Tropic Days

E. J. (Edmund James) Banfield

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• Publié par: phael
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 52
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tropic Days, by E. J. Banfield #3 in our series by E. J. Banfield Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the header without written permission. Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** **eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** *****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** Title: Tropic Days Author: E. J. Banfield Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7324] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on April 14, 2003] Edition: 10 Language: English *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TROPIC DAYS *** Produced by Col Choat TROPIC DAYS (1918) BY E. J. BANFIELD AUTHOR OF "THE CONFESSIONS OF A BEACHCOMBER" AND "MY TROPIC ISLE" "Peace and silence. . . combined with the large liberties of nature." De Quincey TO MY BROTHER BEACHCOMBERS; Professing, PractisingAUTHOR'S NOTE In my previous books the endeavour was to give exact if prosaic details of life on an island off the coast of North Queensland on which a few of the original inhabitants preserved their uncontaminated ways. Here is presented another instalment of sketches of a quiet scene. Again an attempt is made to describe—not as ethnological specimens, but as men and women—types of a crude race in ordinary habit as they live, though not without a tint of imagination to embolden the better truths. I thankfully acknowledge indebtedness to my friends Mr. Charles Hedley, of the Australian Museum (Sydney); Dr. R. Hamlyn-Harris, Director of the Queensland Museum; and Mr. Dodd S. Clarke, of Townsville, N.Q., for valuable aid in the preparation of my notes for publication. DUNK ISLAND.CONTENTS PART I—SUN DAYS. IN IDLE MOMENT ETERNAL SUNSHINE FRAGRANCE AND FRUIT THE SCENE-SHIFTER BRACE PLANTS SHADOWS "SMILING MORN" ANCESTRAL SHADE QUIET WATERS "THE LOWING HERD" BABBLING BEACHES THE LOST ISLE PART II—THE PASSING RACE. THE CORROBOREE THE CANOE-MAKER TWO LADIES—NELLY, THE SHREW; MARIA DANCES SOOSIE BLUE SHIRT THE FORGOTTEN DEAD EAGLE'S-NEST FLOAT NATURE IN RETALIATION "STAR RUN ABOUT" BLACKS AS FISHERMEN HOOKS NARCOTICS AND POISONS FLY-FISHING PART III—MISCELLANEA. PEARLS WHAT IS A PEARL? A PEARL IN THE MAKING STRANGE PEARLS PEARLS AND HIGH TRAGEDY SNAKE AND FROG PRATTLE THE BUSH TRACK THE LITTLE BROWN MAN UP AND AWAY "PASSETH ALL UNDERSTANDING" TIME'S FINGER THE SOUL WITHIN THE STONE LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS AT HOME ON THE TROPIC STRAND "DEBIL-DEBIL" NATURE'S PUZZLE: FIND THE BIRD ORCHID (PHAIUS GRANDIFOLIUS) ORCHID (BULBOPHYLLUM BAILEYI) A SPIDER CRAB A SPIDER CRAB DISGUISED CASUARINAS TOURNEFORTIA ARGENTA MACARANGA TANARIUS UMBRELLA TREE SHADOWS SUN-SALUTED TREE FERNS "THE LOWING HERD" PERFECT HAPPINESS GIGANTIC OYSTER (OSTREA CRISTA GALLI) SANDSPIT SWIRL GLOOM AND GLEAM COWRIES "SOOSIE'S" TYPE TAPES LEAF VARIATIONS (FICUS OPPOSITA) TYPICAL FORM RIGHT HAND TOP CORNER TELLINA A SHELL COLLECTION TRITON DOMESTIC DUTIES PEARL-ENTOMBED FISH AND RACEMOSE PEARL CATTIERS PEARL-IMPRISONED CHITON TWO STRANGE PEARLS TWO BUBBLE SHELLS PEARL JOSSES WHITE APPLE (EUGENIA CORMIFLORA) CYCADS DESERTED CYCAD AND PALMS WIND-TORMENTED FIG-TREE THE IDLE OCEANPART I—SUN DAYSIN IDLE MOMENT "'Are you not frequently idle?' 'Never, brother. When we are not engaged in our traffic we are engaged in our relaxations.'"—BORROW. On the smooth beaches and in the silent bush, where time is not regulated by formalities or shackled by conventions, there delicious lapses—fag-ends of the day to be utilised in a dreamy mood which observes and accepts the happenings of Nature without disturbing the shyest of her manifestations or permitting 'the-mind to dwell on any but the vaguest speculations. Such idle moments are mine. Let these pages tell of their occupation. As the years pass it is proved that the administration of the affairs of an island, the settled population of which is limited to three, involves pleasant though exacting duties. It is a gainful government—not gainful in the accepted sense, but in all that vitally matters—personal freedom, absence of irksome regulations remindful of the street, liberty to enjoy the mood of the moment and to commune with Nature in her most fascinating aspects. Those who are out of touch with great and dusty events may, by way of compensation, be the more sensitive to the processes of the universe, which, though incessantly repeated, are blessed with recurrent freshness. The sun rises, travels across a cloudless sky, gleams on a sailless sea, disappears behind purple mountains gilding their outline, and the day is done. Not a single