The Confessions of a Beachcomber | Page 2

to the social vertebrates, and do not the instincts of the many rule? And
when an individual is fain to acknowledge himself a variant from the
type, and his characteristics or idiosyncrasies (as you will) to be so
marked as to impel him to deem them sound and reasonable; when,
after sedate and temperate ponderings upon all the aspects of voluntary
exile as affecting his lifetime partner as well as himself, he deliberately
puts himself out of communion with his fellows, does the experiment
constitute him a messenger? Can there be aught of entertainment or
instruction in the message he may fancy himself called upon to deliver?
or, is the fancy merely another phase of the tyranny of temperament?
We cannot always trust in ourselves and in the boldest of our illusions.
There must be trial. Then, if success be achieved and the illusion
becomes real and transcendental, and other things and conditions
merely "innutritious phantoms," were it not wise, indeed essential, to
tell of it all, so that mayhap the illusions of others may be put to the
test?
Not that it is good or becoming that many should attempt the part of the
Beachcomber. All cannot play it who would. Few can be indifferent to
that which men commonly prize. All are not free to test touchy
problems with the acid of experience. Besides, there are not enough
thoughtful islands to go round. Only for the few are there ideal or even
convenient scenes for those who, while perceiving some of the charms

of solitude, are at the same time compelled by circumstances ever and
anon to administer to their favourite theories resounding smacks,
making them jump to the practical necessities of the case.
Here then I come to a point at which frankness is necessary. In these
pages there will be an endeavour to refrain from egotism, and yet how
may one who lives a lonesome life on an island and who presumes to
write its history evade that duty? My chief desire is to set down in plain
language the sobrieties of everyday occurrences--the unpretentious
homilies of an unpretentious man--one whose mental bent enabled him
to take but a superficial view of most of the large, heavy and important
aspects of life, but who has found light in things and subjects homely,
slight and casual; who perhaps has queer views on the pursuit of
happiness, and who above all has an inordinate passion for freedom and
fresh air.
Moreover, these chronicles really have to do with the lives of two
people--not youthful enthusiasts, but beings who had arrived at an age
when many of the minor romances are of the past. Whosoever looks for
the relation of sensational adventures, exciting situations, or even
humorous predicaments, will assuredly be disappointed. Possibly there
may be something to interest those who wish to learn a few of the
details of the foundation of a home in tropical Australia; and to
understand the conditions of life here, not as they affect the man of
independence who seeks to enlarge his fortune, nor the settler who in
the sweat of his face has to eat bread, but as they affect one to whom
has been given neither poverty nor riches, and who has proved (to his
own satisfaction at least) the wisdom of the sage who wrote--"If you
wish to increase a man's happiness seek not to increase his possessions,
but to decrease his desires." Success will have been achieved if these
pages reveal candour and truthfulness, and if thereby proof is given that
in North Queensland one "can draw nearer to nature, and though the
advantages of civilisation remain unforfeited, to the happy condition of
the simple, uncomplicated man!"
In furtherance of the desire that light may shine upon certain phases of
the character of the Australian aboriginal, space is allotted in this book

to selected anecdotes. Some are original; a few have been previously
honoured by print. Others have wandered, unlettered vagrants, so far
and wide as to have lost all record of legitimacy. To these houseless
strangers I gladly offer hospitality, and acknowledge with thankfulness
their cheerful presence.
Grateful acknowledgments are due to Mr F. Manson Bailey, F.L.S., the
official botanist of Queensland, for the scientific nomenclature of trees
and plants referred to in a general way.
E. J. BANFIELD. BRAMMO BAY, DUNK ISLAND, November,
1906.
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