CHAPTER II.

THE LAKE OF PITCH.

Heretofore we had sailed and paddled through a land of mangroves and water, where, with the exception of one or two tiny muddy islets in the forest, there was no solid ground. One day the last of innumerable turns of a narrow _caño_ brought our sloop in sight of real earth—the first dry land of eastern Venezuela. A rough wooden wharf supporting a narrow-gauge line of rails appeared, and beyond rose a steep hill, dotted here and there with little thatched huts, each clinging to a niche scooped out of the clay. We were at the village of Guanoco (_Wah-no’co_), the shipping point of the pitch lake. A few steps beyond the last hut and one was in the primeval forest—so limited is man’s influence in this region of rapidly growing plants.

For five miles the little toy rails zigzagged their uneven way through the jungle. On one side was swamp, into which one could penetrate but a short distance before encountering the advance-guard of the mangroves, the front of the vast host which stretched eastward mile after mile to the sea. West of the track the land rose ten or twenty feet in many places, but even where level it soon lost its swampy character. At the end of the line the strange pitch lake itself appeared as a great plain, on the borderland between low swamps and the foot-hills of the mountains. This was our tramping-ground, and we found it a veritable wonderland of birds and beasts and flowers.

[Illustration: FIG. 15. COLONY OF 150 CASSIQUES’ NESTS IN ONE TREE.]

One of the first things which attracted our attention were the Orioles or Cassiques[151]—great black and yellow beauties with long whitish beaks and an infinitely varied vocabulary. In the north our eyes are gladdened by the sight of a single pair of Orioles flying about their nest in the elm; here in a single tree there were sometimes over one hundred and fifty inhabited nests, most of which were two feet or more in length. The more we watched these birds the more interesting they became. They showed a real intelligence in the selection of a site for their nests. Monkeys, tree-snakes, opossums, and other bird-eating creatures were abundant hereabouts, and for a colony of these conspicuous birds to conceal their nests successfully would be impossible. So their homes are swung out in full view of all. But one or two precautions are always taken. Either the birds choose a solitary tree which fairly overhangs some thatched hut, or else the colony is clustered close about one of the great wasps’ nests which are seen here and there high up among the branches of the forest.

[Illustration: FIG. 16. NEST AND EGGS OF YELLOW-BACKED CASSIQUE.

Observe the Extra Shelter Roof. The lower opening was made to show the egg chamber.]

The Indians and native Venezuelans never trouble the birds, which have been quick to realize and take advantage of this fact, and weave their nests and care for their young almost within arm’s reach of the thatched roofs. No monkey dares venture here, and the mongrel dogs keep off all the small nocturnal carnivores.

But a colony of Cassiques which chooses to live in the jungle itself would have short shrift, were it not for the strange communal guardianship of the wasps. These insects are usually large and venomous, and one sting would be enough to kill a bird; indeed, a severe fever often ensues when a man has been stung by half a dozen. So the birds must in some way be immune to the attacks of the wasps. Perhaps their wonderfully complete armor of feathers, scales, and horny beak accounts for this, while their quickness of vision and of action enables them to save their eyelids—their one unprotected spot. Although the Cassiques cannot have learned from experience of the terrible wounds which the wasps can inflict, yet they are keenly alive to the advantages to be derived from close association with them.

The wasp’s nest is built far out on the tip of the limb of some forest tree, and the long pendent homes of the Cassiques are placed close to it, sometimes eight or ten on the same branch, and others on neighboring limbs, so near that the homes of insects and birds rattle against each other when the wind blows.

One such community was placed rather near the ground, where we could watch the inhabitants closely. Frequently when one or two of the big birds returned to their nests with a rush and a headlong plunge into the entrance, the whole branch shook violently. Yet the wasps showed no excitement or alarm; their subdued buzzing did not rise in tone. But when I reached up and moved the branch gently downward, the angry hum which came forth sent me into the underbrush in haste. From a safe distance I could see the wasps circling about in quick spurts which meant trouble to any intruder, while the excited Cassiques squeaked and screamed their loudest. Whether the slight motion I gave to the branch was unusual enough to arouse the insects, or whether they took their cue from the cries and actions of the alarmed birds, I cannot say.

The nests are beautifully woven, of very tough palm leaf shreds and grass stems, in shape like tall vases, bulging at the bottom to give room for the eggs and young birds, and with an entrance at the side near the top. We found still another instance of the unusual ability of these birds to adapt themselves to changing conditions. Those nests which were already deserted or with young ready to fly had simple rounded tops arching over to protect the entrance from the sun; but in the nests which were in process of construction, now at the beginning of the rainy season in early April, there appeared an additional chamber with a dense roof of thatch, in which one of the parents, the male at least in one case, passed the nights, safe from the torrents of sudden rain.

[Illustration: FIG. 17. VENEZUELAN TREE PORCUPINE.]

