CHAPTER V.

STEAMER AND LAUNCH TO HOORIE CREEK.

When we left New York we had planned to go up the Demerara River from Georgetown and spend our time on the Essequibo and Potaro. We had the good fortune, however, to take the same steamer with Mr. and Mrs. Gaylord Wilshire who were paying their annual visit to their two large gold concessions. The previous year they had travelled over many of the larger rivers and when we heard their glowing accounts of the northern and western wilderness compared to the rather thinned out “bush” and more travelled route of the Demerara, and were asked to join their party in going first to the Hoorie Mine in the northwest and then to the Aremu Mine in central Guiana, we hesitated not a moment.

We left the Georgetown stelling, or wharf, at noon on March 2d, on the little steamer “Mazaruni” for the long coastwise trip to Morawhanna. Leaving the harbor flock of Laughing Gulls[16] behind, we steered straight out to sea for several hours before turning to the northwest. The water all along the coast is very shallow and is so filled with sediment that even in a heavy gale the waves break but little. We passed the mouth of the Essequibo, thirty-five miles in width, with the two great islands, Wakenaam and Leguan, fairly in the centre of the mouth. The night was rough and windy and the little tub rolled wildly.

At five o’clock next morning we were steaming slowly between two walls of green which brought vividly to mind our Venezuelan trip of last year. A few other plants were intermingled with the mangroves, but the solid ranks of the latter were unbroken. The colors were as wonderful as ever; the rich dark green on either hand, bright copper beneath and azure above. A few hours later we entered Mora Passage and here palms began to rear their heads over the other foliage. The air was cool and bracing, we breathed deeply and watched for the first signs of life. A half dozen Muscovy Ducks[43] swung past, the giant master of the flock in the lead, their white wing mirrors flashing as they flew. Two Amazon Parrots rose ahead of us and the shore was alive with tiny white moths fluttering over the water.

Morawhanna is within five miles of the Venezuela boundary, and politically is important as being the chief Government Station for the Northwest District, and being the entrance post for the gold fields of this region. As we tied up to the primitive wharf, Indians in their dug-outs or wood-skins appeared in numbers, bringing fish, rubber and other things for trade to the little Chinese store. Morawhanna itself consists of a straggling line of thatched huts extending irregularly along the bank and inland between the marshy spots.

A short walk on shore showed the inhabitants to be Indians, blacks and half-breeds. Birds were abundant, especially Yellow-bellied Callistes,[142] Honey Creepers, Tanagers, and the four commoner species of Kiskadee Tyrants[101], [103], [104], [106]. A large Skimmer[17] flew past the boat and later we saw several flocks.

We expected to meet the launch from the Hoorie Mine, but as it had not yet arrived, we boarded the steamer again and went on with it to the end of its route at Mount Everard. We left Morawhanna at half-past ten in the morning and reached our destination five hours later. Although all this country is low and marshy, yet the White Mangrove and the Courida, or Red Mangrove, here give place to a variegated forest growth, and we soon saw our first Mora trees,—huge we thought them, but to be dwarfed by the inland giants of our succeeding expeditions. The walls of vegetation were seventy or eighty feet in height, draped by vines, while dead branches protruded here and there from the water near shore. Many Snake-birds[48] were perched on these snags, from which they dropped silently into the water at our approach and swam off with body immersed.

[Illustration: FIG. 68. TYPICAL INDIAN HOUSE AT MORAWHANNA.]

Blue-and-Yellow Macaws[61] were common—always as usual in multiples of two. We observed them a half dozen times in different reaches of the river, four in the first group, then eight, two, six, four and two. A trio of American Egrets[32] kept flying ahead of us for several miles, hemmed in by the lofty walls of foliage, alighting now and then and waiting for the steamer. At last when only ten yards distant they rose and floated over our heads.

Once a splendid Guiana Crested Eagle[57] flew past and alighted on a dead tree, and twice we saw small colonies of Yellow[151] and Red-backed[152] Cassiques nesting in isolated Mora trees _out in the water_; a new method of protection on the part of these intelligent birds. At occasional intervals a nesting pair of White-throated Kingbirds[106] was seen, but no other of the Tyrants which are so common about houses in this region. The event of the day came when we caught a flash of white from a Buzzard floating high overhead and our stereos showed a King Vulture[50] circling slowly around, craning his wattled head down at us as he drifted past. We had never expected to see this bird near the coast and indeed we saw no others during our entire stay in Guiana.

As we steamed past a wind-break we caught a momentary glimpse of two wee naked Indian children paddling away in a wood-skin while behind them their bronze-skinned parents watched us silently.

