A
flat overhanging forehead, keen black eyes, a broad-rooted, unobtrusive
nose, a most capacious mouth, beard and whiskers thin and unkempt, and a
fierce-looking moustache, a head of hair which in boyhood days had
probably been a mass of crisp curls, but now shaggy tufts, 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
excitement 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.
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