Another larger species of Cassique,[150] dull green in color, built solitary nests, three feet or more in length, but seldom near the homes of men or wasps. Here and there in the jungle some lofty tree raised its huge white bole free of vine and liana, and smooth as a marble column, towering far above all its fellows; and out on the very tip of one of its swaying branches the nest was woven—safe from all tree-climbing enemies. The notes of these birds were like deep resonant cowbells, ringing through the jungle, clear and metallic.

During our stay in the village of Guanoco we had abundant opportunity to observe the relations of a tiny hamlet like this to the great world of primeval nature all around. The jungle pressed close, instantly filling any neglected corner with a tangle of vines and shrubs, ever ready to sweep over all and reforest the little clearings about the huts.

Sloths were rare near the village, as it had long been a favorite Sunday amusement to go out and bring in one or more of these defenceless creatures for dinner. But tree porcupines (_Sphingurus prehensilis_), with bare, prehensile tails and faces like little manatees, were common, as were those gentle little creatures of the night, kinkajous (_Cercoleptes caudivolvulus_), or “couchi-couchis” as the Indians call them. Catching porcupines and sloths is about as exciting sport as picking blackberries; the porcupine being too confident in its battery of spines to attempt to escape; the sloth relying with pathetic faith on its wonderful resemblance to a bunch of moss or leaves.

The “English Sparrows” of the village were beautiful olive-green Palm Tanagers[144] and great sulphur-breasted Flycatchers[102] which shrieked _Kiss-ka-dee!_ at you as you passed by. The French in Trinidad tell you that the bird says _Qu’est-ce-qu’il-dit?_ but the Spaniard, true to his poetic temperament, says, “_No, Señor, el pájaro dice ‘Cristofué!’_” which seemed especially appropriate at this Easter season.

Every day one or two wild Chachalacas[7] would fly from the jungle to an open space near one of the huts and feed fearlessly with the chickens for an hour or longer.

[Illustration: FIG. 18. WILD CHACHALACA NEAR A GUANOCO HUT.]

To our northern minds the most remarkable thing was the innumerable variety of all forms of life. Seldom did we find many individuals of any one species, but always there was a constantly changing panorama. We would make a careful list of birds seen near our house, noting certain ones for future study, and the following day scarcely one of these would be visible, but in their place birds of strange form and colors. The same was true of the insects and the result was as bewildering as it was fascinating. Our habits of observation had all to be changed. Except when birds were actually nesting, we could never be sure of seeing the same species twice, although there was never any doubt that each day would add many new forms to our lists.

Though we tramped for miles along the narrow Indian trails and spent many days in swamps and dark jungles, yet we were troubled scarcely at all with noxious insects. “Jiggers” there were in moderate numbers but one could “collect” more in one day in Virginia than in a month here at this season. During our entire stay we saw only about three or four minute ticks, while mosquitoes were absent, except at night. If we dug in rotten logs, we were sure to unearth centipedes and scorpions, many of them,—but otherwise we rarely saw them. Once, indeed, a mother scorpion (_Centrurus margaritatus_) with half a hundred young ones on her back was discovered in a shoe, bringing to mind the old nursery rhyme.

[Illustration: FIG. 19. SCORPION AND ITS YOUNG TAKEN FROM MILADY’S SHOE.]

We found that much of the jungle was almost impenetrable, and on one of our first excursions we were fortunate enough to find a means of making the birds come to us from the deeper recesses of the forest. As we left the doorway, a silent little shadow fitted into the pommerosa tree in front of us, and soon among the glossy leaves came a sound which we had heard day and night, but the author of which had thus far evaded us. It is impossible to put into words, but it may be imitated by a monotone whistle, of about four notes to the second, of A above middle C. The glasses showed a mite of a Pygmy Owl[60] glaring at us with wide yellow eyes, and firmly clutching a dead bird, half as large as himself. Later, when standing at the edge of an impenetrable tangle of thorny vines and vainly trying to discover what bird was singing in loud, ringing tones within it, we thought of the fierce little owl, and concealing ourselves, gave the call of _Glaucidium_. The effect was instantaneous; the song near us ceased, and with angry cries a pair of beautiful Black-capped Mocking-thrushes[126] flew almost overhead. Black-tailed Euphonias[139] and Grassfinches followed, Bananaquits[137] whirred about us, and within a few minutes thirty or forty birds had testified to the hatred in which the little Owl is held.

A great surprise to our northern eyes was the Yellow Woodpecker,[90] not uncommon here, and clad in bright yellow plumage from crest to tail. It was very conspicuous in flight, but when it alighted, merged with the lichened bark and spots of sunlight. One bird was very tame and frequented a tree close by our window.

