Part 1—Chapter VII.

Carnivora.

The Black Bear.

Several species of the bear tribe inhabit America; the two most numerous of which are the black bear, or musquaw, and the far-famed ferocious grizzly bear of the Rocky Mountains. The black bear is found generally among the forests and plains of the east, though the grizzly also descends from his mountain fastnesses, and makes his way through the low country to a considerable distance from his usual abode. Although the black bear has not obtained the same character for fierceness as his grizzly relative, he often proves a formidable opponent when attacked by human foes, and is also dreaded on account of his depredations among their flocks and herds. He is, indeed, a monstrous and powerful animal, often reaching six feet in length from the muzzle to the tail—the tail being only about two inches long—while he stands from three to three and a half feet in height at the shoulder. He is covered with a smooth and glossy coat of thick hair, without any wool at the base. He does not always wear a black suit; sometimes he puts on a brown one. When his coat is perfectly black, he has a cinnamon patch on his muzzle. He varies, too, in shape. Occasionally he is long and low, at others his body is short,—and he has great length of limb. Under ordinary circumstances, he restricts himself to a vegetable diet, but is very fond of a small species of snail which feeds on the prairie grass; and, like others of his relatives, he is greatly addicted to honey. As his feet are furnished with strong sharp claws, he is able to make his way up the trunks of trees to reach his favourite food. In this object he displays great perseverance and acuteness. However high up it may be, or in positions most difficult of access, he will manage to reach the combs containing the sweet repast. Should the comb be hidden away in the hollow of some aged tree, with an entrance too small for admitting his huge paw, he sets to work with his teeth, and gnaws away the wood till he has formed a breach of sufficient size to allow him to put it in. He is utterly regardless of the assaults of the tiny inhabitants of the comb; and scooping out their honey and young together with his fore-paws, devours the whole mass. He will sometimes, when pressed by hunger, break into the settler’s barn and carry off sheep, pigs, and small cattle into the neighbouring woods; and so cunning is he, that it is not often he is overtaken, or entrapped in the snare laid for his capture.

The Indians of Nova Scotia call him Mooin, which reminds us of Bruin. The Indians throughout the country pay great respect to the bear, having, like the Esquimaux, a high opinion of his intellectual powers, and believing that he is in some way related to them, and possessed of an almost human spirit. Still, they do not scruple to kill him; but as soon as the breath is out of his body, they cut off his head, which they place ceremoniously within a mat decorated with a variety of ornaments. They then blow tobacco-smoke into the nostrils, and the chief hunter, praising his courage, and paying a variety of compliments to his surviving relatives, expresses regret at having been compelled to deprive him of life, and his hope that his own conduct has been altogether satisfactory to Mr Mooin, and worthy of the renown they have both attained.

The musquaw hibernates, like other bears of northern regions, and is very particular in selecting a dry cave for his long winter’s nap. At the “fall,” he is especially fat, having lived for some time on the beech-mast, blue-berries, and other fruits which grow in great profusion in the forest. He then weighs 500 pounds, and even 600 pounds. The chief part of the fat lies along the back, and on either side, as in the flitch of the hog. There is no doubt that it is by the absorption of this fat throughout his winter fast of four months that he is enabled to exist—at this time evaporation being at a stand-still. Having at length selected a cavern, or the hollow of a decayed tree, for his lair, he scrapes out all the dead leaves, till the ground is perfectly clean and smooth. It must be deep enough to prevent the snow from drifting into it, and free from any water trickling down from above. He objects especially to a habitation which has been occupied by the porcupine, that animal being far from cleanly in its habits. Perhaps also he has an objection to the quills with which the creature is furnished, from their being likely to produce disagreeable wounds. He forgets, perhaps, that the rubbish he has scraped out will betray his abode to the hunter—which it assuredly does. The Indian, on discovering this indubitable sign of Mooin’s abode, takes steps to arouse him and plant a bullet in his head, or to batter out his brains with his axe. Mooin, however, in spite of his usual sagacity, ignorant that his abode may be discovered, perhaps already overcome with a strange desire to sleep, crawls in for his winter’s snooze. He is frequently accompanied by a partner, who will add to his warmth and comfort. He there lies down with his fore-paws curled round his head and nose, which he pokes underneath his chest. Here he remains asleep till the warm sun of March or April tempts him to crawl out in search of food to replenish his empty stomach and strengthen his weakened frame. Madam Mooin is generally, at this time, employed in the pleasing office of increasing her family. Her young cubs, when born, are curiously small, helpless little beings, not larger than rats. Generally there are two of them, and they are born about the middle of February. She manages to nourish them without taking any food herself till March or April, when she also, like her better half, sallies forth in search of provender. The young creatures grow but slowly, and do not attain their full size till they are about four years old. Even when about a couple of months old, the little cubs are not much larger than a retriever puppy of the same age.

The musquaw finds great difficulty at first in satisfying the cravings of his appetite. He searches for the cranberries in the open bogs, and is driven even to eat the rank marshy grass. As the snow disappears, he seeks for wood-lice and other creatures in rotten trunks. Hungry as he is, he labours very patiently for his food. The prehensile form of his lips enables him to pick up with wonderful dexterity even the smallest insect or berry. As the ice breaks up in the lakes, he proceeds thither to fish for smelts and other small fish, which he catches with wonderful dexterity with his paws, throwing them out rapidly behind him. When, however, pressed by hunger, and unable to obtain the smaller creatures for food, he will attack young deer if he can take them by surprise; but as he can seldom do this, he is often tempted into the neighbourhood of settlements. Here he lies in wait for the cattle as they wander through the woods to their spring pastures; and when once he has taken to this dangerous proceeding, he is said to continue it. On catching sight of a herd, should it not be accompanied by a human being, he drives the animals into some boggy swamp, and there singling out a victim, he jumps on its back, and deals it a few tremendous blows across the head and shoulders, till the poor animal becomes an easy prey. He then drags it off into the neighbouring wood, and devours it at his leisure. This habit is often the cause of his destruction. On any remainder of the animal being found, the aggrieved settler sets off, rifle in hand and axe in his belt, to punish the aggressor. The bear, he well knows, will revisit the carcass. So cunning, however, is Bruin, and conscious of guilt, that he is constantly on the watch, as he returns, for an enemy. He creeps up, accordingly, looking on either side, his caution increasing as he approaches his prey. The hunter, therefore, to outwit him, seeks his trail in the direction in which he has retreated, and conceals himself near it, but at some distance from the carcass. He waits till the sun is setting, when he is almost sure to see the bear come tripping nimbly along, not yet thinking it necessary to employ caution. At this moment a rifle-bullet, placed in his head, deprives him of his intended feast and his life at the same time.

The black bear possesses wonderful strength—said to be fully equal to that of ten men. Experiments have been tried, in which so many persons have attempted to drag off a cask baited with molasses, or other sweet stuff, secured to a rope, when the bear has carried it away with perfect ease, in spite of their united efforts to draw it from him.

