My native companions, being very agreeable and obliging fellows, were kind enough to send to their villages for the great fishing-nets, 30 yards long and 6 or 7 feet wide. When the nets arrived, the natives collected stones about the size of an orange, wrapped palm leaves round them, and then tied them to the edge of the net, until it was evenly weighted all along, at intervals of about 6 inches. They then lowered their net into the water, so arranging it as to form a half-moon, and, scrambling along the sides of the watercourse, they gradually drew the mesh towards them, until they reached the upper end of the pool, where natives, standing breast-high in the water, landed the fish, as they were pressed towards the bank, in large dip nets. Some of the fish jumped over the net, and some escaped down stream, and even managed to plunge over the weir, for they were strong enough to take a leap of 6 feet. We caught eight beauties, none under 2 lbs. in weight, and some up to 4 lbs. They were, as far as I could make out, a species of fresh-water mullet, and in the main stream of the St. Joseph similar fish, weighing as much as 15 lbs., are no uncommon catch. These fish are wonderfully provided by Nature with an appliance which helps them to combat the extraordinary current. At one moment you will see them being swept down resistlessly, but suddenly they shoot off into the quieter water and attach themselves to the rocks by a strong sucker near the mouth. There they hang just outside the current, their tails moving gently with the eddy; and when they have recovered their strength, they make another dash through the swifter waters, coming to anchor again when baffled—otherwise it would be impossible for them to stem the stream. The fish we caught that day made a most welcome addition to our larder, as they are delicious eating. [Illustration: FISHING WITH HAND-NET ON THE UPPER WATERS OF THE ST. JOSEPH RIVER. ] From a scientific point of view we did not gain much by our expedition to the St. Joseph River. Every day the skies were leaden, and during the whole time of our stay we saw no sun. Butterflies were scarcely more plentiful than they had been at Dinawa, and once, after a whole morning’s work, Harry had only secured two—fine specimens, no doubt, but even at that an insufficient reward for the time spent. Every night we kept the lamp going, but the moths were very scarce, although our camp was in the heart of the forest.