One of our first walks led us through a narrow valley or gorge to the westward, shaded by ranks of tall palms and with isolated banana and cocoa plants, hinting of native Indian clearings long since overwhelmed by the luxuriant jungle growth. Wasps and other Hymenoptera outnumbered other insects at this season, and one could have collected scores of different species in a few hours. A few Heliconia butterflies drifted across our path, and now and then a giant morpho shot past like a meteor of iridescent blue. Other great butterflies (_Caligo ilioneus_) were iridescent blue and brown above, while the under sides of their wings were mottled and with a great eye-spot on each of the hind wings, which gives them the name of the owl butterfly. But however much, in an insect cabinet, the expanded reverse of the wings suggests the face of an owl, the spot, as we observed it in the forest, seemed rather to render the insect invisible. These great fellows would shoot up to a lichen-covered trunk and drop lightly upon it, and unless one’s eyes had followed closely, the butterfly vanished like magic. Creeping up to one we secured its picture, the mottlings on its wings merging it with the lichens, and its owl-eyes becoming the painted facsimiles of darkened knotholes, or of little atoll-like fungus rings.

[Illustration: FIG. 20. YELLOW WOODPECKER.]

One is constantly impressed by the abundance and variety of these protective adaptations. Instead of one’s eyes becoming more accustomed and trained in detecting these deceptions, the puzzles increase, and one becomes suspicious of everything. Every few minutes we are halted by a curled leaf which resembles some great caterpillar, or by a partly decayed fruit which may prove to be a curiously marked beetle. Many of these are such exact counterparts that we have to touch them to undeceive ourselves. After seeing some bats hung in the shadows between the buttressed bases of great trees, we imagine them in every patch of moss or dried leaves.

[Illustration: FIG. 21. OWL BUTTERFLY ON COCOA BARK.]

The resemblance to inanimate objects is never violated and often remarkably heightened by the little creatures of fur, feather, scale or armor of chitin. The bats never alight in a close compact mass, but each isolated, with its wings partly spread, and often extended _irregularly_, one webbed hand higher or farther out than the other, thus presenting a dull, irregular outline, at which we should never have looked twice, had not the little beasties become frightened and flown. A butterfly (_Peridromia feronia_), mottled and pearly on the upper side, snaps clicking to a lichened trunk and alights head downward with wings flat. Beneath they are white and conspicuous. The inverted position allows the hinder wings to be pressed flat to the surface of the bark, while the slight shadow caused by the prominence of the body in front is thus below and invisible. Another, brilliant red on the upper side and irregularly marked below, never alights, as far as our experience went, except on some lichened trunk. In this case however the wings were held tightly together, and the insect always in a head downward position. The insect took to wing so quickly that only a hint of the red was visible.

We never could tell what new form of protective resemblance would next come under our notice. Here and there in the woods we found trees which had fallen in a clear space and had torn out their roots in the fall, forming a great bank of earth and mould, held together by the network of root fibres. Hanging suspended by slender root tendrils were many small pellets of earth slowly swaying and disintegrating. We found that some of these were not mere accidents of inorganic forces, but were the nests of a small mud wasp made in a roughly circular form and moulded to one of the many rootlets.

Lizards perhaps more than any other group of backboned animals become part and parcel of their surroundings in form and color. We sometimes found dull gray and green fellows on the trunks of trees or the ends of half rotten logs, which almost defied the efforts of the eye to disentangle them from the lichens and moss amid which they clung. When one of these did move it was with such celerity that the eye unconsciously swept onward, impelled by momentum, and overshot the spot where it stopped. Then another careful search was necessary to rediscover the reptile.

[Illustration: FIG. 22. LIZARD ALERT ON TRUNK OF TREE.]

This same glade was the favorite haunt of two kinds of small Manakins, the Gold-headed[108] and the White-breasted.[111] The former was a mite of a bird, barely four inches in length, jet-black as to body and wings, but with a cap of gold pulled down over his head and ears. If his eyes were black and beady like those of his near relatives, the harmony of his head-dress would be disturbed, so Dame Nature has sifted the gold over his eyes as well, and the yellow irides are almost invisible among the feathers. Such coloring renders him part of his beloved gorge. If he sits in the shade his body vanishes and his head is naught but a spot of sunshine; if his perch is in sunlight, the tiny, headless body conveys no hint of a living bird.

His cousin, the White-breasted, is black and white and the four outer feathers of the wing are very narrow and curved. These are the strings upon which he plays an æolian song of love, for every time he takes to flight a loud humming sound is produced. The females are dull olive in color but easily recognizable by their orange feet and legs. Sometimes three suitors would buzz and hum together about one of these sombre little ladies in the gloom of the gorge.

[Illustration: FIG. 23. THE SAME LIZARD A MOMENT LATER, OBLITERATED BY CHANGE OF POSITION.]

The rotten trees and palm stubs were filled with interesting insects; big black palm weevils (_Rhyncophorus palmatum_) an inch and a half long, and huge brown cockroaches three inches from head to wing-tip (_Blaberus trapezoideus_). With a machete we cut open one log, which was like bread in consistency, and found two centipedes, three scorpions, one of them a whip scorpion, a huge beetle larva, a small snake, with a faint band about its neck (_Homalocranium melanocephalum_) and most interesting of all, a Peripatus.