The most dangerous time to attack a she-bear is in the spring; when she is accompanied by her cubs. If she has time, she will lead them off to a place of safety; but if not, she will chase the intruder from her domains—and woe betide him if he cannot manage to escape her claws! Bears are easily taken in traps, baited with small bundles of sticks smeared with molasses. They are hunted in the “fall,” when they have become fat with the ample supply of blue and whortle berries or beech-mast on which they have been feeding. To obtain the beech-mast, Bruin will frequently climb a tree, and sometimes, like the orang-outang of Eastern seas, will build a rough platform for himself among the upper branches, where he can lie concealed and munch his food at leisure. The most certain way to obtain the animal in this case is to cut down the tree and shoot him as he reaches the ground, for, as may be supposed, he is in no amiable mood when thus disturbed, and, unless speedily killed, would attempt to wreak a fearful vengeance on his assailants. The black bear springs on his prey in the same way as does the tiger or panther of the southern part of the continent. He thus frequently kills the young moose, though the full-grown animal is too active and powerful to be thus caught. He will even attack horses in the same way, though the latter animal often receives him with a furious kick.

In the summer, the black bears unite and hunt in gangs, making the forest resound with their fearful snarling and loud moaning cries. They give warning to the hunter to pile fuel on his camp-fire, and to take his rifle in hand, for, strong in numbers, they will not hesitate to approach him, and, if pressed by hunger, to make an assault on his camp.

The Grizzly Bear.

The most dreaded inhabitant of the Rocky Mountains and their neighbourhood, is the savage grizzly, frequently called by the hunters Old Ephraim. Even the bravest hunter, when making his way through this wild region, finds it necessary to call all his courage and hardihood to his aid, when he sees one of these huge monsters sitting upon its hind-legs prepared for a rush towards him, and uttering a loud, harsh sound, like a person breathing quickly. Should he not wish for a contest, his best plan is to face the monster boldly, moving slowly on, but ever keeping his eyes fixed on the animal. The bear will, in most cases, after watching him attentively for some time, turn round and gallop off. If, however, he should lose his presence of mind, and attempt to fly—or should he fail, when he fires, to shoot the monster through the brain—in all probability he will quickly be torn to pieces.

The grizzly frequently attains a length of nine feet, and weighs from 700 to 800 pounds. His head, in proportion to his muzzle, is very large. He has a long, narrow muzzle, somewhat flattened, with large, powerful, canine teeth. His eyes are small, and deeply sunk in his head. His tail is so short, that it is completely concealed by the surrounding hair. He possesses remarkably long feet, which, in the full-grown animal, are eighteen inches in length; and they are armed with sharp and powerful claws five inches long, and so extremely sharp, that they cut into the flesh like knives. He can also use them separately like fingers, so that he can grasp a dry clod of earth and crumble it to dust as a human being could do with his hand. He can also, with them, dig into the ground; and when the weight of his body is not too great, they enable him to climb trees, although not with the speed of his black brother of the plains. As acorns form a portion of his food, it is said that he will climb a tree and shake the boughs vehemently to make them fall, when he descends and revels on the fruit his ingenuity has thus obtained. The hunter who has to fly for his life may however escape from a bear,—when the monster is filled out with autumn food, and cannot manage to raise his huge body from the ground,—by climbing a tree.

The grizzly varies much in colour. Sometimes his fur is of a dullish brown, freckled over with grizzly hairs; while other specimens are entirely of a steely grey. In all cases, the grizzly hairs give a somewhat white appearance to the surface of the fur. When the animal is young, his fur is of a rich brown, and often very long and thick, and much finer than that of the adult animal. When the creature walks, he swings his body in an odd fashion, rolling his head, at the same time, from side to side, which gives him a remarkably awkward look. Although the grizzly occasionally satisfies himself with vegetable diet, he will also attack and devour any animals he can kill. He does not hesitate to assault the powerful bison; and on overtaking a herd, he will spring without hesitation on the largest bull, and, with the tremendous strokes of his powerful paws, speedily bring it to the ground, when he will without difficulty drag the enormous carcass off to his lair, to devour it at his leisure. All other animals stand in awe of the grizzly; and even the largest pack of hungry wolves will not venture to attack him, nor indeed will they touch his carcass after he has succumbed to the rifle of the hunter. Horses especially are terror-stricken when they scent or see a grizzly; and not until they have been carefully trained, will they even allow the skin of one to be placed on their backs.

The grizzly employs his claws both in digging for roots and in burying any large animal he may have killed, to preserve the carcass till he requires it for another meal. An anecdote is given of a hunter who, pursued by one of these monsters, took advantage of this propensity to save his life. His rifle was unloaded. Of course he had not wounded the bear, or his stratagem would have been in vain. Throwing himself on the ground, the hunter closed his eyes, and stretching out his limbs, feigned to be dead. It must have been a fearful moment when he felt the bear lift up his body in his claws to carry him away to the neighbourhood of his lair. The bear having dug a hole, placed him in it, and covered him carefully with leaves, grass, and bushes. An Indian, or hardy backwoodsman, could alone have existed under such circumstances. The hunter waited anxiously till he heard loud snores proceeding from the cavern. Then, slipping up, like Jack the Giant-killer from the castle of the ogre, he scampered off as fast as his legs could carry him.

Mr Kane—the Canadian artist—mentions meeting a grizzly when in company with an old, experienced half-breed hunter, FranÇois by name. FranÇois, however, declined firing, alleging that the risk was greater than the honour to be obtained—his own character for bravery having been long established. Young hunters might do so for the sake of proudly wearing the claws—one of the ornaments most esteemed by an Indian chief—round his neck. Although Kane’s gun had two barrels, and FranÇois had his rifle, they knew it was ten chances to one they would not kill him in time to prevent a hand-to-hand encounter. The bear walked on, looking at them now and then, but seeming to treat them with contempt.

Some years before this, a party of ten Canadian voyageurs, on a trade excursion in the neighbourhood of the mountains, were quietly seated round a blazing fire, eating a hearty dinner of deer, when a large, half-famished bear cautiously approached the group from behind a chestnut-tree. Before they were aware of his presence, he sprang across the fire, seized one of the men, who had a well-finished bone in his hand, round the waist with his two fore-paws, and ran about fifty yards on his hind-legs with him before he stopped. The hunter’s comrades were so thunderstruck at the unexpected appearance of such a visitor, and his sudden retreat with “pauvre” Louisson—the man who had been carried off—that they for some time lost all presence of mind, and, in a state of confusion, were running to and fro, each expecting in his turn to be kidnapped in a similar manner. At length Baptiste Le Blanc, a half-breed hunter, seized his gun, and was in the act of firing at the bear, when he was stopped by some of the others, who told him that he would inevitably kill their friend, owing to the position he was then in. During this parley, Bruin, relaxing his grasp of the captive, whom he kept securely under him, very leisurely began picking the bone the latter had dropped. Once or twice Louisson attempted to escape, which only caused the bear to watch him more closely. On his making another attempt, the bear again seized him round the waist, and commenced giving him one of those dreadful embraces which generally end in death. The poor fellow was now in great agony, and gave way to the most pitiful screams. Observing Baptiste with his gun ready, anxiously watching a safe opportunity to fire, he cried out, “Tire! tire! mon cher frÈre, si tu m’aimes! A la tÊte! À la tÊte!” This was enough for Le Blanc, who instantly let fire, and hit the bear over the right temple. He fell; and at the same moment dropped Louisson. He gave him an ugly claw along the face, however, which for some time afterwards spoiled his beauty. After he had tired, Le Blanc darted to his companion’s side, and with his couteau de chasse quickly finished the sufferings of the man-stealer, and rescued his friend from impending death. On skinning the bear, scarcely any meat was found on his bones, showing that it was in a fit of hungry desperation that he had thus made one of the boldest attempts at kidnapping over heard of in the legends of ursine courage.