dust-speck has soiled sky or earth; not the faintest echo of noisy labours disturbed the silences; not an alien sight has intruded. What can there be in such a scene to exhilarate? Must not the inhabitants vegetate dully after the style of their own bananas? Actually the day has been all too brief for the accomplishment of inevitable duties and to the complete enjoyment of all too alluring relaxations. Here is opportunity to patronise the sun, to revel in the companionship of the sea, to confirm the usage of beaches, to admonish winds to seemliness and secrecy, to approve good-tempered trees, to exchange confidences with flowering plants, to claim the perfumed air, to rejoice in the silence— "Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach, Which pries not to th' interior." How oft is the confession that the fullest moments of life are achieved when I roam the beaches with little more in the way of raiment than sunburn and naught in hand save the leaves of some strange, sand-loving plant? Then is it that the individual is magnified. The sun salutes. The wind fans. The sea sighs a love melody. The caressing sand takes print of my foot alone. All the world might be mine, for none is present to dispute possession. The sailless sea smiles in ripples, and strews its verge with treasures for my acceptance. The sky's purity enriches my soul. Shall I not joy therein? Though he may be unable to attain those moments of irresistible intuition which came to Amiel, when a man feels himself great like the universe and calm like a god, one may thrill with love and admiration for Nature without resigning sense of superiority over all other of her works or abating one jot of justifiable pride. Even in tropical Queensland there is a sense of revivification during the last half of August and first of September, and the soul of man responds thereto, as do plants and birds, in lawful manner. Perhaps it is that the alien dweller in lands of the sun, when he frisks mentally and physically at this sprightly season, is merely obeying an imperative characteristic bred into him during untold generations when the winter was cruelly real and spring a joyful release from cold and distress. The cause may be slight, but there is none to doubt the actual awakening, for it is persuasive and irresistible. The lemon-trees are discarding the burden of superfluous fruit with almost immoderate haste, for the gentle flowers must have their day. Pomeloes have put forth new growth a yard long in less than a fortnight, and are preparing a bridal array of blooms such as will make birds and butterflies frantic with admiration and perfume the scene for the compass of a mile. The buff-and-yellow sprays of the mango attract millions of humming insects, great and small. Most of the orchids are in full flower, the coral-trees glow, the castanospermum is full of bud, loose bunches of white fruit decorate the creeping palms, and the sunflower-tree is blotched with gold in masses. The birds make declaration of attachment for the season. Great trees, amorous birds, frail insects, perceive the subtle influence of the season, and shall not coarse-fibred man rejoice, though there be little or nothing to which he may point as special evidence of inspiration? He may feel the indefinable without comprehending any material reason why. He may confess, although there is but a trifle more sunshine than a month ago—and what influence a trifle where there is so much—and scarcely any difference of temperature, that Nature is insisting on obedience to one of her mighty laws—the law of heredity. Why, therefore, refrain from justifying the allusion? Why persist in declining the invitations of the hour? Far be it from me to do so. Is sufferance the cognizance of this Free Isle? All my days are Days of the Sun. All my days are holy. Duty may suggest the propriety of contentment within four walls. Inclination and the thrill of the season lure me to gloat over the more manifest of its magic. Be sure that, unabashed and impenitent, shall I riot over sordid industry during the most gracious time of year to hearken to the eloquence and accept the teachings of unpeopled spaces.Such is the silence of the bush that the silken rustle of the butterflies becomes audible and the distinctive flight of birds is recognised—not alone such exaggerated differences as the whirr of quail, the bustle of scrub fowl, and the whistle and clacking of nutmeg pigeons, but the delicate and tender characteristics of the wing notes of the meeker kinds of doves and the honey-eaters, and also the calculated flutterings of the fly-catchers. In the whistling swoop of the grey goshawk there is a note of ominous blood-thirstiness, silent though the destroyer has sat awaiting the moment for swift and decisive action