Perhaps the reader here wonders to himself what a Peripatus is, and it is a pity that this most important creature has no common name. We may call it a worm-like caterpillar or a caterpillar-like worm, for its claim to fame rests upon its position as a so-called missing link. We know that in long ages past the ancestor of the butterflies, beetles, wasps, spiders and crabs was a worm-like creature, primitive in structure and in no way hinting of the beautiful organisms which were to be evolved in succeeding epochs. Hiding away from light, in the warm moisture of decaying wood, the little Peripatus has lived on and on, age after age, with little apparent change, until we find it to-day combining the simpler characters of the lowly worms with those of the vastly higher caterpillars.

The Peripatus which we unearthed, or rather unlogged, was of a rich, dark reddish hue. It was caterpillar-like in general appearance, but not divided into segments, while the number of its very simple feet and its method of progression brought to mind the millipedes. The long, slender antennæ were constantly in motion, changing and extending, feeling about and retracting.

Glancing at the leaf of a low shrub, we saw what we supposed to be two bits of dried, rolled-up leaf entangled in a strand of spider web and being whirled about by the wind. When we saw that this motion continued after the breeze had died down, we became interested. We discovered that the two objects were tineid moths of a dark pearl color, waltzing about with the most graceful and airy motion imaginable. With closed wings they whirled round and round by means of their legs alone, and, most remarkably, both going in the same direction, although this was frequently changed, the reversal being almost instantaneous and without an instant’s loss of the smoothness of the rhythm. Now and then their circles overlapped, but at the first danger of collision the tiny dervishes both retreated without stopping their dance. Presently one flew away, and the other shifted to another leaf near by, and recommenced his waltz alone. It was a surprise to find these little winged millers in the rôle of graceful dancers. The reason of it remained a mystery.

[Illustration: FIG. 24. NEST AND EGGS OF GREAT BLUE TINAMOU.]

These incidents are quoted as some among the myriad interesting doings of the little folk which we observed in the heart of these great jungles. As we walked on, virgin forest surrounded us, with great trees centuries old, chained and netted together by miles upon miles of lianas. Now and then we entered a clear glade festooned by a maze of ropes and cables, with here and there a lofty monkey-ladder leading upward by a wavy series of narrow steps. The cicadas filled the air with the oriental droning of their song, and a big Red-crested Woodpecker[88] called loudly from a half-rotted, vine-choked tree. From the undergrowth came a soft rolling trill, a crescendo of power and sweetness, and when our Indian carrier whispered, “_Gallina del monte_,” we knew we were listening to the call of a Great Blue Tinamou[1]—one of those strange birds looking like brown, tailless fowls, but of so generalized a type that they form in many ways a link between the ostrich-like forms and the rest of the bird world. The bird which was calling soon became silent, but creeping slowly along we were fortunate enough to discover its nest on a bit of sunny turf near the end of a log in a partially overgrown clearing. All the delights of bird-nesting seemed consummated the moment we caught sight of the two wonderful eggs before us. The nest was merely a hollow scratched in the grass, but the sun was reflected from two shining spheres of metallic greenish blue, like two huge turquoises polished as by the wheel of a lapidary. Never were such eggs; they seemed of hard burnished metal, more akin to the stones lying about them than to the organic world, and yet, even as we looked, there appeared a tiny fracture, and in a few minutes the beak of a Tinamou chick had broken through to the outer air. The glistening cradle of stone would soon fall apart and give to the tropical world another life—one more mote among the millions upon millions about us.

Now and then we would come across a huge low mound, clear of undergrowth, dotted with holes from which well-trodden paths led off in every direction. Some of these were six inches in width, so that we could easily walk in them. A twig poked down the holes and twisted about would come up covered with angry ants, great brownish-black fellows with a grip like a bulldog. Even this simile fails, for these insects will allow their heads to be pulled off before they will let go.

Everywhere the ants attracted our attention; huge black giants (_Neoponera commutata_), which seemed never to have anything to do but parade slowly up and down the trunks of trees; and the ever-busy parasol-ants, hustling along in single file, waving their green banners and clinging faithfully to them while falling down terrific precipices three or four inches deep. We dug into their nests and found their fungi gardens, one part of which would be freshly planted with neat black balls of chewed-up green leaves, while in another part the fungus was well grown—a meshwork of gray strands whose fruit was ready to be plucked and eaten.

The hunting-ants (_Eciton_) surpassed all the others in interest. Day after day we would come across their great armies, and we spent many hours of keen enjoyment watching their advance. We had read of their appearance and habits; we had heard them compared to Goths and hordes of savages, but no description prepares one for the actual sight. We watched in particular one large army which carried on its operations only a short distance from our house.

Long before we came within sight of the ants themselves their presence would be heralded by the flock of birds which kept just in advance, feeding upon the insects which flew up from the van of the ant legions. In one such assemblage most of the birds were Woodhewers, big, cinnamon-colored, creeper-like birds which hitched up the tree trunks and now and then swooped down to the ground, snatched an insect and swung back to the trunk. This flock of birds showed other methods of feeding; Hummingbirds appeared from nowhere, dashed down to a tiny insect and vanished into space; Anis[80] blundered along, looking as if their wings and tails were too loosely attached for use; Ant-birds crept low through the bushes and carried their prey to a twig to eat; two American Redstarts[128b] and several Tyrant Flycatchers caught their prey by a sudden dart and a snap of the beak. One species in particular, the Streaked Flycatcher,[105] was always attendant on the ants and always fearless, watching us and yet never missing a chance to snap up a passing insect.

