Just as in the spring a young man's fancies lightly turn to thoughts of
love, so at the beginning of each new year in tropical Queensland the
minds of the weather sages become sensitive and impressionable. All the
tarnish is rubbed off the recollection of former ill manners on the part
of the weather, when about the middle of January the wind begins to
bluster and to abuse good-natured trees, shaking off twigs and whirling
branches like a tipsy bully striving to dislocate a weak man's arm at the
shoulder. We remember dubious events all too vividly when the recitation
of them does not make for mutual consolation.

In January, 1909, for two days the sea burst on the black rocks of the
islet in the bay in clouds of foam. It was all bombast, froth and
bubble, or rather a gentle back-hander, for the cyclone was playing all
sorts of naughty pranks elsewhere. But why were we apprehensive? In
disobedience to the scriptural injunction, we had observed the clouds and
the birds. Twice a flock of lesser frigate-birds, those dark, fish-tailed
high-fliers which are for ever cutting animated "W's" in the air with
long lithe wings--had appeared. Seldom do they come unless as harbingers
of boisterous weather. On each recent occasion they had been absolutely
trustworthy messengers. Watching them soaring and swooping, we said one
to another: "Behold the cyclone cometh!" But it did not. With a
passing flick of its tail it passed elsewhere.

Altogether, however, we had very queer weather and two or three "rum"
sorts of nights. On the 19th the morning was calm, the sky brilliantly
clear. A north-east breeze sprang up at noon. Deep violet thunder-clouds
gathered in the west, and, muttering and grumbling, rolled across the
narrow strait slowly and sullenly. Australia scowled at our penitent
Island, threatening direful inflictions--lightning, thunder, and an
overwhelming cataclysm. Behind that frowning Providence there was a