Wolves.

There are several species of wolves in North America: one, a large, black animal, which inhabits the forests; and another, much smaller, which hunts the bison and deer in vast packs across the prairie, and is called the prairie-wolf. Like the wolf of Europe, the black wolf is a fierce, dangerous creature, and equally cowardly. When driven into the corner of a hut, as has sometimes occurred, or when caught in a trap, he will not attempt to defend himself against any person who may enter to destroy him. Audubon mentions an instance of this. A farmer with whom he was staying having lost a number of his animals by wolves, dug several pitfalls in the neighbourhood of his farm. Three large wolves were found in the morning in one of these traps. The farmer, instead of shooting them from above, boldly descended into the trap, and seizing the creatures one by one by the hind-legs, severed the chief tendon, thus preventing their escaping. He afterwards killed and skinned them at his leisure, their skins being of sufficient value to repay him for the loss of his cattle.

The prairie-wolves are considerably smaller than their brethren of the woods. They travel in large packs, a solitary one being seldom seen. Their skins are of no value. The Indians will not waste their powder upon them, and they therefore multiply so greatly, that some parts of the country are completely overrun by them. They are, however, caught by; pitfalls covered over with switches baited with meat. They destroy a great number of horses, particularly in the winter season, when the latter get entangled in the snow. In this situation, two or three wolves will often fasten on one animal, and speedily, with their long claws, tear it to pieces. The horses, however, often bravely defend themselves; and Mr Goss mentions finding near the bodies of two of these animals, which had been killed the night before, eight wolves lying dead and maimed around,—some with their brains scattered, and others with their legs or ribs broken.

Let us watch from an ambush the manoeuvres of a pack of savage cayotes—the name given to one species of wolf—while hunting their prey. Our ears are first assailed by a few shrill, currish barks at intervals, like the outpost firing of skirmishing parties. These are answered by similar barks from the opposite direction, till the sounds gradually approximate on the junction of the different bands. The horses, sensible of the approach of danger, begin to paw the ground, snort, toss up their heads, look wildly about them, and exhibit other symptoms of fear. We prepare our guns ready for action. Three or four stallions take the lead, and wait, with comparative composure, for the approach of the enemy. The allies at length enter the field in a semicircular form, with their flanks extended, for the evident purpose of surrounding their prey.

They are between three and four hundred strong. The horses, from experience, know well their object, and, dreading an encounter with so numerous a force, instantly turn round and gallop off in a contrary direction. Their flight is the signal for the wolves to advance. The brutes, uttering a simultaneous yell, charge after the fugitives, still preserving their crescent form. Two or three horses, much out of condition, are quickly overtaken, when they commence kicking at the advance-guard of the enemy; but though several of the wolves receive severe blows, they will, it is evident—being reinforced by others—quickly despatch the unfortunate horses.

It is time for us to emerge from our concealment and fire a volley at the enemy’s centre, by which several are brought down. The whole battalion of cowards instantly wheel about, and fly towards the hills in the utmost disorder; while the horses, hearing the sound, come galloping up to us for protection, and by their neighing express their joy and gratitude at our timely interference.

Lynxes.

Although lynxes are not so numerous in America as wolves, they are equally destructive, and individually more daring—attacking deer and smaller animals when they can take them at a disadvantage. They seldom fly, as wolves do, on the first approach of man. In size, the largest does not exceed the dimensions of an English mastiff. The Canadian lynx is frequently termed the Peeshoo, and sometimes “Le Chat” by the French Canadians. His coat is covered with long hairs of a dark grey hue, besprinkled with black, the extremities of which are white, with dark mottlings here and there on the back. Sometimes the fur is of a ruddy chestnut tinge, and the limbs are darker than the rest of the body—which is about three feet long. The animal possesses powerful limbs, and thick, heavy feet, furnished with strong, white claws. When moving over the ground it leaps in successive bounds, its back being slightly arched, and all its feet pitching at the same time. It also swims well, and can cross rivers and lakes a couple of miles broad. Strong as it is, it appears it is easily killed by a blow on the back with a slight stick. It ranges throughout the greater part of the continent, and is shot or trapped for the sake of its fur, which is of considerable value.

The Wolverene, or Glutton.

The wolverene, or glutton, carries off the palm for cunning from all the other animals. It is also more ferocious and daring for its size than even the huge grizzly, while for voracity it is unsurpassed. In appearance, it is somewhat similar to a young bear. It is of a brownish-black colour, with a black muzzle and eyes of a dark hue, the space between them being of a brown tint. The paws are also quite black, contrasting with the ivory whiteness of the claws. It possesses large and expanded paws, to enable it to pass over frozen snow; indeed, so large are they, that its footsteps are often mistaken for the tracks of the bear. In one of its habits it resembles Mr Bruin, having the custom, when it finds an animal which it cannot devour at one meal, of carrying off the remainder and hiding it in some secure place.

The glutton moves at a somewhat slow pace, and appears rather deficient in agility; but at the same time he is persevering and determined, and will range over a wide extent of country in search of weak or dying animals, stealing unawares upon hares and birds, etcetera. When he takes a fancy to some larger quadruped as it lies asleep, he springs upon it, tearing open the neck and throat. He is supposed to prefer putrid flesh, and the odour which proceeds from him would lead us to suppose that such is the case. The trappers look upon him with especial hatred, as, with his usual cunning, he seeks out their hoards of provisions in cache, and destroys their marten-traps. He himself is so sly that he is seldom caught in a snare. When he finds one, he approaches it from behind, and pulling it to pieces from the outside, carries off the bait. The marten-hunter will go forth and set a line of traps, extending to upwards of forty miles in length or circumference. The wolverene, observing what he is about, follows at a distance, carefully pulling the traps to pieces as he leaves them behind, and eating off the heads of the partridges or other birds which have been used as bait, declining all the time to run his nose into danger. When a sable or marten is entrapped, he tears out the dead animal and carries it away. It is even supposed that he will attack a hibernating bear in his den, and manage to kill him before Bruin has aroused himself sufficiently for his defence.

