128 
COOKTOWN 
CHAP. 
plaintive notes of an .ZEolian harp, which rose and fell 
in a gentle cadence. Some said it was a musical 
fish, others that the sounds came from a shell -fish. 
The sounds seemed stationary, but stopped at in- 
tervals. 
If we suffered torments from mosquitoes in daylight, 
no language can describe what we endured from them 
here at night. They came like a legion of devils, a 
whirlwind of flying needles in countless thousands, and 
allowed us no truce. But a shift of wind scattered them 
at last, and a sudden breath of Aiolus sent us bounding 
away from the shore, and the boat skimmed through the 
water like a slender sea swallow, dipping its bows, then 
scudding with outstretched wings over the silver-tipped 
waves. 
The physical uneasiness of sitting bolt upright now 
became so absorbing that I had to try and sleep stretched 
on the top of the cabin. From a half-doze, half-dream, 
I started and gave such a spring that my companion the 
steersman only just caught me from going overboard. 
Poor fellow, he was himself drowned on the return journey 
by falling from the rigging into the water. A shark must 
have taken him, for he never rose again. He had an 
infinitude of quiet humour and old-world stories. 
After my last escape I tried the top of the luggage, 
but a stone jar under my shoulder gave way, and I 
fell through space on top of a pig. Then I grew 
pathetic over my miseries, and lay sleepily there 
watching the shimmer and glint on the waves, the 
countless stars in the black vault above, the foam as 
it hissed from the sides of our boat, and, as the gray 
day broke, the birds that helter-skelter rose chattering 
from their roosts on the islands of rocks. It was half- 
past three in the morning when we anchored close to 
the shore. I climbed over four other boats to the pier. 