[Illustration: FIG. 25. WOODHEWER CLINGING TO THE TRUNK OF A TREE.]

As we drew nearer, a strange rustling sound reached our ears, like the regular pattering of raindrops, and before we knew it we were standing in the midst of thousands of active ants, whose rushing and scrambling about over the dead leaves caused the loud rustling. In a few seconds twenty or thirty ants had climbed upon and above our shoes, and their sharp, nipping bites sent us in haste to the flanks of the army, where we freed ourselves from the fierce creatures. These ants are not large, varying from a fifth to a third of an inch in length, dark in color, with lighter red abdomens.

Until one becomes accustomed to these scenes of carnage the sight is really terrible, especially when one lies down flat and takes an ant’s-eye view of the field of battle. Yet such is the fierceness and savage fury on one side and hopeless terror or frantic efforts to escape on the part of the victims that it needs but little imagination to stir deeply one’s sympathies.

[Illustration: FIG. 26. STREAKED FLYCATCHER.]

In place of the steady advance of a well-drilled army, presenting a solid front of serried ranks, the formation of the hunting-ants may be compared to an innumerable host of cavalry scouts who quarter the ground in every direction, the whole army slowly advancing and including new territory in the scene of operations. Frequent flurries or louder rustlings follow the discovery and the subsequent terrible struggle of some quarry of noble size—a huge beetle or mighty lizard.

One fact impressed us from the first: every creature aroused by the ants seemed to know instinctively of the awful danger. Whether through odor or sight or sound, the alarm always carried its full meaning. Insects which ordinarily would escape the collecting net by a single quick motion, here dashed away with such terror that they often flew against our clothes or a tree, and were hurled to the ground. Lizards took shelter under our shoes or shot off like streaks of light for many yards. Our presence and that of the predatory birds was disregarded in the efforts to avoid the danger which generations of inherited experience had made the most vivid in life.

Insects which usually feigned death as a means of escape, when disturbed by these ants used all the motor organs given them by nature to flee from the dreaded foe. Escape seemed to be the result of accident with all wingless creatures, even with those possessing good eyesight, for the first blind terrified rush as often carried them to certain death in the thickest of the host as it did to safety in the van or on one side of the ant army. Even wings were not a surety of escape. Twice I saw moths arise heavily from their hiding-places with a half-dozen of the little fiends clinging to their legs and wings. One was snapped up, ants and all, by a big Flycatcher, and the other fell among the quartermaster’s brigade in the rear, where every ant within reach dropped his load and hurled himself upon the newcomer.

Here and there one might observe good-sized balls of ants rolling about, and in the centre would be some hard-cased beetle or other insect, who gave up only after killing and maiming a score of his assailants.

We dropped five big black ants into the midst of the marauders, and witnessed a combat as thrilling as the contest between the Greeks and Persians. Four of the insects alighted on a small rounded stone over which three hunting-ants were scurrying. Without hesitation the black giants fell upon the brown warriors and tore them limb from limb, with the loss of only half a leg. This is not a very serious handicap, when one has five and a half robust limbs left! The fifth big fellow dropped upon a mass of ants piled like football-players upon a struggling scorpion, whose sting was lashing the air in vain. The big ant started another ripple upon this pool of death, which soon smoothed away, leaving no recognizable trace of him. But the quartet of big-jawed fellows on their rock citadel fought successfully and well. No ant which crept to the top ever lived to return for help. The four flew at him like wolves and bit him to death. Soon a ring of hunting-ants formed around the stone, all motionless except for a frantic twiddling of antennæ. They were apparently excited by the smell of the blood of their dead fellows, and only rarely did one venture now and then to scale the summit. When we left, two hours afterward, the army had passed, and left the stone and its four doughty defenders, who showed no immediate intention of leaving their fortress.

The ground over which the hunting-ants passed was absolutely bare of life, and, contrary to the rule in human armies, it was among the camp-followers and foragers that the most perfect discipline reigned. In the rear of the main army were lines upon lines of ants laden with the spoils: legs, bodies, and heads of insects and spiders, bits of scaly skin of lizard or turtle, joints of centipedes and scorpions, and here and there a piece of ragged but gaudy butterfly-wing borne aloft like the captured standard of some opposing force.

We followed three lines of supply-carriers and found that they converged on some sheltered hollow in a tree or under a boulder or root. Here were massed countless hordes of ants clinging together like a swarm of bees. In the centre were the queen, eggs, and young of these nomadic savages, resting thus temporarily until the far-distant scouts should report another shelter, when the whole community would shift to the new home, farther along on the line of march.

