hi PAST CARDWELL 31 
brooke Island and the mainland there was not a ripple 
on the water. The little steamer steamed as close to 
shore as the swampy ground and tangled and distorted 
wind -beaten branches of the mangrove trees would 
allow. Fifty feet of water ebbs and flows here from the 
tide, leaving the sloping mud-banks covered with crabs 
and shell-fish. Hundreds of sea birds (patiently waiting 
for a meal) with heavy wings rose in a deafening 
uproar at the sound of the engines, and resumed their 
watch from the trees above, where numbers of pelicans 
were hatching their eggs on the very roughest of stick- 
nests. There was a constant plash in the water as 
the climbing perch dropped from the forks of the 
branches in every direction ; I had often heard of 
them, but had never, until now, seen them ; they were 
from three to six inches long. The tall dark trees of 
the jungle rose in the background, and threw their long 
shadows across the still waters, and away from the lee 
of the land there wasn’t a sound or a ripple on these 
mirror -like waters : they say they teem with fish, 
and that there is good shooting in the country all 
round. 
This strait between the mainland and the islands 
was like a chain of inland lakes, each without apparent 
outlet for 25 miles. We passed Cardwell, then a 
deserted -looking town, for, some years ago, a storm 
passed over it and swept away half the pier. The 
steamer was delayed here for an hour, and we went 
on shore and spent this time under the shade of two 
magnificent trees, whose roots almost grew into the 
water. We went also into Mourilyan Harbour, a 
narrow, awkward -looking passage with high rocks on 
both sides, and one, very large and threatening-looking, 
standing in the centre of the bar. The harbour inside 
is lovely, and the beautiful hills are clothed to the 