The wolverene is the fur-trapper’s greatest foe, and, as may be supposed, he has no mercy shown him. The cunning creature, moreover, in spite of his cleverness, sometimes gets caught. Mr Paul Kane, in one of his journeys across the country, had left a cache composed of logs built together, something like a log-house, but not very closely fitted. Impelled by hunger after a long journey, he and his companion on their way back reached their cache, and began throwing off the heavy logs which covered the top and concealed it. The Indian, hearing a great disturbance within, called to Mr Kane to fetch the guns. Just as he got up, a fine fat wolverene jumped out, but was immediately shot down. The creature must have been starved and desperately thin to have squeezed himself through the openings between the logs, and no doubt, impelled by hunger and the smell of the meat inside, had not thought much of a slight squeeze. When, however, he was once in, and had enjoyed a few good meals, he could not get out again, and the idea of starving himself as long as the meat lasted did not appear to have occurred to him.

The disappointment to the hungry travellers was very great, as but little food was left, and that was mangled, torn, and tossed about in the dirt by the animal.

The Raccoon.

To obtain a satisfactory sight of the raccoon, we must set out into the forest by torchlight, accompanied by dogs, with fowling-piece in hand. As he remains during the day in some hollow tree, it is rarely we can get a good view of him. Even if by chance found on the ground, he ascends the tree so rapidly, that he is stowed away before our rifle can reach the shoulder. The well-trained dog, however, quickly finds him when roving about the woods at night.

Let us accompany Audubon on a ’coon hunt. Our native companions have gone before with the dogs, who are baying at the raccoon in an open part of the forest. On our coming up, a singular scene presents itself to us. The flare of our torch seems to distress him. His coat is ruffled, and his rounded tail seems thrice its ordinary size. His eyes shine like emeralds. With foaming jaws he watches the dogs, ready to seize by the snout each who comes within reach. His guttural growlings, instead of intimidating his assailants, excite them the more. He seizes one, however, by the lip. It is a dangerous proceeding, for, while thus far victorious, the other curs attack him in flank and rear, while their companion yells pitifully. The raccoon will not let go, but the other dogs, seizing him fast, worry him to death. Yet to the last he holds tightly the dog’s lip.

While we stand gazing at the poor animal, all around is, by the flare of the torch, rendered trebly dark and dismal. It is a scene for a skilful painter.

The raccoon is about the same size as a small fox, and though somewhat like it, has also rather an ursine appearance. He has a tufted tail marked with black and white bands. The head tapers somewhat like that of the fox, but the ears are short and slightly rounded, the forehead broad, and the nose sharp. The fore-legs being shorter than the hinder, when he stands the tail end of his body is lifted higher than the front, and consequently his back appears curved. He walks like the dog, putting the tips of his toes to the ground; but when he stops he lays his feet flat.

He receives no mercy from the farmers, for he is of a sanguinary and savage disposition, and commits great havoc among domestic as well as wild birds, always destroying far more than he requires; merely eating off their heads, or lapping up the blood which flows from their wounds. He commits occasionally ravages in sugar-cane or Indian-corn plantations; and, climbing with ease, catches birds, and devours their eggs. He resembles the squirrel in his movements; and, like that animal, when eating, sits on his hind-legs, and uses his fore-feet to carry his food to his mouth. A story is told of a young tame raccoon let loose in a poultry-yard, when, his natural disposition overcoming his civilised manners, he sprang on a cock strutting in a dignified fashion among the hens, and fixed himself on its back. The bird, surprised at so unusual an attack, began scampering round the yard, the hens scattering far and wide in the utmost confusion. Still the little animal kept his seat, till he managed to get hold of the unfortunate cock’s head in his jaws, and before the bird could be rescued, had crunched it up—still keeping his seat, in spite of the dying struggles of his victim; and probably, had he not been bagged, would have treated all the feathered inhabitants of the yard in the same fashion. When out hunting on his own account, he often hides himself among the long reeds on the bank of a lake or stream, and pouncing out on the wild ducks as they swim incautiously by, treats them as he does the domestic fowls on shore.

He partakes considerably of the cunning of the fox, yet, like that animal, is frequently outwitted. A raccoon after a long chase managed to reach a tree, which he quickly climbed, with the aid of his claws, snugly ensconcing himself in the deserted nest of a crow. In vain the hunters sought for him, till his long, annulated tail, which he had forgotten to coil up within the nest, was seen pendent below it; and the poor raccoon was quickly brought to the ground by a rifle ball.

He has gained the name of the lotor, or the washer, in consequence of his habit of plunging his dry food into water before eating it. He also drinks a large quantity of water. When moistening his food, he grasps it with both his fore-paws, moving it violently backwards and forwards, as a person does washing clothes in a stream. The German naturalists call him the washing-bear. Though savage and bloodthirsty in his wild state, he is frequently tamed; but he is somewhat capricious in temper, and not easily reconciled when offended. It is curious that he should, when domesticated, change his usual custom of sleeping in the daytime and wandering about at night; but this he does, remaining quiet all night, and making his appearance among the inmates of the house as soon as the sun sheds its light abroad. Though in his wild state a fit member for a temperance society, he will when in captivity, as if to recompense himself for his hard lot, drink fermented liquors of all sorts—the stronger and sweeter the better. An old writer on American animals says, in reference to this propensity, that if taken young it is easily made tame, but “is the drunkenest creature alive, if he can get any liquor that is sweet and strong.” The same writer states that the cunning raccoon often catches crabs by inserting one of his feet into their holes, and dragging them out as soon as they seize hold of it.

The Agouaha, or Crab-Eating Raccoon.

In the Southern States we find another species of raccoon, somewhat larger than the former, who is addicted to eating molluscs and crustaceans, whether marine or terrestrial. It is said, also, that when other means fail of obtaining food, he seats himself on a branch hanging low down over some quiet pool, and using his flexible tail as a fishing-line, waits patiently till its end is caught hold of by a snapping turtle or other inhabitant of the water, when, whisking it up, he tears open the creature’s shell and devours the luscious flesh with aldermanic relish. The fur is generally of a blackish-grey hue, washed with a tinge of yellow. A blacker tint prevails on the head, neck, and along the spine. His tail, in proportion to the size of his body, is shorter than that of the common raccoon, and is marked with six black rings, upon a blackish-yellow ground.

The Ermine.

When we see the judge seated in his richly trimmed robe of ermine—emblem of purity—or call to mind the regal robes of a proud monarch, we are apt to forget that the fur which we so much admire is but that of the detested stoat, turned white during his abode amid the winter’s snow of a northern clime. He is not unlike the weasel, especially when clothed in his darker summer dress, but with a less ruddy hue. The edges of the ears and the toes always remain white.

He is considerably larger than the weasel, measuring upwards of fourteen inches, including the tail—which is about four inches long, the tip almost black. He is a bold hunter, and follows and destroys the hare, and other animals of equal size. It is said, even, that several together will venture to attack a man. They are caught in America by traps, which, giving the animal a sudden blow, kill it without injuring the skin.