The army in which we were especially interested seemed to be carrying on their hunting in a rough circle about the temporary home, and perhaps this is a common habit. Certain ants apparently serve some function of direction or means of communication, for they keep to one place for a half hour at a time and twiddle their antennæ with every ant which approaches.

It was when the hunting-ants discovered the nests of other species of ants that warfare, true to its name, was waged. One could watch as from a balloon, mimic Waterloos and Gettysburgs, and sad to relate, in the case of inoffensive species, plunder, murder, and abduction by the wholesale. After studying the ways of these merciless creatures, we could seldom walk through the quiet, sunlit jungle, with blossoming orchids everywhere overhead and the songs of birds and pleasant hum of insects in our ears, without thinking of the tragedies without number ever going on around us.

Used as we were only to the small lightning bugs of our northern summer nights, the big luminous elater beetles (_Pyrophorus_ sp.) were ever of interest. The two thoracic lights are placed on the outer posterior edges and give out a pale greenish glow of great intensity. We could easily see to read and write by their light, and by placing a half dozen of these insects in a glass we could use them instead of our electric flash.

When we examined them carefully we were surprised to find that there was another area of illumination on the abdomen, below and just behind the insertion of the third pair of legs. When fully illuminated this area was brilliant and of a figure ∞ shape. The light however was radically different from that of the thorax, being yellowish, and candle-like, giving an illusory impression of an opening from the incandescent interior of the insect. When the insect settles to rest the only visible illumination is from the pair of thoracic lights, but in flight the abdominal searchlight comes into play, burning brightly with a strong yellowish glare quite different from the green thoracic lights.

As we lay at night half asleep we would sometimes be awakened by the droning of one or two big elaters, whose intermittent flashes would illumine the whole room. More than once we had to capture the intruders with the butterfly net and banish them before we could get any sleep.

We chloroformed two of these luminous beetles and pinned them in an insect box. Two evenings afterward when we had occasion to add more insects, the box was opened and to our surprise the little lanterns were still aglow and hardly less brilliant than when the insects were alive. They had been dead forty-eight hours and yet their light still shone ghostly white, lighting up the other insects in the box.

One evening we found a tiny wire worm, the larva of some small species of elater, which was highly phosphorescent. Although only about one-half of an inch in length, the whole head, the posterior segment and a spot on the side of each of the others was bright. Watched as it moved smoothly and rapidly along, it reminded us of a ship passing at a distance at night with the lights streaming from the port-holes.

Our trips to the pitch lake on the early morning engine will never be forgotten. A warning toot from the diminutive whistle hurries us through our breakfast, and we hasten to the track and see our cameras and guns loaded on one of the little square wooden “empties.” We mount the wood-filled tender of the engine, which with many complaining creaks and jolts get under way, backing slowly around the curve which hides the last sign of civilization and buries us in the jungle.

For nearly twenty years these little toy engines have bustled and elbowed their way over the snaky rails, until the jungle and its people have come to look upon this narrow winding steel path as part of the general order of things. The underbrush creeps close, and only the constant whipping of the engines and cars beats down the growth between the rails.

[Illustration: FIG. 27. THE JUNGLE RAILROAD.]

As we start, the last bats of night dash into the dark jungle, and their diurnal prototypes, a flock of graceful Palm Swifts,[71] swoop about overhead. To our ears there comes the _finalé_ of the morning chorus of distant red howlers and the first deep-toned boilings of the giant Cassiques.

All along the line, beasts and birds show their lack of fear of the rumbling cars. A party of chattering little monkeys sit and gibber at us and rub their dew-drenched fur. Their parents and great-grandparents had found nothing to fear in this strange thing which, five times each day, crawls back and forth on its narrow trail, and why should they do more than look and wonder? As we come in sight of the muddy banks of the little river, a great Parrot shrieks in derision at us from the top of a dead stub by the track, executing slow somersaults for our benefit. Instinctively we look for a chain on its leg and a food cup near by! A splash draws our eyes downward, and from a maelstrom of muddy water shoots a villainous sting ray. A school of little staring four-eyes skips over the water, and near the swampy, farther bank, a sprawling half-grown crocodile watches us—as quiet as a stranded log.

[Illustration: FIG. 28. SPIDER LILIES NEAR PITCH LAKE.]

The air blows cool and damp on our faces, and we long for the keen power of scent of a dog. Even to our dull nostrils every turn of the road is full of interest. A swamp, thickly starred with dainty spider-lilies, comes into view, and we inhale draughts of sweetest incense; Easter Sunday is at hand, and the very wilderness reminds us of it.

With every breath of air the great palm leaves flick myriads of drops to the underbrush below, with a sound as of heavy rain. The trunks are black and soaked, and there is not a dry frond for miles. A sudden curve brings another loop of the river into view, with a foreground of scuttling crabs and mangrove seedlings. Here a wave of coarse, salty, marsh smell fills our lungs—not stagnant, but redolent of the distant sea; the smell that makes one’s blood leap. The next quarter-mile is covered with lilies again. From their perfume we enter a zone of recently cut grass—and the incense brings to mind northern hay-fields and the sweet-grass baskets of the Indians. What new pains and pleasures would be ours could we possess the power of scent of some of the “lower” animals!

