DROP DOWN THE RIVER.

December 1.

We slipped from our last anchor at daylight, and proceeded down the river.  After pirouetting through Whirlpool Reach, we got as far down as the flats fronting River Peak, above which we anchored near noon.  After having been shut up among rocky ranges for a month, the sight of the sea horizon was a novelty, and the cool, refreshing breeze, as it came sweeping over the unbroken expanse of waters, created in us very pleasing sensations.

Next morning we beat down the main channel, which was called the Queen’s, the deep water varying from five to nine fathoms being on the west side.  Some shoal patches of a quarter and two fathoms, lying midway between Observation Island, and the end of the long sand extending off its northern side, prevented our proceeding further.  The boats completed the survey of the western side of the channel in the afternoon:  the largest creek examined by Mr. Forsyth received his name.

REACH THE SEA.

December 3.

Dropping down the channel with a light air from the westward, and a boat in advance sounding, no impediment occurred after passing the sands extending off Observation Island, as a fine deep channel of six and eight fathoms followed the western side of Quoin Island, and the long sand stretching off its north end.  When we had cleared this the anchor was dropped in eight fathoms, and the boats were again employed in sounding.

That the Beagle was once more anchored outside all the banks—­to have touched on any of which, with the great strength of the tides that hurried us along would have been fatal—­was a great relief to all of us, especially to me, in whom Captain Wickham had placed so much confidence as to trust the ship to my guidance, whilst exposed to the dangers I have mentioned.

December 4.

Moved the ship within three miles and a half of the south extreme point of the river, the highest part bearing South 40 degrees West.  A party of us visited it, and, from a rather extraordinary sight we there beheld, it was called Turtle Point.

DEAD TURTLES ON THE SHORE.

Behind some very low scattered sandhills that form it, fronting a mangrove flat, we beheld great numbers of dead turtles, that seemed to have repaired thither of their own accord to die.  They were lying on their bellies, with their shells for the most part uninjured, though some were turned over, and showed other signs of visits from the natives.  A few skeletons of a large bustard* were also seen there, so that the place had quite the appearance of a cemetery, and reminded me of a spot on the River Gallegos in Patagonia, where the guanacos (a kind of llama) assemble to pay the debt of nature, and leave their bones to whiten the surface of the plain.  Never before, on any occasion, had we seen dead turtles in any similar position; how they could have got there was a mystery, unless we suppose them to have been thrown up by some