27 
Eastward rolled the calm Pacific, visible from the Palm Islands in 
the south to the vicinity of Cooktown in the north. The white surf 
breaking on the Barrier Eeef was a long white line on the lovely 
azure of the slumbering ocean. The towering peaks of Hinchiubrook 
looked down on the cone-shaped islands of Kockingham Bay and the 
valley of the Herbert ; behind them the dark-blue serrated ridges 
of the Cardwell Eange. To the north Cairns nestled in calm seclusion 
on the shores of the beautiful bay, a w^hite oasis in the desert of blue 
haze. Green Island, Fitzroy, High Island, and the Pranklyns, were 
as emeralds set in the lapis lazuli of unruffled ocean, the bleached 
coral beaches girdling them with a white zone on which the dying 
waves expired in long ripples of snowy foam. Between us and the 
ocean was the valley of the Eussell, with its reed-covered plains and 
mysterious lakes, and the river winding in sinuous curves like a vast 
silvery serpent through the dense dark-green tropical jungle, down to 
where it joined the Mulgrave, and the united waters rushed together 
into the sea. North-east was the valley of the Mulgrave, ending in 
the beautiful plains beneath the long evening shadows of the cone- 
peaked Walsh Pyramid. From where the range dipped into the sea at 
Double Island, north of Cairns, away west to the hills on the head of 
the Grulf waters, and south to where the eye lost itself in distance, 
was a vast indescribable panorama of hills and valleys and mountains of 
every conceivable shape, and to the west the wavy sea of magnificent 
country on the Herbertou tablelands, the future garden of Australia, 
with its regular rainfall, rich scrub soil, and glorious climate. This site 
of the volcanic lakes was marked by their covering sheets of snow- 
white mist. In all the ravines along the face of the coast range were 
blocks of beautiful amber cloud, reposing there like white-winged birds 
weary of tossing to and fro in the combat of warring winds. Mount 
Sophia and the dark north peaks of the Bellenden-Ker stood facing us 
in gloomy grandeur, in that dread silence which is more terrible to 
the soul than the crash of thunder, the roar of breakers, or the diapason 
of the cannonade. South-west, immediately in front, stood the majestic 
form of Bartle Frere, divided from us by a chasm 4,000 feet in depth, 
and four or five miles across from peak to peak, a wild and dismal solitude 
peopled by the storms alone. Deep abysmal gorges, gloomy ravines, 
and caverned mountains dark as the realms of Pluto, grim rocks in 
unimaginable shape ; far down through the immeasurable grey void 
the subdued rush of falling water, weird echoes rising from the depths 
below as if one could hear " a march as of the earth-born Porms 
arrayed against the ever living gods !" and around and over all, in one 
dark green wide-spreading mantle, the wonderful iropical jungle, 
infinite in its shapes and hues, the robe of Nature woven with sun- 
bright colours in the looms of God ! And then there passed before us 
a scene such as we never saw before and may never see again. From 
behind Bartle Frere there came slowly drifting towards us a vast 
white sulphurous storm-cloud charged with thunder and lightning. 
It entered the abyss between us and Bartle Prere, hung suspended 
there at least 2,000 feet lelow where we stood, and we looked down 
from our lone tree-tops in voiceless amazement at a thunderstorm 
raging in uncontrolled madness far beneath. Lightning shot out 
in awful flashes downward and upward, followed by appalling thunder. 
Detached fragments of spectral cloud came drifting up from the storm 
and shot athwart the mountain top, rushing by us with a weird 