The winter coat of the ermine is produced by the whitening of the fur, and not, as was once supposed, by the substitution of white for dark hairs. Probably one cause of this change of hue may be that the energies of the creature concentrate themselves on the vital organs, to enable it to resist the extreme low temperature of the icy regions it inhabits, and cannot thus spare a sufficient amount of blood for the formation of the colouring matter which tinges the hair. Human beings as well as animals become weaker as they increase in age; and it has been observed that their hair also loses its colour, in consequence of such energies as they possess being required to assist the more important functions of nature. This corroborates the correctness of the former remark.

The ermine, like other species of its genus, has the faculty of ejecting a fluid of a strong musky odour. It is abundant, not only in the barren grounds of the Hudson Bay territories, but is also found in Norway and Siberia.

When the fur is used for robes, or similar purposes, the black tuft at the end of the tail is sewn on at regular distances to the skin, giving to the ermine fur the appearance we are all familiar with.

The Pine-Marten.

The pine-marten, a species of weasel, obtains its name from being found amid pine-forests, and from its habit of climbing the trunks of pines in search of prey. It is a fierce and savage creature, choosing to live alone, away from the haunts of man. It is from eighteen to twenty inches in length—with a tail measuring about ten inches—and is covered with long bushy hair. Moving without difficulty among the branches, it seizes many an unfortunate bird in its deadly gripe before its victim can take to flight—robbing also the nest of the eggs within it.

It is common in Europe, as well as in America; but in the cold regions of the Hudson Bay Company it is hunted for the sake of its skin, which is, when blanched during the winter’s cold, scarcely inferior to that of the celebrated sable.

When pursued and overtaken, it stands at bay, exhibiting its teeth, erecting its hair, arching its back, and hissing like a cat. It forms its burrows in the ground, the female producing, a litter of from four to seven. Like other animals of its tribe, it emits a peculiar musky smell.

The Otter.

In winter, along the steep banks of the frozen streams, smooth and shining tracks may be readily detected. They are produced by otters, which have a curious habit of sliding downwards for their amusement—much as human beings are accustomed to do in Canada in their toboggans. To do this, they lie on their bellies, with their fore-legs bent backwards, and giving themselves an impetus with their hind-legs, down they glide, at a swift rate, upon the ice. This sport they will continue for some time, climbing up again to the top of the bank, and repeating the process over and over again. They are also accustomed to pass through the woods from lake to lake, making a direct track in the snow. These tracks are easily known. Then comes a broad trail, as if made by a cart-wheel. This is formed by the animal throwing itself on its belly, and thus sliding along over the surface for several yards. These places are called “otter rubs.”

There are two species of otter in North America—one on the east, and the other on the Pacific slope—differing slightly from each other. The former is considerably larger than that of the Old World, measuring, from the nose to the tip of the tail, sometimes from four and a half to five feet. Like most other water animals, it possesses two sorts of hair: the one is long and shining, and of a rich brown colour, except on the throat, which is of a dusky white; the other is very fine and soft, lying next the skin, and serving to protect it from the extremes of heat and cold. It has excessively sharp, short teeth, which enable it to hold fast the fish, on which it chiefly feeds. Its body is elongated and much flattened, and the tail, which is of great length, is also flat and broad. The legs are short and strong, and so loosely jointed that it can turn them in any direction when swimming.

The habitations of otters are formed in the banks of rivers or lakes, and are not altogether of an artificial character, as they prefer occupying any deserted hollow or natural crevice to the trouble of digging burrows for themselves. Though they are very playful animals, and delight apparently in sport, they are somewhat of a savage disposition, and must be taken very young to be domesticated. They are cautious, timid animals, and can seldom be approached unawares. They eat all sorts of fresh-water fish, such as trout, perch, eels, and suckers; and will also devour frogs. Occasionally they may be observed on a rocky islet of some lone stream, resting after a banquet, or about to plunge into the water in chase of one of the finny tribe, which their keen eyes detect swimming by. They are trapped, in Canada, by steel traps, which are submerged close to the bank below their “rubs.” They make a peculiar whistling sound, which the Indian can imitate perfectly, and thus frequently induces them to approach. Their skins are manufactured into muffs and trimmings and caps, such as are usually worn in winter by Canadians.

An otter, when attacked, will defend itself with desperation, snapping furiously at the Indian, and then shaking its head violently as a dog does when destroying a rat. Their bite is severe—sufficient indeed to snap off a man’s finger—and when once its jaws are closed, no power is capable of making it relinquish its grasp. The Canadians do not attempt to tame the otter; but the persevering Chinese not only contrive to domesticate the species found in their country, but teach them to capture fish for their benefit.

The Skunk.

Rambling amid the woods, even in the neighbourhood of settlements, we may occasionally come upon a curious little animal, with a party-coloured coat and bushy tail, and an amiable and gentle appearance. The creature appears to be in no way timid, and will very likely await our approach. As we draw near it, however, it is apt to turn round and erect its bushy tail perpendicularly. Let us beware of what we are about, for, in a moment, the creature may send over us a shower of a substance so horribly odious, that not only may we be blinded and sickened by the effluvium, but our clothes will be made useless, from the difficulty of getting rid of the odour.

The creature is the skunk, and is about the size of a cat. It possesses short round ears, black cheeks, and a white stripe extending from the nose to the back. The upper part of the neck and the whole back are white, divided by a black line. Below, it is black, as are the legs; and it has a full tail of coarse black hair, occasionally tipped with white. Its legs are short, and it does not possess much activity. Its feet are armed with claws, somewhat like those of the badger.

It appears to use this horrid effluvium—which is generated in glands near the tail—as a means of defence. All other animals have a due horror of it. Anything which it touches is tainted: provisions are destroyed; and clothes, though often washed, will retain the smell for many weeks. At one time this substance was used for medicinal purposes. The mode of defence bestowed on the skunk is somewhat similar to that employed by the cuttle-fish, which emits a dark liquor when pursued. Those who have once smelt the horribly fetid odour of the skunk will not easily forget it.

The Pekan, or Wood-Shock.

Still keeping to the lakes and streams, we may often fall in with a creature of curious habits, which, unlike those just described, lives almost entirely among the branches of the trees. In shape it is somewhat like a weasel, and is the largest of the tree martens. It is known as the wood-shock or pekan, and is also called the black cat, and fisher. This last term is inappropriate, as it is not in any way piscivorous. It is of a dark brown hue, with a line of black shining hair reaching from the neck to the extremity of the tail. The under parts are lighter; some entirely white. It possesses also a very large, full, and expressive eye.

Though spending its time among the trees, hunting for its prey, it forms a burrow in the ground for its usual habitation. It lives upon squirrels and rabbits, as well as grouse and other birds and their eggs. Not only does it venture to attack the well-armed porcupine, but it kills the animal, and eats it up, quills and all. The difficulty of accomplishing this appears very great, but there are numerous instances in which pekans have been killed, when their bodies were found full of quills, from which they did not appear to have suffered. They eat up, indeed, both the flesh and bones of the porcupine—the latter being so strong that a small bird cannot crack them. Mr Downs, the naturalist of Nova Scotia, states that he has frequently found porcupine quills in the stomach of the fisher.

