They represent the paltriest prizes. in
the lottery that no Government, however paternal, may prohibit, being
mere "baroque," fit only to be pounded up as medicine for some Chinaman
luxuriously sick. Yet there is a chance. Some day the great prize may be
drawn. And then, "Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook?" The
Beachcomber may be perverted into--well, the next best on the list. Yet
they say in pitiful tones, those who rake among the muck of the streets,
"What a dull life! What a hopeless existence! He is out of it all!" Yes,
with a gladsome mind, and all its sounds, if not forgotten, at least
muffled by music, soft as dawn, profound as the very sea.
Kennedy Shoal has been mentioned incidentally. Some miles further north
are two bare sandbanks. Prior to the year 1890 they were occupied by a
BECHE-DE-MER fisherman, whose headquarters were on the chief of the South
Barnard Islands--some 12 or 14 miles to the north. In fateful March of
that year a cyclone swooped down on this part of the coast with the
pent up fury of a century's restraint. The enormous bloodwood-trees torn
out by the roots on Dunk Island testified to the force and ferocity of
the storm.
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