Then, when neither could make another effort: "Look!" gasped Fred.
There was an island in mid-stream below where we must have crossed.
The stream was straight, and from where we stood we could see more than half a mile of alluvial mud with an arm of the river on either side.
The mud was white, not black--so white that it dazzled the eyes to look at it.
"Know what it is ?" Fred panted.
We did not know, and it was no use guessing.

It looked like burned lime, or else the secretions of about a billion birds; and there were no birds to speak of.
"Crocodile eggs!" said Fred.
We did not believe that.

Even Brown did not believe it.

There was no time to spare, but Brown out of curiosity agreed, so we took the absurd canoe and poled down to investigate.

As we came nearer the solid white broke up into a myriad dots, and Fred's tale stood confirmed.
They were as long as two hens' eggs laid end to end, or longer.