The animal is hunted for the sake of its skin, which is of some value—as also for amusement, especially by boys, as the creature is not sufficiently formidable to cause any great danger to them or their dogs. It is about four feet long, including the tail, which measures about eighteen inches.

The Mink.

Another denizen on the shores of the fresh-waters of Canada is the mink, called also the smaller otter, and sometimes known as the water pole-cat. It may be seen swimming about the lakes, preferring generally the still waters in autumn to the more rapidly-flowing currents of spring. It somewhat resembles the otter, and differs in shape slightly from the marten or ferret. Its teeth, however, are more like those of the pole-cat than the otter; while its tail does not possess the muscular power of the latter animal.

Like the otter, it lives upon fish and frogs, but will occasionally make a marauding expedition into poultry-yards. Its general colour is a dark reddish-brown, approaching in some specimens almost to black on the head; while there is a patch of white, varying in size, under the chin. It is trapped by the settlers both in self-defence and on account of its fur, which is of considerable value, and greatly resembles sable—a good skin often fetching four or five dollars.

Marsupials, or Pouched Animals:—The Virginian or Common Opossum.

The opossum, with its prehensile tail, marsupial pouch, and cunning ways, stands alone for its singularity among all the animals of the American continent. Many of the tribe are found in South America; but the Virginian opossum, the size of a full-grown cat, is larger than all its relatives. The head and body measure about twenty-two inches; and the tail, fifteen. It is covered with a light grey hair of wool-like softness, short on the face and body, but long on the legs. The base end of the tail is thick and black, and is covered with small scales. So powerful is this member that the opossum can hold on with it to the bough of a tree, and even when desperately wounded it does not let go. Its face is long and sharpened, the mouth very determined, and armed with numerous sharp teeth. It has thin, naked, round, and blackish ears, edged with a border of white. It has short legs, the feet being armed with claws, and the interior toes of the hind-feet are flat and rounded.

It has the power of emitting a disagreeable odour when chased or alarmed. When pursued, it makes for the nearest tree; and should it discover the approach of a hunter and his dogs when already up a tree, instead of taking to flight, it lies close along the branch, endeavouring to hide itself. When moving amidst the boughs, it swings itself from branch to branch by means of its tail; and it may be observed at times hanging down, with its eyes wide open, on the look-out for any birds which may incautiously alight on the bough above, or pass within its grasp.

It is very voracious, feeding on small quadrupeds and birds of all sorts; while it does not disdain to prey off a brood of young cotton rats and mice, and devours insects and a variety of reptiles. When unable to find sufficient food in the forest, or too lazy to look for it, it will, without hesitation, make a raid into the farmer’s poultry-yard, and carry off or kill his fowls, and eat up any eggs it may find. The opossum does not always indulge in animal diet,—for he climbs fruit-trees to carry off their luscious productions; and for the sake of obtaining maize, of which he is especially fond, he will climb the tallest stems, and bite them across, so as to bring the heavy ear to the ground. He will also clamber to some higher branch, and hang down, in search of the fruit growing on the boughs incapable of bearing his weight.

The quality for which he is chiefly noted is his habit of feigning death. Frequently he is brought to the ground, when there he lies, every limb relaxed, evidently as dead as can be. The knowing hunter will, however, keep his glance on the creature. If he withdraws it for a moment, its eyelids will be seen slowly opening; and should he turn his head for even the shortest space, the creature will be on its feet, stealing away through the underwood. Though so perfectly an adept at “’possuming,” before attempting to practise its usual ruse it will make every effort to escape from its pursuers. When chased alone by a dog, it will content itself by scrambling up a tree, and sitting quietly on a branch, out of reach, looking down on its canine assailant with contempt as it runs barking furiously below it. The opossum is thus said to be “treed;” and before long, the barking of the dog brings his master to the spot, when the opossum has to fly for its life to the highest branch it can reach. It is easily captured by the rudest style of trap, into which it will walk without hesitation. When “feigning ’possum,” it will submit to be knocked about, and kicked and cuffed, without giving the slightest sign of life. The flesh of the opossum is white, and considered excellent—especially in the autumn, when, after feeding amply on the fruits, beech-nuts, and wild berries, of which it is especially fond, it is very fat.

The female opossum builds a warm nest of dry leaves and moss, sometimes in the hollow of a rotten tree, or beneath its wide-spreading roots. She has been known occasionally to take possession of a squirrel’s nest; and at other times, that of the Florida rat. When her young—generally thirteen to fifteen appearing at a time—are born, they are extremely small—not an inch in length, including the tail—and weighing only four grains. After a couple of weeks or so, she places them in her pouch, when they grow in size and strength, and in about four weeks may be seen with their heads poked out surveying the world, into which they begin to wander at the end of five or six weeks. When first-born, they are the most helpless of little creatures, being both deaf and blind.

The larger number of opossums, however, are to be found in South America, where we shall have an opportunity of further examining them.

Part 1—Chapter IX.

Reptiles.

Tortoises:—The Lettered Terrapin.

Taking the reptiles in their natural order, we must begin with the tortoises. There is a group of these slow-moving reptiles called terrapins in North America. One of the most common is the lettered terrapin, which inhabits rivers, lakes, and even marshes, where it lives on frogs and worms. It is especially detested by the angler, as it is apt to take hold of his bait, and when he expects to see a fine fish at the end of his line, he finds that a little tortoise has hold of it.

The back is of a dark brown, the edges being ornamented with scarlet marks, like some Eastern alphabet in form.

The Chicken Tortoise.

Large numbers of these little tortoises, about ten inches in length, are seen basking together on the logs or stones on the borders of lakes or streams. The slightest noise arouses them, when they slip off, splashing in all directions into the water. They swim with their little heads above the surface at a rapid rate, bearing a strong resemblance to water-snakes. The creature takes its name from the similarity of its flesh to that of a chicken. It is consequently in great requisition as food.

The Salt-Water Terrapin.

Another species—the salt-water terrapin—lives in the salt marshes and ponds. It is brown above, and generally yellow below—the lower jaw furnished with a sort of hook. The sides of the head are white, sprinkled with black spots.

The Box Tortoise.

The peculiarity of this creature is that it can draw its head within its shell, so that, as few creatures would wish to swallow such a morsel whole, it has no enemy except man to fear. It might, to be sure, run the risk of being carried off by an eagle and let drop on a hard rock, if the savage king of birds ever does perform such a feat; but though stories are frequently told of his doing so, their truth is greatly doubted.

The box tortoise lives on shore among the pine-forest lands, away from water, to which it seems to have an especial dislike. It is frequently called, therefore, the pine terrapin. It is one of the smallest of its tribe—being little more than six inches long—and varies very greatly in its colour. Its head is remarkable for having a somewhat broad hook at the end of the upper jaw—the lower jaw being slightly hooked.

The Mud Tortoise.

The mud tortoise is smaller than the box, being scarcely four inches in length. It can, however, move with considerable speed, and is seen floundering about in the ponds and muddy places, where it searches for aquatic insects, and sometimes even fish, on which it lives. It also vexes the angler by taking hold of his hook, and remaining so quietly sucking in the bait, that only when he hauls it up, and the tortoise begins to pull and kick violently about, does he discover his mistake.