Mount Everard lies about fifty miles from Morawhanna up the Barima River and consists of a ramshackle hotel and several logies—the latter being mere open sheds from whose rafters hammocks may be hung. The whole country hereabouts is low, except at this point where two small conical hills arise—one on each side of the river—bearing the high-sounding names of Mounts Everard and Terminus. The forest has been partly cleared from these and we attempted to explore the neighboring country. We soon gave it up as the underbrush was too thick, and even when we forced a way through it there was no footing but muddy water. Cowpaths led over the “mounts” which seemed to be composed of red, sticky clay. Half way up Mount Everard we found an enormous terrestrial ants’ nest, some fifteen feet across, bare of vegetation and with well-marked roads, four to six inches wide, leading out into the jungle. A little prodding with a stick brought out scores of huge-jawed soldiers (_Atta cephalotes_).

[Illustration: FIG. 69. THREE YEAR OLDS AT HOME IN THEIR WOOD-SKIN.]

The most interesting birds were the well-named Magpie Tanagers which flashed past now and then. The long, graduated tail, the glossy black and white plumage and the conspicuous white iris mark this as one of the most striking of the Tanagers. The call-note was loud and harsh but the tones of those we saw in captivity and of one individual which we brought back alive were pleasant and modulated.

Euphonias, Blue,[143] Palm,[144] and Silver-beak[146] Tanagers and Red-underwing Doves[10] were all nesting close to the settlement, while in a good-sized tree whose branches were brushing against the “hotel” windows were some hundred nests of Cassiques—the Red[152] and the Yellow-backed[151] in about equal numbers. When the two were seen fighting, the Red-backed seemed invariably to have the better of it. The natives here think the different colors mark the two sexes.

[Illustration: FIG. 70. MOUNT EVERARD.]

Just before sunset the wharf at Mount Everard began to show signs of life. All day it had been deserted, a few small flat-bottomed boats, which we came later to know by the native name of ballyhoos, being moored idly against the dock; but now as the day drew to a close, groups of Indians and negroes gathered. We hung over the railing of our boat and watched them as lazily and as curiously as they watched us. Then the quiet air was rent with a medley of grunts and squeals and brays, the cries and shouts of human beings rising above all the other sounds, as a large party of men appeared escorting one scrawny cow, one lean but energetic hog, and finally one donkey, in whose being was concentrated all the stubbornness to which his race is heir. The problem was to load these beasts into one of the waiting ballyhoos. The ballyhoo was small, the current was moving it to and fro, and the cow and the donkey and the hog were not minded to go a-voyaging. As the negro always talks to his beast of burden as though it were his intellectual and social equal, so in this case the men approached the animals with all manner of reasonable argument, explaining where they were going and the importance of an early start and appealing to all that was noble and estimable, emphasizing everything with a choice selection of expletives combined with physical force. Finally after pushing and prodding the ill-fated cow they succeeded in half shoving, half throwing it into the boat. After many struggles the loudly indignant hog followed. When at last the donkey had been safely embarked we wondered if that little craft would ever reach its destination, with so heavy and protesting a load: when to our surprise the big black, who had been most vociferous and active in the recent mêlée, wiped his dripping forehead and stood calling “Possengers! Possengers! all aboad”! with as grand an air as though he were the chief steward on a great ocean liner. The “possengers” proved to be half a dozen buxom negresses, who with many a coy glance and feminine shriek of terror allowed the big black proprietor to help them from the dock to the boat, now rocking violently beneath the restless feet of the animals.

Finally the ballyhoo moved slowly up stream, bound for a distant mine in the far interior, and another boat laden with bananas followed. An Indian paddled swiftly past in his wood-skin. Then darkness fell as suddenly as the dropping of a stage curtain; and we turned away from the river drama back to our life on board the “Mazaruni.”

While awaiting the dinner bell we slung our hammocks along the deck, that through the meal we might know that they were swinging gently in the velvet night air, all ready for our comfortably tired selves.

The night was clear and the blacks worked for several hours in the moonlight, unloading cargo. Not a mosquito came to mar the beauty of the night. Indeed the natives said they were never troublesome here at Mount Everard. In our hammocks as we rocked to sleep we thought drowsily of the dear Venezuelan wilderness of last year. We were so glad to be sleeping again in the open under the canopy of the southern sky. At last we felt that we were on the threshold of another wilderness.

At four o’clock in the morning we awoke and heard far off through the jungle, the old, familiar howling of the red “baboons.” About five a rooster crowed on board and was answered by several on shore, and this seemed to awaken a black who began singing from his hammock in a logie, when a score of others took up the wild refrain and kept it up until daylight. With the sudden rush of light came the distant bubbling of Twa-twas, those little thick-billed pygmy Grosbeaks,[130] and the cackling hubbub of the Cassique colony.

