Another method by which the blacks secure fish in pools left by the receding tide is to scrape off the inner bark of the “Koie-yan” (FARADAYA SPLENDIDA) with a shell and spread it evenly on the bottom of a shallow pit in the sand, and place thereon stones made hot in the fire, or they may rub the powdered bark on hot stones.  While still warm the stones are thrown into the water, when the fish become helpless.  They die if left in water so impregnated; while the effects of the Derris SCANDENS is merely temporarily soporific.  How blacks became acquainted with this process of speedily extracting the toxic principle of the FARADAYA, and as speedily dissipating it, is unknown.  One generation passes on the knowledge to the other without explanation, and it is accepted as a matter of course, without comment or inquiry.

A CAVERN AND ITS LEGEND

Caves and caverns in the rocks and the tops of the mountains are not favourite resorts of blacks.  According to them nearly every mountain has its mysterious lagoon, which none but old men have visited, but which teems with fish and waterfowl.  When direct inquiries are made as to the precise locality of any particular lagoon, invariably inconclusive evidence is tendered.  “Old man, he bin see ’em;” and, the old man is never forthcoming for cross-examination.  The origin of the romance, no doubt, is to be attributed to the desire of the blacks to account to themselves for the water which glitters on the face of the rocks far up the mountains.  One boy gave an exceptionally graphic description of a lagoon on the top of one of the highest peaks of Hinchinbrook Island, in which all manner of sea fish revelled.  When doubt was expressed as to the possibility of sea-water and sea-fish getting up so far “on top” and it was suggested—­“What you think, that old man humbug you?” “Yes,” was the ready response; “me think that old fella no tell true.  Him humbug.”  Some blacks possess something wiser than knowledge.

On the northern aspect of Dunk Island, where the sea swirls about the buttresses of the hills, there is a cavern only approachable by boat.  The mouth is overhung by vines and ferns, and through the moss which covers the lintel water trickles and splashes with pleasant sound.  When the bronze orchid lavishly decorates the rocks with its crinkled flowers of dull gold, the entrance has a specific character; and quite another when the glossy leaves of the umbrella-tree form the relief and its long radiating spikes of dull red, bead-like flowers attract the brilliant sun-bird, and big blue and green and red butterflies.  Even when the sea is lustrous the cavern, with all the artfulness and grace of the decorations of its portals, is a black blotch—­the entrance to something unknowable and unknown—­at least to the blacks.  None had ever ventured near it and they never will.  They tell you how it came to be made.  How a long,