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 50
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.
Mickie is very proud of his well-conditioned spouse, "Jinny"--"Missus
Michael," as Mickie calls her when in the sportive vein--and Jinny, or
"Penti-byer," her maiden name, reciprocates the regard, and sees that the
dilly-bag, which does duty for the larder, is supplied with yams, nuts,
roots and shell-fish, Mickie being responsible for the fish--speared in
the lagoon at low tide--and the scrub-fowl eggs, and the ivory white
grubs, etc.
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