288 CONFESSIONS OF A BEACHCOMBER 



matted and uneven, altogether a shockingly repulsive 

 physiognomy, and yet an " honest Injin " in every respect, 

 and one who would always look on the happy side of life, 

 but for twinges of neuralgia — " monda " he calls it — which 

 rack his head and face with pain. I saw only the peaceful 

 side of Mickie's nature, and therefore this chronicle will be 

 unsensational as well as imperfect. There is a tradition 

 that the Palm Island blacks are of a milder, less bellicose 

 disposition, than those of the mainland opposite. Many 

 years ago when a party of bushmen, fresh from the excite- 

 ment and weariness of the Gilbert rush, reposed for a few 

 days on the soft grey sand of Challenger Bay, the spot was 

 invaded by a band of mainland natives. In the early dawn 

 the peace-loving Palm Islanders awoke the friendly whites 

 with the news that a " big fella mob " was coming across in 

 canoes. Under ordinary circumstances they would have 

 fled to the jungle-covered hills until the invaders had 

 retired, but the knowledge that the whites had a couple of 

 guns, and a good supply of shot, inspired a high degree of 

 temporary courage. Possibly the extraordinary courage of 

 the islanders in thus awaiting the attack put the invaders 

 on their guard, for they would not approach nearer than 

 go yards. A closer range was desired, for there was a 

 special barrel loaded with coarse salt, and the invaders 

 were innocent of clothing. However, a round of duck-shot 

 had some effect, though the blacks who escaped the pickling 

 slapped themselves in a defiant and grossly-contemptuous 

 manner. Each who did so, however, grieved, for another 

 round was fired, and each hero must have depended upon 

 the good offices of his brother in distress in picking out the 

 pellets. This is said to be the last occasion on which the 

 placid Palm Islanders saw an enemy land upon their shores. 

 Mickie did not remember the invasion, or if he did so, he 

 was not anxious to demonstrate that his ancestors were 

 not cast in the heroic mould. Probably all recollection 

 of the escapade is lost to the natives of the Palms, and I 

 am driven to accept the white man's uncorroborated 

 version of it. 



