The river now took a south by west direction, for nearly two miles, a little narrower, but three fathoms deep throughout.  Towards the latter part the banks were fringed with mangroves of a small and singularly even growth, resembling a clipped garden shrubbery.  Our course again changed to south-east, entering the low range of hills bounding the south-eastern side of Whirlwind Plains.  It was long after dark when we reached so far.  We had passed the watering boats some distance further down on their way to the ship.  Our sudden meeting in the dark on the lonely river, had a singular and romantic effect.  Being anxious to join the gig, we pushed on, and at midnight were surprised by a loud call from Captain Wickham, who lay beneath the shadow of a high bank.  It was a strange sound, this English hail, to hear echoed in these wild hills, where only the shrill cry of the savage had been borne on the blast before!

Thunderstorm.

I was sorry to find, that the tide did not at present rise sufficient to admit the large boats into the fresh water, so that getting a load would have been a very long operation, had it not been for a tremendous fall of rain that followed a thunderstorm, deluging every pool, and at once affording the means of filling the casks.  This storm began at South-East and drew round by east to North-West, from which quarter it blew strong for an hour.  The torrents of rain lasted two hours, and cooled the air so rapidly, as in that time to reduce the thermometer from 92 to 82 degrees.  This change was so sudden, that it made those who felt it shiver as if it were the depth of winter, and rush into the river water to keep themselves warm.

November 4.

Both boats proceeded up the river at daylight.  We started from the end of Short Reach, trending East-North-East, and about four miles within the range of hills, on the South-East side of the Plains.  The first reach led us a mile and a half in a South-East direction, and at the end of it a flat of large boulders extended; across this we dragged the boats easily.  The river now took a turn from East-North-East to North, and at the end of a mile we came to another extensive flat, quite dry.  There was a deep pool below it, with a precipitous hill, 350 feet high, on the eastern side.  This we called Steep Head, and its singular dark cliffy face, frowning over the placid waters, gave an air of grandeur to the scenery.  Stretched out on the face of these cliffs, we left the skin of our friend the alligator, to be taken to the ship by the watering boats when they returned.

Shoals in the river.

There was now heavy work before us, with the thermometer at 93 degrees in the shade:  we had to drag the boats over the large flat that impeded our progress.  The way was made as smooth as possible, and plenty of rollers laid, but an unlucky stone found its way through the thin plank of the gig.  Captain Wickham acted as head carpenter in repairing the damage, which occupied so much time that it was dark before the boats were floated in the deep water beyond.  We dined on the bank, by the light of a lantern hung on a tree.  The tide at this place only rose two feet.