Returning to Morawhanna we were made welcome at the home of Mr. Howie King the Government Agent, while waiting for our Hoorie launch. The government house is well built and belonged formerly to Sir Everard im Thurn. It is surrounded by a garden which must once have been magnificent and which Mr. King is attempting to restore, clearing away the undergrowth which has long overrun the beautiful shrubs and flowering plants. The house is built on the extreme southern end of a great island which extends in a northwest direction for about fifty miles far into Venezuela territory, Mora Passage lying between it and Morawhanna proper. Flowers were abundant, attracting many insects and these in turn birds of a score or more species. Kiskadees were nesting in low Bois Immortelle trees, Yellow-backed Cassiques or Bunyahs, in a great saman overhanging the house; while in the garden were Seed-eaters of several kinds, together with Blue and Palm Tanagers and the beautiful Moriche Orioles.[158] Guiana House Wrens[124] were nesting indoors on the ceiling rafters and under the deep eaves of the half veranda, half sitting-room was a beautiful pendent nest of the Feather-toed Swift[71] composed entirely of feathery seed plumes. It was a straight symmetrical column about three inches in diameter and fourteen inches long, suspended from the palm thatch, not half a foot from a hanging, open-comb wasps’ nest. The upper ten inches of the nest was built and occupied just six months ago in September, and a brood of two young were reared. Now the birds had returned and were preparing to nest again, having already added four inches of pure white seed-plumes, easily distinguished from the older, browner, weathered portion. They came to the nest every hour with a beakful of plumes and pressed them into position while fluttering in mid air, evidently utilizing their saliva as a cementing substance. In the interims between their visits, Hummingbirds,—sometimes two at once—came and filched nesting material from the lower end, fraying it out very appreciably. Their nests were attached to the lesser stems of a dense clump of bamboo in the garden.

This Swift was common on all the Guiana rivers, hawking with Swallows over the water. Seen on the wing it appears glossy black with a white throat and collar.

[Illustration: FIG. 71. SIR EVERARD IM THURN’S HOUSE AT MORAWHANNA.]

It was the height of the season of courtship of the Palm Tanagers[144] and they were noisy and bold. A caged female proved to be a source of great attraction and several wild ones kept coming to the cage. We trapped two and they made themselves at home within a few minutes. There was considerable variation, some being gray, almost a bluish gray, while in others the green was strongly dominant.

The chickens and ducks were taken by two kinds of opossums, one, large, ill-smelling and living in the bamboos, and the other very small and rat-like. Game was abundant here and tapirs, Tinamous and Guans were shot for food. The mudflats were inhabited by a host of crabs; most of them exactly like our little fiddlers, while others were larger and blue or yellow in color.

Sand-flies and mosquitoes were present in small numbers, the latter troublesome enough for hammock nets at night, but the worst pest hereabouts was the bête-rouge which abounded in the grass both at Mount Everard and here. Nowhere else did we suffer so much from the fiendish little beasts. Like sea-sickness or an earthquake, bête-rouge is a great leveller of mankind, like a common disaster doing more to make men “free and equal” than all the constitutions and doctrines ever signed. In a bête-rouge infested region the conversation is sooner or later sure to turn upon the subject of these little red mites. Everyone you meet has his or her particular pet remedy to prescribe. The subject under discussion may be the coolie immigration laws, or the proper scientific name for some species of orchid or who is to be the next Governor—but some sharp-eyed fellow sufferer is certain to detect the guilty look upon one’s face which translated into words would be “My ankles are devoured by bête-rouge!” and then the assembled company begins to discuss the topic of really vital interest.

We tried _all_ the remedies—Scrubb’s ammonia, dry soap, wet salt, wet soda, alcohol, resinol ointment, chloroform camphor,—to little purpose beyond very temporary relief. Finally we reached the stage when good manners were thrown to the winds and every victim scratched at will, despite the fact that it eventually aggravated the trouble. There was developed an individuality in the method so that at long distances we were able to recognize one another by the characteristic motions of discomfort!

Then came the discovery of crab-oil, which is an ounce of prevention and not a cure. Rubbed on _before_ going out, no sane bête-rouge will attack you. Crab-oil is made of the nut of the crab-wood tree and it is greasy and sticky and has a disagreeable, rancid odor, which is very lasting. One of us hinted that it was a question whether the remedy were not worse than the disease. She even objected to having bottles of crab-oil rolled for safety in packing, in her very limited supply of clothing. She was promptly pronounced “finnicky” by her “better half” who was righteously indignant and surprised at discovering so unexpected a quality in her. But then he, more than anyone else, was afflicted with bête-rouge; and so could not be expected to see anything at all objectionable in the odor of the crab-oil to which he owed so much relief. It does unquestionably give relief. Well protected with crab-oil one can bid defiance to the annoying little pests, which an old gentleman whom we chanced to meet in our travels persistently and seriously called “_bête noir_,” under the delusion that that was their proper and very appropriate name.

Mr. King’s garden was a constant source of interest because of the flowers, the insects and the birds. In the top of a dead shrub a good-sized yellow flowered orchid had been tied. This, during the last rainy season, had evidently dropped seeds, some of which had clung to the branches beneath and then sprouted. When we saw them, there were twenty or more of these diminutive orchids scattered over the shrub, each with four tiny clinging rootlets, a three-parted leaflet and in the centre one blossom as big as the entire plant, the whole not larger than a shilling.