Temperate succeed tropical vistas; we see what at first appears to be a grove of young chestnuts rising from rhododendrons and guinea-grass. A Spotted Sandpiper[22] heightens the illusion, and the picture is complete when a familiar milk-weed butterfly floats by and alights on a red and yellow tansy. But just then a Macaw shrieks from a near-by tree—the road-bed turns and reveals a tangle of palms and scarlet heliconias—a monkey climbs up a leaf large enough to shelter half a hundred of his kind. Strange palm fruits come into view, some like enormous clusters or bunches of grapes—each fruit as large as an orange; or again a huge feathery, dependent frond of dust-brown blossom and fruit protected by an overhanging spathe like a huge umbrella.

[Illustration: FIG. 29. LA BREA—THE LAKE OF PITCH.]

The jungle never gives up the struggle against the invading rails. Beneath the cars the constant friction only dwarfs the growth, and we find here miniature plants blooming, fruiting, and scattering seed; plants which elsewhere reach a height of five or six feet. It is an interesting case of quick adaptation to unfavorable conditions.

The vegetation presses on every inch of the track, striving ever to close up the long scar through the heart of the forest, and only by systematic cutting is the way kept open. The advance of the jungle host is most interesting. Thirty feet from the rails the growth is primeval, a dense mass of entangled and interlaced vines, shrubs, palms, and giant trees, the boles of the latter shooting up and up through the mass and bursting into bloom high overhead. Nearer the track we find a phalanx of green banners and the wonderfully brilliant red and yellow flower stalks of the quick-growing heliconias. In front are the rough scouts, the real advance-guard of strong, thorny vines growing in close entanglement—a living _chevaux-de-frise_, inconspicuous and yet offering the greatest resistance. Under this shelter the larger but slower-growing components of the jungle take root and gather vigor, until, if not cut out with the hardest labor, they soon rear their heads from their nursery of vines and brambles, and the shining rails vanish from view.

All the creatures of the forest cross and recross the track freely, even in front of an approaching train. Water-fowl, Sun-bitterns[24] and the weird-voiced Trumpeters[25] walk up and down, and flocks of Seedeaters[132] drift here and there, gleaning seed from between the rails. The Trumpeters were a great surprise to us, as this is the first instance of their being found north of the Orinoco River. One day we see the leaves part, and a long, low-shouldered reddish form slouches across before us, without even a glance at us, and we know it for the first South American puma (_Felis concolor_) which we have seen. Another “red lion,” as the natives called it, with two cubs, was seen not long before.

Only the sloth is barred. He comes close to the endless swath; he wanders from tree to tree up and down, peering dully out across the track, but he cannot cross. The twenty-foot treeless embankment is as impregnable to him as a sheer wall of rock. With a weird cry he turns back and starts in another direction through the branches.

[Illustration: FIG. 30. THE FATAL “MOTHER OF THE LAKE.”]

We reach the lake long before the dew is dried and before the freshness of the dawn is dissipated. Hurrying over the planks and the temporary rails laid for the workman’s hand-cars, we push on a half-mile or more to the southward, where nothing hints of man’s proximity. To the north and west are irregular peaks running off into a blue and misty range—the foot-hills of the Spanish Main. To the south the high woods are close to us and tower high overhead, but even with the eye of yonder lofty, soaring Vulture we could see no mountains in that direction—nothing but flat, green miles of mangroves, stretching to the horizon over the immense delta of the Orinoco. The pitch lake itself is surrounded on all sides by dense forests, the front ranks of which are made up of the marvellously tall and graceful moriche palms. There is one oasis in this pitchy expanse—Parrot Island it may be called. To this shelter, guarded on all sides by soft, quaking pitch, Amazon Parrots come at dusk by hundreds, roosting there until the next morning.

[Illustration: FIG. 31. WHITE-HEADED CHIMACHIMA HAWK AND ETA PALM.]

Near the northern edge is the “mother of the lake,” just above the deep-hidden source of supply, where the pitch is always soft, and where no vegetation grows. It is a veritable pool of death, and nothing can enter it and live. The lizards and heavy-bodied insects which scamper over the rim are often clogged and drawn down to death. A jaguar, leaping after a Jacana, slipped in shortly before we came and made a terrible fight for life. Half blinded, its struggles carried it only farther outward, but fortunately the end came mercifully soon.

[Illustration: FIG. 32. AMAZON PARROT ROOST, PITCH LAKE.]

All the rest of the lake is a varied expanse of black pitch bubbles, short grass, clumps of fern and sedge, with occasional isolated palms. Flowers of many kinds and colors spring from the heart of the raw pitch itself. Jacanas[23] rise before us with loud cries and flashing wings of gold. One may walk over the lake at will, morning and evening, but in the heat of midday, in many places, one’s shoes sink quickly unless one keeps constantly on the move.