It is remarkable for exuding a strong musky odour, from which circumstance it has obtained the name of “stink-pot.”

The Alligator Terrapin.

This giant of its tribe, from the great likeness it bears to the alligator, has appropriately been called after the huge saurian. It has a large head covered with a hard wrinkled skin, and a long thick neck, over which are scattered a number of projecting tubercles. On the shell of the adult animal there is a depression along the centre, which leaves a sort of keel on each side of the central line.

The creature is exceedingly voracious, feeding on fish, reptiles, or any animal substance. It generally inhabits stagnant pools or sluggish streams, living mostly at the bottom. Occasionally, however, it rises to the surface, and elevating the tip of its pointed snout above the water, floats along with the current. Sometimes, indeed, it lands, and makes its way to some distance from the river; but its motions are very awkward, not a little resembling those of the alligator.

A considerable number are taken by strong hooks, and, as the flesh is esteemed for food, are sold in the market.

The Snapping Turtle.

Although the last-named creature is sometimes called the snapping turtle, the animal to which the name appropriately applies is a very different creature. Its other name is the fierce trionyx.

It belongs to the family of tortoises, popularly called soft turtles. Its flattened head is rather oval, with horny jaws, and hanging fleshy lips, the mouth lengthened into a cylindrical snout. It has an extremely long neck, which it can contract at will; short, wide feet; and toes connected by strong webs. It is the most savage and formidable of its tribe; being terribly destructive, not only among fish, but smaller quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles, which it can capture. For this object it lies in wait till they come down to drink, or till some water-fowl flies too close to its haunt. It is said even to capture and eat young alligators.

Though devouring so many other creatures, the snapping turtle is often eaten himself; being hooked and drawn on shore by the fishermen. It fights, on such occasions, and struggles ferociously, darting its head here and there, endeavouring to seize the hands of its captors with its formidable jaws.

It possesses extraordinary tenacity of life; and even after the head is cut off, the body, it is asserted, will crawl for a short way over the ground.

Lizards:—The Six-Lined Taraguina.

We shall find several lizards in various parts of America—the greater number in the Southern States. The first we meet with is the six-lined taraguina, belonging to the family of teguexins, which are remarkable for the many-sided shields which cover their heads, and the double collar on the throat. This little creature is much smaller than the rest of its family—being only about eleven inches in length—of a darkish green or brown colour, with six narrow yellow streaks along its body, one of which on each side reaches from the eye to the middle of the tail. The lower part is of a silvery white hue, with a bluish tinge in some parts.

It is an excessively lively, active animal, living in dry and sandy places, where it may be found searching for insects. As it is very timid, it takes to flight at the slightest sound, and is not easily caught.

The Glass Snake.

As the spring comes on, and the warm sun bursts forth, a formidable snake-like creature, nearly three feet in length, is often seen frequenting the plantations of the sweet potato, or coiled up beneath the roots of an old tree; its keen eye watching for any small reptile or insect which may be passing. The head is small in proportion to the body, and of a pyramidal form—mottled at the sides with black and green, the jaws edged with yellow. Its abdomen is bright yellow; and the upper part of the ear is marked with numerous lines of black, green, and yellow.

Altogether, it has a very venomous look about it; but is truly one of the most harmless of creatures, not being a snake at all, though it goes by the name of the glass snake. It is in reality a lizard; though—not having the vestige of limbs—it is appropriately called the lizard-snake. It has, however, eyelids; and the tongue is not sheathed at the base, as is the case with serpents; while its solid jaw-bones do not enable it to open its mouth, as they are capable of doing. It has a tail, twice the length of its body, from which it can with difficulty be distinguished.

Its peculiar characteristic is its extraordinary fragility— arising from the muscles being articulated quite through the vertebras. If struck with a switch, the body is easily broken in two or more parts. Sometimes, indeed, the creature breaks off its own tail, by a remarkable habit it possesses of contracting the muscles with great force. The common English blind-worm breaks to pieces in a similar manner.

The Anolis.

Among the true lizards is a pretty little creature known as the green Carolina anolis. It is especially daring; not only refusing to run away at the approach of man, but will enter houses, and run about the room in search of flies. It is very active, climbing trees, and leaping from branch to branch in its search for insects, of which it destroys great numbers. It is about seven inches long—mostly of a beautiful green above, with white below; and it has a white throat-pouch, which generally appears with a few bars of red upon it, but when inflated the colour spreads over the whole surface.

Mr Gosse describes one which he saw running about among the branches of a sassafras, just as it had seized a grasshopper. He caught the creature, which was then of a green hue; but, on placing it on an old log, the colour changed to a brownish-black. He was told, that if placed on a green leaf it would again become green. In a short time, after remaining in the sunshine, it changed once more to green. Again it became almost black; and shutting it up in a desk, after half an hour he was no less surprised than delighted to see the lizard of a brilliant green, the line down the back only being blackish.

When the animal is excited, the pouch, swelling out, becomes of a crimson colour. It is covered with excessively small—scarcely perceptible—scales.

These little creatures are at times very quarrelsome, and will fight together, frequently both the combatants losing their tails in the contest; while their pouches swell out as they leap at each other and struggle furiously.

The Crowned Tapayaxin.

This is the scientific name of a creature generally known under the title of the horned-toad, though really a lizard. Its head is of a light brown, marked with dark spots, the under part being of a dull yellow; and is armed with long conical spines, set round the edge and pointing backwards. The back is covered with shorter and stouter spines, of a triangular shape, extending to the very point of the tail—also armed with a strong row of spines, which gives it a completely toothed appearance. The colour of this curiously covered back is grey, with irregular bands of chestnut-brown across it.

Formidable as it looks, it is not only harmless, but never retaliates when attacked, and remains perfectly quiet when taken in the hand. It is also easily tamed, and learns to know its owner, and to take food from his hand—preferring little red ants, though it eats readily beetles, flies, and other insects. From its small, rounded form, and the mode of sitting, it has in all likelihood gained its common name of the horned-toad.

Snakes:—The Rattlesnake.

Throughout North America there are no small number and variety of venomous snakes. The rattlesnakes are perhaps the most numerous, frequenting all parts of the country, though they generally keep to the uninhabited portions. They are found on the northern shores of Lake Superior—though the ground is covered for several months in the year with snow—and often appear in the regions to the west, in the same latitude, up to the Rocky Mountains. They would render some districts uninhabitable, were it not for the signal-giving rattles with which they are armed. Even quadrupeds are alarmed at the sound, and endeavour to make their escape from them; and horses, it is said, lately arrived from Europe, show the same dread of these deadly serpents as do those born in the country, so that nothing will induce them to pass within striking distance of the creatures.

The wanderer through the forest starts back with dismay as he comes suddenly upon one of these venomous reptiles, and hears its ominous rattle when too near to escape. He must muster all his nerve, and strike it with his stick as it springs; for a wound from its fangs will, as he knows, bring certain death, far-away from human aid.

