260 TROPIC DAYS 



and traced a chart of the locality with a grimy fore- 

 finger. 



"That fella reef sit down 'nother side Red Hill along- 

 side mainlan'. No deep water. Plenty mangrove 

 my word full up pigeon. Reef him little fella. Full 

 up tit fish, calla-calla, mainlan' black. Fill'um up 

 boat. Take'm alonga Thors'dilan'. Come back. 

 Fill'm up one time more. Too much. Full up." 



"The same old yarn. I've been all over that ground. 

 There's no reef there, and if there had been it would 

 have been found and skinned years ago," said dogmatic 

 Billy, with a sneer. 



"I see," said Jim; "the season's over as far as you 

 are concerned. You can go where you like. I'm sick 

 of it now." 



The next morning saw the Nautilus scudding before 

 a strong south-east breeze, Jim, true to his name, 

 sulky as a toad-fish. The good wind harped on the 

 rigging as Mammerroo tirelessly lagged after the ever 

 evasive tune. Jim heard him not. Billy, in a rage, 

 was inclined to bundle the boy and his battered instru- 

 ment overboard, for he saw in the race north nothing 

 but a waste of time. 



Three days later the Nautilus anchored to the north 

 of Red Hill under the lee of a low mangrove island 

 uproarious with nutmeg pigeons. 



All hands turned out to prospect, with Mammerroo 

 as pilot. He was not long in locating the reef a for- 

 gotten and neglected patch that teemed with fish. 

 Beche-de-mer lay in shallow water, thick and big, by 

 the ton. The reef, with its clear sandy patches, seemed 

 to be the gathering-ground, the metropolis, the parlia- 

 ment of the curious creature which makes feeble eddies 

 with its distended gills, moves with infinite and myste- 

 rious deliberation, and which, though it may be two 