White is not a very common color in nature, and yet here, in striking contrast with the inky blackness of the pitch, most of the birds show large patches of this color. In the distance are always to be seen Snowy Egrets[33] and immature Blue Herons[34]—spots of purest white, while near at hand, absurdly tame, a big hawk forever soars slowly about or perches on some great frond of a tall palm. It is a White-headed Chimachima Hawk[56] with plumage of white, save for back, wings, and tail.

[Illustration: FIG. 33. THE HOME OF THE AMAZON PARROT IN THE MIDDLE OF PITCH LAKE.]

The two most abundant small birds are chiefly white in color. Both are Flycatchers, one with white head and neck—White-headed Marsh Flycatcher[98]—perching in the reeds and making fierce sallies after passing insects, while even more beautiful and conspicuous are the little terrestrial Flycatchers—White-shouldered Ground Flycatchers[97] or “Cotton Birds”—which scurry along the ground over pitch and fallen logs. Their tails continually wag from side to side, and they come within a few feet of us, uttering low inquiring notes: _pit! pit!_ They too are clad in white, except for back, nape, wings, and tail.

[Illustration: AMAZON PARROT AT ENTRANCE OF NEST.

FIG. 34. FIFTEEN FEET AWAY.

FIG. 35. TEN FEET AWAY.]

We follow one about, watching it through the ground-glass of the camera, when we blunder into a thicket of dry, crackling twigs. A sudden rustling sound draws our attention, and we look up and find ourselves within a few feet of a dry palm stub. Around the roughened stringy bark peers a green head with wide, yellow eyes, and we stiffen into immobility. The position is anything but comfortable; thorns are scratching us, flies are tickling our faces, but we dare not move. After five minutes, which seem hours, the big Yellow-fronted Amazon Parrot[64] withdraws, and we hear a scuttling within the stub. Silently and with the greatest caution we step backward, and after a rest we arrange our plan of attack.

[Illustration: FIG. 36. AMAZON PARROT ABOUT TO TAKE FLIGHT.]

These birds usually nest in hollows in the tops of the tallest, most inaccessible trees, and this is a golden opportunity—one in a lifetime—for a photograph of a Parrot at home.

[Illustration: FIG. 37. EGGS AND YOUNG OF AMAZON PARROT IN THE NEST.]

The entrance is rectangular, about three by six inches, and some five feet above the ground. Painfully I pick my way to the side of the stub, and bracing myself, focus on that spot of black on the trunk. Then Milady rustles the weeds in the rear of the stub. Again a rustling, and on the ground-glass of my Graflex flashes the green head. Snap! I have her! and with the slowest of motions I change plates. While she is engrossed with the disturber in the rear I advance a step and get another picture. Then screwing up my speed-button, I push slowly forward, and just as she is about to hurl herself from the stub I secure a third photograph. Off she goes to the nearest palms, shrieking at the top of her lungs, and is joined by her mate.

We cut a hole in the trunk near the ground, and there find the nest of the parrot. Three white eggs, one of which is pipped, and a young bird just hatched reward us, all resting on a bed of chips. The diminutive polly is scantily clothed with white down, and while in the shade lies motionless. When a ray of warm sunlight strikes it the little fellow becomes uneasy and crawls and tumbles about until it escapes from the unwelcome heat. During its activity it keeps up a continuous, low, raucous cry like the mew of a catbird. Far out on the expanse of black pitch—six feet in the depth of this dark cavity!—this little squawking mite surely had a strange babyhood to fit it for its future life in the sunlight among the palms.

It was the Yellow-fronted Amazon Parrot,[64] a common species with dealers everywhere, but we shall never see one in a cage, uttering inane requests for crackers, without thinking of the interesting family we discovered at the pitch lake.

We found strange fish in the pools of water scattered over the lake. Some must have wriggled their way over dry land for some distance to get there. There were round, sunfish-like fellows (_Aequidens_) and others, long and slender, with wicked-looking teeth (_Hoplias malabaricus_). Most curious of all were the Loricates or armored catfish, with a double row of large overlapping scales enclosing their body from head to tail. Like the Hoatzins among the birds, these fish are strange relics of the past, preserved almost unchanged from the ancient fossil Devonian forms.

[Illustration: FISH FROM THE POOLS IN PITCH LAKE.

FIG. 38. _Aequidens_ Sp.

FIG. 39. _Hoplias Malabaricus._]

Days passed like hours in this wonderland, and the time for returning to civilization came all too soon. The strange living beings which filled jungle and air and water, made us long for the leisure of months instead of weeks, in which to study all the infinite variety of life which surrounded us.

Our last view of Venezuela was like the first—a panorama of silent, majestic green walls, guarding a stream of brilliant copper; every one of the untold myriads of beating hearts beyond the walls resting silent in the noonday heat, waiting for the coolness of evening to awaken them to activity. To some it would bring song and happiness with nest and mate, to some combat, to others death.