The tides changing only twice in twenty-four hours presented a great impediment to our exploration, and it was evening before we could again move onwards.

AUSTRALIAN CUCKOO.

Whilst waiting the tide, the note of a bird resembling the cuckoo broke the deep stillness that prevailed.  It was evening; all around was calm:  the wide extended plain dimly stretching away on every side, the waters as they imperceptibly swelled between the curving banks, the heavens in which the last rays of the sun still lingered, gilding the few clouds that hovered near the horizon.  A pleasing sadness stole over the heart as these familiar sounds—­the note of this Australian cuckoo, if I may venture to name a bird from its voice—­floated through the tranquil air.  Recollections of the domestic hearth, and the latticed window shaded with vines and honeysuckles, and the distant meadows, and glades, and woodlands, covered with the bursting buds of spring; and—­pervading all and giving a charm to all—­the monotonous but ever welcome and thrilling note of the cuckoo sounding afar off:  recollections of all these things, I say, rushed o’er each fancy, and bore us for a moment back in imagination to our island home.

DISCOVERY OF FLINDERS RIVER.

The more rapid flow of the tide and the announcement that there was now sufficient water for the boats to proceed, broke our reverie; and we were soon once more cleaving the moonlit reach.  I may here mention that this bird, and another with a more mournful cry, the same before spoken of up the Victoria River, were heard again at eventide.

Avoiding a large shoal, which threatened to arrest our further progress, by a narrow channel close to the west bank, we continued to pursue the upward course of this inlet or river—­we were yet uncertain what to call it—­in a general southerly direction; though the reaches were singularly tortuous, resembling the folds of a snake.  The depth was now only about one fathom, and our progress was much impeded by banks; but by the friendly aid of the moon we were able to proceed, and many of the sudden bends were revealed by the silvery stream of light it shed over the still waters as they lay between banks now overhung by mangrove thickets, now receding in plains dotted with gloomy clumps of gumtrees, as far as the eye, from our low position and by the imperfect light afforded, could reach.  As we advanced, the measured plash of the oars frightened from their roosting places in the trees, a huge flock of screeching vampires, that disturbed for a time the serenity of the scene by their discordant notes; and a few reaches further up, noisy flights of our old friends, the whistling-ducks, greeted our ears.  Their presence and cries were hailed with delight, not exactly because they gave rise to any romantic associations, but because they promised to recruit our victualling department, which had not been supplied with such dainties since leaving Disaster Inlet.  Had our taste resembled that of some of the natives of the western coast of Africa, the vampires would have answered our purpose.