When we arrived at Normanton we were in a sad plight from our rough experiences. The next day Bartholomew and myself were the only passengers on the coach for Croydon. Unusually heavy rain had fallen during the night, and the road was bad. We reached Creen Creek, half-way to Croydon, that evening. Here we met the coach from that place on its way to Normanton. The driver of this coach gave a bad account of the road ahead. It was decided that Bartholomew and the driver should ride, and pack the mail on horses to Croydon. Mr. Bartholomew arranged with the other driver to take me back to Normanton. The coach was full, and I had to sit on the splash board with my legs hanging over the two mules which were in the pole. We had not gone far before we got into a bog. The three horses in the lead were floundering so much that we had to take them out, but the mules stood quietly up to their bellies in the soft ground. The passengers were all males and turned to. By levering the wheels on to the cushions, we got the coach on hard ground again. This happened so often that I decided to walk on. I came upon a bullock team loaded with timber, bogged. With it was Fred Shaw, who at one time was connected with Cobb and Co., and who was taking the timber to Croydon for building. I offered my help to get the waggon out of the bog by assisting the driver on the off-side with a whip. We succeeded after some time, but not without the use of some language. In soft ground bullocks will stand up to their middle chewing their cud whilst a clear passage is being cut through for the wheels, and if once got to pull together they will invariably get through. Mules are practically the same, hence Cobb and Co. using them. The moment a horse loses his footing he commences to plunge about, and so turns the ground into liquid in which he has no footing. The coach camped at a wayside place that night. I walked on in the morning; the coach overtook me eight miles from Normanton, into which I rode, and was glad to reach the hotel and comfort once more. During the week spent in Normanton waiting the return of Mr. Bartholomew, and also the arrival of a steamer, I made the acquaintance of Mr. Forsyth, who was the resident manager for Burns, Philp and Co., and later on sat in Parliament for many years. At Thursday Island there was no jetty, so our steamer anchored out in the channel. Here Mr. (now Sir Robert) Philp joined us from a tour of inspection of the company's branches. He had not long before been returned at a bye-election for Musgrave. When leaving, he and I boarded the steamer in a boat belonging to the company, with a black crew dressed in white shirts, which gave them quite a picturesque effect. On reaching Cairns, Mr. Philp included me in his party to go by rail to Redlynch, the then terminus of the line. The construction of the line up the range towards the Barron Falls was then going on, but we were unable to view the Falls.