one's thoughts home. Higher up the river there were silent green backwaters, and soft sandy fore-*shores, where little pink bivalve shells were lying. A big hotel dominated the neighbourhood of the little station, and a young man and woman, faultlessly attired in bathing costumes that would have done credit to a French watering-place, were picking their way daintily down the steep slopes to the river, giving the oddest note of incongruity to the wildness of the place. We weighed anchor as soon as the tourist train brought us back to the wharf.
We now entered on what proved to be the most interesting part of our journey, for we kept farther inshore, and the coast became continually more enchantingly beautiful and more full of interest. It was a time of halcyon days and balmy nights. The ship's company were very young and gay and musical. In the starlit darkness of the tropical evenings they sang and played charmingly. The Marconi-man was a violinist, the supercargo had a fine baritone,—the very name of supercargo suggests the atmosphere of Captain Marryat's novels, an atmosphere of adventure. The night we left Cairns the captain had some of the deck lights turned out, because they made steering more difficult. He said that on a rainy night he was obliged to anchor, for the coral sea is here often