Two large species of lizards lived in the garden, the common iguana which climbed the trees and fed on leaves and buds, and another, called locally Salapenta (_Teius nigro punctatus_), which included carrion, chicks and even fish in its bill of fare. They would now and then dive into a small pond and appear with a small fish in their jaws.

The last evening of our stay at Mr. King’s we spent sitting on the wharf looking out over Mora Passage. The ripples died from the wake of the steamer as she vanished around a bend on her way back to Georgetown. A cool refreshing breeze blew toward us as the sun’s light faded and a dense flock of more than a hundred Amazon Parrots flew overhead. Our shadows changed from sharp black outlines thrown on the water before us to faint gray shapes, moon-cast on the crab-wood boards behind.

The tangle of palms and liana-draped trees across the Passage became more indistinct and the brilliant moonlight lit up the swirling brown current. An Indian boy passed silently in a narrow curiara. We were his friends—we had given him sixpence and he was off to the little store amid the low thatched huts a few hundred yards down the river, which marked Morawhanna. We knew him only as Frederick, for no white person would ever be told his real name—that of some animal or bird—as such disclosure is against all Indian custom, from the fear of thereby giving others evil power over them. He gave us a quick, shy, half smile, and then all light died from his Mongolian features and he peered sternly into the darkness ahead. Well had he need of fear and caution. We may be sure his purchases were made stealthily and his quick return was certain, for death watched for him in a hundred places.

[Illustration: FIG. 72. PALM TANAGER.]

The day before, he had testified against three of his tribe—the Caribs—for the murder of his father, and now the stern hand of English justice had closed and the chief murderer was eating his heart out somewhere in a cell beyond the bend of the river. No more could Frederick mingle with his tribe, and on his knees and in tears he had begged Mr. King to keep him and shelter him on the Government Island. The vendetta would follow him through life and it was almost certain he would be killed sooner or later.

The calm of the evening was perfect, undisturbed by all this hidden tragedy. When the moon was well clear of the trees, some great frog hidden in the swamp began his rhythmical _kronk! kronk! kronk!_ and tiny bats dashed about, splashing the surface of the water as they drank or snatched floating insects.

The _yap! yap!_ of a passing but invisible Skimmer came faintly, and the throbbing roll of a second kind of frog rumbled out of the dusk across the river. The moonlight became ever stronger and now a Kiskadee called sleepily from his great untidy nest in the distant village. A sharp whip-lash of sound came to our ears and we knew that a Parauque[70] had awakened from his diurnal slumber. An answering cry sounded near at hand in the garden and we could distinguish the two connected tones. The splash of paddles announced the return of the rest of our party as an Indian woman began a droning song from the fire before her hut a few yards away.

Impatient as we were to get into the real “bush,” the days at Morawhanna were delightful. From Mr. King we learned a great deal about England’s government of this out-of-the-world colony. We were especially interested in the protection of the indentured coolie. In the first place the coolie labor market is never allowed to become over-crowded. Each employer sends in an order for the exact number of workmen which he requires, so that the supply brought over is never greater than the demand. The coolie gets free passage from India to South America, and is guaranteed work at a minimum wage of a shilling a day, including his food. On his arrival the immigration agent assigns him to a certain estate, where his term of indenture is five years, his wage being increased as his capacity for work becomes greater. During his term of service he can leave the estate only by permission, and he must never be found at large without his pass book.

At the end of five years the coolie is free to work where he pleases, or to take up a grant of land of his own. After five years more of residence he may return to India free of charge if he so wishes. As the coolie is very thrifty and can live on threepence a day, his menu being rice and water, at the expiration of his ten years, in addition to having earned his living and supported his family, he has often saved up as much as two thousand dollars.

Throughout his term of indenture the English government looks after him. He always has good medical care free, and the law watches over him with scrupulous vigilance, seeing that he is justly treated by his employer, and that no advantage is taken of his ignorance and inexperience. When the coolie leaves India he, of course, loses caste, but as they all fall proportionately, each moving down one in the social scale, a proper balance is preserved. The coolie returning to India, however, finds himself a disgraced outcast. To regain his position in society he must pay large sums of money to the priests; and so it is that he returns to his native land only to be robbed of his hard-earned savings, often returning to South America as a re-indentured man, to start life again. In order to discourage his return to India, the government offers him the money equivalent to his return passage. Many of the coolies take advantage of this and make South America their permanent home, taking up grants of their own and living in greater peace and prosperity than would ever have been possible for them in India.

The population of Morawhanna is composed of coolies, Indians and blacks, who look to the magistrate as a sort of all powerful father to whom they bring troubles of every conceivable kind.

As we were sitting at breakfast one day an aged coolie man was seen hanging around the door. He must see Mr. King on a most important matter, which proved to be a delicate one indeed. His wife had fallen in love with another man and what was he to do? Such troubles are very common among the coolies. Instead of avenging himself upon the man who dared to alienate his wife’s affections, the coolie invariably murders his wife, the favorite method being to chop her up “particularly small.”

