On one occasion I, together with five others, left the port of Cooktown in a small cutter at midnight, for the purpose of fishing at D Reef. The night was fine, a fresh breeze had sprung up, and the boat sped merrily on her way. Three of the party, however, succumbed to seasickness, which interfered greatly with the sport, and after remaining at anchor for some time without enticing any fish to leave their native element, we hoisted sail and ran for the harbour, about eight miles distant, to the great relief of the sick mariners. We then went for a cruise up the Endeavour River, landing on the right hand bank. The boat here grounded, and, as it would be impossible to get her off until the evening tide, I and two others of the party determined to leave the boat and work our way through the mangroves to St. Patrick's Creek, where we could hail a boat to ferry us across and take us on to Cooktown. But "_L'homme propose et le Dieu dispose_" was exemplified in this instance. We started without food or water, taking a single-barrelled gun in the event of meeting with any hostile or hungry natives. The fateful start was made at 1 p.m., and after tearing through the dense and sickly mangroves for some miles, with a burning sun overhead, and the miasma rising from the ground beneath, it was found impossible to break the barrier of mangroves which stood in front of us like a wall. After bruising our heads against the cruel trees, we retraced our steps, and after going some distance one of us ascended a tree to take bearings, when crash, crash, down came the tree with its living burden, who received a severe shaking, but was not much the worse for his mishap. After some more of this delightful travelling, with our hands and feet cut and bruised, and darkness beginning to creep round the horizon, we turned our backs on the fetid spot, and were fortunate in coming out upon a plain or flat, covered with grass and timber. Following this up we reached the river bank. Our thirst was burning. There was "water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink." It was quite salt. There was nothing else for it, but to lie down on the grass and resign ourselves to our fate. The night was clear and cool, the heavens above studded with countless stars, and a light breeze played in the trees. Occasionally might be heard the splash of an alligator as he glided from his slimy bed into the cold and gruesome river.