several folds of the intestines, no doubt 

 it would have caused the animal very little inconvenience. 



The dugong rises to the surface at frequent intervals 

 for air, and the ancients in the rounded heads of the mother 

 and her offspring fancied a resemblance to human beings, 

 who sought to lure the unwarj.' to their mansions beneath 

 the waves. Hence the scientific title "Sirenia" for the 

 family to which the dugong belongs. Unpoetical people 

 as the coeistal blacks of Queensland are, yet they were 

 among the few who had for neighbours the shy creatures 

 upon whose existence was founded the quaint and engag- 

 ing legends of the mermaid. 



But now we make prosaic bacon from the mermaid's 

 blubbery sides. And those long tresses which she was 

 wont to comb as she gloated over her comeliness in her oval 

 mirror and sang those alluring strains, so soothing, so sweet, 

 yet so deceiving — those wet and tangled locks, where are 

 they ? Is the whole realm of Nature becoming bald ? The 