In this instance the wife was young and good looking, and her grievance was that her husband expected her to assume the entire support of him and his family, and she declared she would rather die than go back to him. The only solution of the problem was to hurry the woman off on the afternoon boat to Georgetown, in order to save her from murder and her husband from execution.

They are all very fond of bringing their wrongs into court. An irate Indian woman will appear, bringing a charge against the dressmaker who has made her wedding dress too short. Dress of any description is the most recent of acquisitions with the Indian woman, but having acquired it she intends that her wedding gown shall fulfill all the requirements of Dame Fashion, so far as she knows them.

The gown in question has been brought into court as incontrovertible evidence. Should she not put it on and _prove_ to the magistrate, who cries in despair that he knows nothing of the proper length of wedding gowns and calls in another dressmaker for expert opinion. The two dressmakers stand together and the case is dismissed. This is quoted to show the infinite patience with which the magistrate treats each case, however trivial.

The commissioner of health brings a charge against a coolie man, on the ground that he has allowed the drains near his hut to become clogged and so endangered the Public Health. Mr. King reads the indictment in impressive, magisterial tones, accusing the offender of having permitted his drains to become foul. Foul is evidently the one word which conveys any meaning to the coolie, who exclaims in a tone of relief that he has never kept any “fowls”! In British Guiana the arm of the law must have a sense of humor as well as of justice!

We often wondered what was going on behind the impassive face of little Frederick. Did he live in constant terror or did he sometimes forget it all in the light-hearted pleasure of a child? The man convicted of his father’s murder was a peaiman—or medicine man, who is held in great awe and reverence by his tribe. So Frederick’s betrayal was doubly criminal in the eyes of the superstitious Indians.

Frederick had been brought down to Morawhanna at Christmas—a little naked savage knowing not a word of English. When at a loss for a word he always fell back upon the civil “Sir” which Mr. King had taught him. As white women were rare in Morawhanna he had never learned the feminine of “Sir.” It was very amusing to see him serving at table, going all around asking with great dignity, “What will you have, Suh?” regardless of the sex of the guest. Mr. King had taught him to knock before entering a room. He was childishly delighted with the new accomplishment and knocked on both entering and leaving the room. We discovered that he had spent our sixpence on a belt which it seems was the desire of his heart—already so sophisticated!

The dazed stoicism of the convicted Indian was infinitely pathetic to us. This terrible thing called the _Law_ is so incomprehensible to him. He cannot understand it. When a convicted comrade is taken down to Georgetown to execution, his friends and family realize only that he has gone away in a boat to some mysterious place from which he never returns. As far as the moral effect of an execution is concerned, there is none.

[Illustration: FIG. 73. FREDERICK, THE CARIB INDIAN BOY.]

Into the absolutely natural life of the Indian, with the simple and perfectly comprehended tribal laws, has come so much that is confusing;—the new religion, the relations of the laborer to the employer, the wearing of clothes and the strange and powerful law. The Indian is a creature of the present moment, instantly acting upon every desire, working when he wishes to work, and quietly dropping all work and departing when he so desires. What can he—the creature of Nature—know of all this puzzling civilization?

* * * * *

At noon on March 6th we embarked on the three days’ tent-boat journey from Morawhanna to Hoorie Mine. A thirty-foot launch was the motor power and alongside this the big tent-boat was lashed, while several Indians hitched their wood-skins behind as boys hitch sleds to a passing sleigh.

The baggage was stored fore and aft and, perched on a pile in the bow, we prepared for our first real day of observation along the rivers of the Northwest. We retraced our way northward through Mora Passage, frightening as we went, a flock of seven Scarlet Ibises.[27] They kept close together and were evidently a single family, as two were in fully adult plumage, while the others were only three quarters grown, and feathered wholly in brown and white.

About three o’clock in the afternoon we reached the Waini River, but instead of turning toward the mouth and the open ocean which we could see to the northwest, we steered eastward up stream. Although the outlet of several large rivers, the Waini, in its lower reaches, is little more than a great salt water tidal inlet, or caño.

At Mora Passage the Waini is about two miles wide and through the choppy waters of the falling tide we steered straight across to the north shore. Between the waters of this river and the ocean extends a long narrow strip of marshy mangrove, for at least forty miles. Both the White and the Red Mangrove are found here, the latter predominating, and this is the breeding sanctuary of the hosts of birds which haunt the mud-flats at low tide and fill the trees with a gorgeous display of color when the feeding grounds are covered at high tide.

For the next three hours we were enchanted by a constantly changing panorama of bird life, which in extent and variety can seldom be equalled elsewhere.

While crossing the Waini several Swallow-tailed Kites[58] soared screaming overhead, occasionally swooping past for a nearer look at us. As we skirted the great mangrove forest, birds flew up ahead, few at first but in constantly increasing numbers, until several hundred were in sight at once. They showed little fear and were apparently content to vibrate slowly along between launch and shore, accompanying us for fifteen or twenty miles.

