"I'm thirsty;" and they both lay down to drink from a pool of the loveliest nature, so clear was the water, so beautiful the ferns and other growth that overhung.
But at the first mouthful both rose, spitting it out, and ready to express their disgust.
"Why, it's bitter, and salt, and physicky as a mineral spring," said the major.
"And it's quite hot," said Mark.

"Ugh! what stuff!" It was disappointing, for they were both suffering from thirst; but it was evident that to penetrate the jungle from where they stood would be next to impossible, so craggy and rocky was the ground, while, as after struggling on for about a couple of hundred yards, they found the water grown already so hot that it was almost too much for their hands, they concluded that if they persevered they would find it boiling--an interesting fact for a student of the wonders of nature, but an unsatisfactory matter for a thirsty man.
"What a place for a botanist!" cried the major.

"We could fill our bags with wonders; but a good patch of Indian corn would be the greatest discovery we could find now, for, Mark, my lad, we shall find that we want flour in some form." "Is Indian corn likely to grow here ?" "If some kind friend who has visited this shore has been good enough to plant some--not without." They stood gazing for a few minutes at the wondrously fertile growth of the plants whose roots found their way to the warm stream, and whose leaves received the steamy moisture, and then climbed slowly back.
"We must explore inland some day, Mark, and see if we can find a hot spring of good water fit to cook in.

I must say I should not like my cabbage boiled in that." "That's better," said Mark as they reached the sand once more, and stood panting.
"Yes; the other's `pad for the poots,' as a Welsh friend of mine used to say.

Now, then, forward to find fresh water and birds.