By far the greater number were Little Blue Herons,[34] the pure white immature and the slaty blue adults being equally numerous. The latter were very inconspicuous among the foliage, while the former stood out like marble statues against green velvet. The coloring showed great asymmetrical variation, and one young bird with a single blue feather in the right wing was so tame that it kept almost abreast of our flotilla. The irregularity of moult resulted in most remarkable patterns, as in several birds, each of which had one white and one bluish wing.

Half a dozen Yellow-crowned Night Herons[36] were seen and twenty or thirty of the ill-named Louisianas.[35] A few Great-billed Terns[14] accompanied the herons and later in the afternoon we began flushing Snowy Egrets[33] in ever increasing numbers. No American Egrets were seen. All along the coast were small flocks of Scarlet Ibises,[27] from three to thirty in number, and in an hour we had driven together no less than four hundred. The majority were full plumaged birds clad in burning vermilion, but many were young in moult. We secured a young female in an interesting condition of moult. In the stomach were found the two chelæ or claws of a small crustacean, each about one-third of an inch in length. The wings were wholly of the immature brown, except for one tiny under-edge covert in the right wing. The back, lower breast and under tail-coverts were fairly scarlet and active moult was in progress on the head and neck.

We know that in captivity these birds fade out, usually in a single moult, from the most vivid scarlet to a pale salmon hue, but as to the cause we are still in the dark. The same is true of American Flamingos and Spoonbills. During this trip we made certain of a fact which helps slightly to clear this problem—this being that Scarlet Ibises fade as quickly and completely when in captivity in their native country as in the north. This is confirmed by many birds kept formerly in Georgetown and also on the Island of Marajo at the mouth of the Amazon.

We have noticed an interesting fact in regard to this fading out of birds in captivity. Whether the salmon tints appear in the first moult, or more gradually in several, the lesser wing-coverts and the upper and under tail-coverts are the last to loose the scarlet color, retaining it sometimes for five or six years. These feathers in the nearly related but pale Roseate Spoonbill are those which are normally scarlet, and this resemblance may be more than a coincidence.

About four o’clock we were surprised to see a large black and white bird with long gray beak and red legs fly up from a mud-flat ahead and swing outward and around us. The glasses showed a Maguari Stork[29] in full breeding color; even the red caruncles around the eye and the long, filmy neck feathers being visible. We had never expected to see the bird away from the pampas of the interior and the sight of the splendid Stork was most exciting. It is almost as large as the Jabiru, white with black wings, scapulars and tail and is one of the most picturesque of the larger waders.

We have had a pair of these birds alive for some time and have observed a curious thing about the tail. The real tail-feathers are forked, swallow-like, while the intervening space is filled up with the long, stiff under tail-coverts. In flight the whole are spread, making a parti-colored fan of some eighteen feathers instead of the usual six pairs. These under tail-coverts are a full inch longer than the regular tail feathers and seem to be usurping their function.

Two old friends of northern waters appeared in small numbers, Ospreys[59] circling about high in the air with now and then a meteor-like dive, while Spotted Sandpipers[22] looped from one headland to another ahead of us.

At half-past four in the afternoon we had our first sight of the great flocks of birds which seem characteristic of this season. Quite high in air, clear of the tops of the tallest trees we saw a black cloud of birds approaching. We soon made them out to be Greater Anis,[79] or as the natives called them “Big Witch” or “Jumbie Birds.” When first seen they were in a dense, compact mass headed straight toward us.

Their flight was uniform, each bird giving three to six flaps and then sailing ahead for several seconds. Hundreds doing this at once made the sight a most striking one, while it was enhanced by their long, wedge-shaped tails, high arched beaks, bright yellow eyes, and the iridescence of their dark plumage as the slanting rays of the sun struck them. We counted up to a thousand in the van and then gave up—there were at the very least four thousand birds in the flock.

The approach of the puffing launch and our great escort of Ibises and Herons disconcerted them and the entire company broke up, most of them descending, turning on their course and fleeing ahead of us for several miles. Their mode of flight changed completely, the birds flying close to the water, barely skimming its surface and swinging up every few yards to alight on a low branch.

A piece of wood thrown among a mass of them would cause great dismay, and they dashed down into the nearest foliage as if a Hawk had appeared. Little by little they drifted past, flying rapidly near shore, and continuing in the direction which they had originally chosen. A few of the birds were moulting, but by far the greater number were in perfect plumage.

The flock had the appearance of being on some sort of migration rather than assembling at a nightly roost. About Georgetown and the settlements and clearings in general, this Greater Ani was much rarer then the small Smooth-billed species,[80] twenty of the latter being seen to one of the former. These aberrant Cuckoos are most interesting birds and several females are said to combine, building a single hollow nest of sticks in which the eggs are hatched.

Hardly had the last Ani passed out of sight when a second cloud of birds appeared far ahead, and before we had approached near enough to identify them a shrill chorus came to our ears; a horde of Blue-headed Parrots[65] were on their way up the coast. They behaved in much the same way as the Anis, but were more numerous: an estimate far below the truth gave eight thousand. Closely massed though most of them were, yet the eternal two and two formation of the tribe of Parrots was never lost, and even when the vanguard, terrified by our puffing launch, wheeled and dashed back through the ranks behind, each Parrot flew always close to its mate. Once later on, when only a few scores were left near us, we saw several perched in a bare tree close to a Hawk, like a Sparrow Hawk in size, but neither species paid any attention to the other’s presence.

The Parrots screamed unceasingly and near the main body the noise was terrific—a shrill deafening roar, as from a dozen factory whistles. Until long after dark they flew back and forth around us, sometimes attempting to alight in a tree and falling from branch to branch almost to the water, before securing a foot or beak-hold. For several hours perfect pandemonium reigned around us.

Whether these two phenomena of flocking birds indicated merely a nightly roosting habit or an actual, more or less local migration, they were of the greatest interest, and spectacular in the extreme. Our opinion inclines decidedly toward the latter theory, as they both differed greatly from the regular roosting flights which we observed elsewhere.

Long after dark, about nine o’clock, in the faint light of the cloud-dimmed moon, we caught glimpses of occasional ghostly forms flitting silently past, and when we flashed our powerful electric light upon them, the feathered ghosts would emit frightened squawks; revealed as Snowy Egrets or young Blue Herons. Here and there among the mangroves, large lightning bugs flashed. At last we rolled up in our blankets and slept on the thwarts, to dream of the unnumbered legions of Anis and Parrots far off behind us in the blackness of the mangrove jungle.

In a soft steady rain we steamed all next morning up the Waini, seeing few signs of life, except three Toucans which flew across at Barrimani Police Station. At noon we reached Farnum’s at the junction of the Waini and Barama rivers. Mr. and Mrs. Farnum live in a small house perched on the very summit of a symmetrically rounded hill—the first elevation we had seen in this flat region. There is a tiny store at the foot of the hill, and a saw-mill, and in the grass of the clearing, bête-rouge lie in patient wait for the passer-by. Mrs. Farnum told us that “Hummingbirds” flew into the peaked roof of the house almost every day and died. The natives call by this name all the species of Honey Creepers, and a Yellow-winged[136] male was picked up from the floor during our visit.

[Illustration: FIG. 74. OUR TENT-BOAT ON THE BARAMA RIVER.]

We found later that this was such a common occurrence that in almost all the houses there were instruments for getting rid of the bewildered, fluttering birds. The more cruel used only a long stick with which the birds were struck down, but the more humanely inclined had nets on the end of long poles. As many as seven Honey Creepers are occasionally entrapped at one time. They do not seem to know how to fly toward light and liberty after getting up among the dark rafters.

The fauna of this exceedingly marshy region was different from that higher up. Agoutis and pacas are abundant but capybaras do not come this side of Barramanni Police Station. Deer and peccaries are very rare. Jaguars are unknown but ocelots are occasionally found, a young one having been killed under the house at Christmas. It lived in a burrow and took a chicken each night until it was killed.

Many fish were seen playing about the tent-boat as it was tied to the wharf, and among others were scores of small pipe-fish. Mr. Crandall caught a small round sun-fish-like form, brilliantly colored and with a most wicked looking set of triangular teeth. As he was about to take the fish off the hook it deliberately twisted itself in the direction of his hand and bit his finger, taking a piece out with one snip of its four razor-like incisors. This was our introduction to the famous Perai or Carib Fish (_Serrasalmo scapularis_) which seems to fear nothing, man, crocodile or fish, and a school of which can disable any creature in a very short time.

At this point we left the Waini and turned off into the Barama. We had followed the Waini day and night for about sixty miles, until, from a stream of two miles or more in width, it had narrowed to little more then one hundred yards.

We left Farnum’s at three in the afternoon and steamed slowly up the Barama for twelve hours, tying up to the bank from three to seven in the early morning. We slept but little, for the strange wonderland which opened up before us. At nine o’clock the full moon rose and the beauty of the wilderness became indescribable. In the north—along the rivers of the Canadian forest—the spruces and firs are clean-trunked, tapering to tall, isolated, symmetrical summits. Here the very opposite conditions exist; solid massive walls of black foliage, with almost never a glimpse of trunk and bark. Most characteristic are the long, slender bush-ropes or lianas. In the forest they are thick, gnarled and knotted; there we get the vivid feeling of serpentine struggles in the terribly slow but none the less remorseless striving for light and air, but along the rivers the lianas are pendent threads or cables—straight as plummets and often a hundred feet in length. These give a decorative aspect to the scene unlike any other type of forest—temperate or northern.

In the moonlight the appearance of the walls of foliage is like painted scenery. Their blackness and impenetrability give a feeling of flatness and the summit outlines are crudely regular. The dominant sound at night along the Barama was a sweet tinkling as of tiny bells, all in unison and harmony, but with a range of at least four half-tones. The tree-toads clinging here and there to leaves and flowers throughout the jungle fill this whole region with the melody of their chimes; striking the minutes as if with a thousand tiny anvils, and only too often leading some enemy to their hiding places.

We woke at early dusk and climbing out upon the bow of the tent-boat watched the coming of the tropical day. The medley of fairy bells was still bravely ringing, but as the dawn approached, the little nocturnal musicians ceased tolling and the chorus died out with a few faint, final tinkles. Six o’clock, and the sunshine upon the tree-tops brought a burst of sound from the Woodhewers, a succession of twelve to twenty loud, ringing tones in a rapidly descending scale—Canyon Wren-like and taken up continuously from far and near. The very tang and crispness of the early dawn seemed to inspire the quality of their notes.

As soon as it was light, Swallows were seen in numbers, small, dark steel-blue in color with a striking band of white across the breast. These beautiful Banded Swallows[118] kept at first to two levels in the air; close to the water, fairly skimming its surface, and high up above the tallest trees—marking I suppose the early morning distribution of gnats and other insects. Most delicate and fairy-like they appeared when perched on some great orchid-hung dead branch protruding from the water.

[Illustration: FIG. 75. INDIAN BOYS IN DUG-OUT.]

We can find no adjectives to express the beauty and calm of the cool, early morning on these tropical rivers. Myriads—untold myriads—of leaves and branches surround us like the lofty walls of a canyon. We have used the words wall in this connection many times and no other word seems to be so suitable. All sense of flatness is lost in the light of the dawn; and instead we see these living walls now as infinitely softened; but still the eye cannot penetrate the intricate tangle. Not a breath of air stirs the smallest leaf. It is like the fairy river of an enchanted country—all Nature quiet and resting—with only the brown current ever slipping silently past, here and there foam-flecked or bearing some tiny aquatic plant with its rosette of downy leaves.

Then,—the lush tropical nature rushing ever to extremes—comes a deluge of virile life upon the scene. A great fish leaps far upward, shattering the surface, pursued by a fierce, brown-coated otter, almost as large as a man. A half dozen green Parrots throb screaming past in pairs; two big Red-breasted King-fishers[67] spring from their perch and come leaping toward us through the air, suddenly wheeling up almost in a somersault and down like two meteors into the water.

We leave our bushy moorings at last and keep on up the river with the tide, passing the English mission of Father Carey-Elwis, which, like Farnum’s, is built on a hill, isolated amid the great expanse of flat marshy jungle. A dozen little naked Indian lads shriek in sheer excitement and rush down to the water’s edge to watch us pass, peering fearfully out from behind trees like little gnomes.

From here on butterflies became very abundant; many large Yellows and Oranges and Morphos of two kinds, one altogether iridescent blue, the other blue and black. As the little vocal messages of the tree-frogs are carried far and wide through the jungle at night, so in the sunshine the morphos, like heliographs of azure, flash silently from bend to bend of the river. Conspicuous among the great Mora and Purple-heart trees were the white-barked Silk Cottons. Large yellow tubular blossoms and masses of purple pea blooms tint the trees here and there.

The Indians along the river were catching two kinds of fish; one a silvery mullet about six inches long called Bashew, and a catfish of the same size. The latter was most formidable in appearance but actually harmless. Four slender barbels of medium size depended from the lower jaw, while two pigmented ones extended forward from the upper jaw and were so long that when pressed back they reached to the tail.

Rain fell irregularly during the day, but so gently and so softly that we hardly knew when it began and when it ended. It never chilled but rather refreshed. About noon a third migrational flocking of birds was noticed; seventy-two large South American Black Hawks[55] circling slowly around, setting their wings after a while and sailing off to the west as one bird.

The action and reaction among the vegetation was often as striking as among more active organisms. Where parasitic aërial roots had descended seventy or eighty feet and touched the water near shore, vines had somehow managed to reach out and throw a tendril about the roots, take hold and climb circle upon circle to the top. The palm trees alone of all the forest growth seemed universally free from parasitic plants and climbing vines.

Above the mission, coincident with the increase of butterflies and the appearance of occasional sand-banks, palm trees disappeared without apparent reason. The river narrowed as we ascended until it was only fifty yards across and the bends increased in angle and number. Now and then we passed a cut-off when the stream had cut through one of its own bends and made a new bed for itself.

A small opening in the wall of verdure was hailed as Hoorie Creek and, dropping behind the launch, we were towed a mile or more up its tortuous length, now and then running aground or rather “atree,” as it was only thirty feet wide and as sinuous as a serpent. We tied fast to a big overhanging tree which marked the end of our journey by water and, all excitement, leaped ashore.