The rattlesnake, like others of its tribe in cold regions, hibernates in winter; and as the autumn comes on, seeks some convenient crevice in which to pass the cold season—generally in the neighbourhood of marshy ground, where it can cover itself up in the masses of a peculiar species of moss growing in such situations. The reptiles are here, during the winter, frequently hunted out and destroyed. At that time, too, their bite is much less dangerous than in the summer— the amount of venom appearing to decrease with the increase of cold.

The Banded and Military Rattlesnakes.

Besides the common rattlesnake, there is another known as the banded rattlesnake, and a third species called the small, or military rattlesnake. The latter is more dreaded, from being of less size, and not so easily killed as the former. The sound made by its rattle is extremely feeble, so that it cannot be heard at any great distance. However, as we shall pay more attention to the serpent tribe when we visit South America, where the rattlesnake is also found, we will wait till then to inspect the formation of its rattle, and its other peculiarities.

The Corn Snake.

There are many more harmless than venomous snakes in North America. One of the handsomest of its tribe is the corn snake, belonging to the family of the Colubrinae. As it avoids the daylight, though very common, it is not often seen in a wild state.

It is, however, frequently tamed by the inhabitants of farmhouses—when it makes itself perfectly at home, and is even of more service than a cat in devouring rats and mice; though occasionally, if a young chicken come in its way, it may gobble it up. This it can easily do, as it is of great size—varying from five to six feet in length. The colours of its body are remarkably brilliant; the general tint being a rich chestnut red, with large patches of a still brighter and deeper red edged with black running along each side, and a second row of smaller spots of golden yellow, alternated with larger ones. The lower portion of the body is silvery white, checkered with black.

The Thunder Snake.

No fiercer-looking member of the snake family exists in North America—with its mottled head, and black and white body, four feet at least in length—than the quarrelsome thunder snake. From the chain-like markings on its body, it is sometimes called the chain snake; and by others the king snake, on account of its tyrannical disposition.

Though fangless, it is fierce and bold, and has been known to attack, kill, and eat a rattlesnake; indeed, it will assault any member of its family, if not of its own species, even though but little smaller than itself. It feeds on small quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles; and few human beings who see it moving amid the shady places it inhabits, would fail to get out of its way as quickly as possible.

The Chicken Snake.

The bright golden brown chicken snake—marked with narrow stripes along the back, and from four to seven feet in length—in spite of its beautiful and fangless mouth, is an unwelcome visitor in farmhouses when it comes as a stranger, for it is apt to carry off fowls from their roost—as well as their eggs—and will eat up a brood of ducklings without ceremony.

However, as it is of an amiable disposition, it can easily be tamed; and then, having learned good manners, it becomes a favourite, and recompenses its protectors by killing the rats and mice which frequent their premises.

The Milk or House Snake.

The beautiful blue house snake—four feet in length, with rows of spots on its side—is often mistaken for the corn snake, its habits being very similar. The lower part of the body is of a silvery white, tesselated with oblong marks of black. The ignorant fancy that it sucks the milk from the udders of the cows, and hence its name; though, probably, it has no objection to a little milk, if it finds it in a pan. Its object, however, in entering houses and farms, is to search for mice and insects, on which it in reality feeds, never interfering with the cows or other animals.

The Black Snake.

In many parts of the country, the black snake, on account of its rapid movements, is called the “racer.” Though fangless, it often, in consequence of the way in which it rustles its tail among the dry herbage, making a sound similar to that of the rattlesnake, gives no small alarm to the wanderer among the brushwood near the edges of streams or ponds. It is also frequently encountered in the fields or on the roads.

It is generally from five to six feet in length; of a blue-black above, and an ashy grey below. It climbs trees in search of birds or their eggs; and if interrupted in its employment, will turn its rage against the intruder. Sometimes, it is asserted, it will, to his horror, leap down and give him a bite; though the only injury likely to arise is that to his nervous system from fright. Its bite is, indeed, perfectly harmless; and it does good service in hunting rats which live in the outbuildings, being able to climb walls and insinuate itself into the most intricate passages when chasing them.

The Coach-Whip Snake.

The last snake we will mention is the coach-whip snake, belonging to the family of Dryadidae. No serpent can surpass it in the rapidity of its movements, as, with its lithe, black body—between five and six feet in length—and whiplike tail, it makes its way amid the grass in pursuit of its prey. It seems literally to fly over the ground with the speed of lightning.

It is curiously like the thong of a whip, being very long in proportion to its girth, with a remarkably small head and neck; its smooth scales—so arranged as greatly to resemble the plaited leather of a whip—of a polished brown-black hue increasing the resemblance.

When about to seize its prey, it darts forward with open mouth, grasping the animal; in an instant it winds its lithe body and tail round and round it, so as to make escape impossible. It will thus attack birds of prey of considerable size, and come off victorious.

Travellers unacquainted with the reptiles which haunt the wilds of America, on first seeing a whip-snake rapidly approaching, will, with sensations of alarm, urge on their steeds to escape—for it appears fully capable of springing up and inflicting mortal injury; but, from having no fangs, it is unable to harm any one. From the delicacy of its colour, the elegance of its form, and the rapidity and gracefulness of its movements, it cannot fail to be admired.

Frogs:—The Bull Frog.

We shall find no small number of the frog race throughout America. Worthy of being the president of his nation is that enormous batrachian, the bull frog, both from his size, the power of his notes, and his hardihood and endurance. If we visit at night the neighbourhood of some pool or marsh, we shall soon learn to know the sound of his voice, especially when perhaps he and five hundred of his family are, with their heads half out of the water, amusing themselves in the performance of a concert, each striving to outdo his neighbour in the loudness of his tones. He is a first-rate swimmer; and when driven out of the hole in which he passes the warm hours of the day, he plunges into the water, and skims along the surface some distance before he dives below it. Only on such occasions, or when, perhaps, a dark thunder-cloud shrouds the sky, does he appear in the daytime, and give utterance to his notes.

He feeds on snails and water creatures; sometimes on crayfish and other crustaceans; and occasionally, if a duckling or young chicken come in his way, he will not scruple to take them into his capacious maw.

His ordinary size is from six to seven inches; but specimens have been met with which have measured nineteen—and even twenty—inches, from the nose to the extremity of their feet. He has a smooth black skin above, with a greenish hue on the head, and lower part of the body greyish-white—the throat being white, dotted with green. He can take enormous leaps; and is so admirable a swimmer, that specimens have been known to exist in the water without once landing for several years.

The Solitary Frog.

Inland, where no water is to lie found, we shall meet with a creature of an olive colour—the back covered with tubercles—and with a blunt nose. It might easily be mistaken for a toad, though it is a veritable frog. Even in winter, before the snow has disappeared, we may see the hardy little creature making its way over the frozen surface of the ground. At the breeding season, however, it returns, like other frogs, to the water. It resides for the chief part of the year in sandy districts, in which it forms burrows, about six inches in depth, by means of a flat, sharp-edged spur, with which it is furnished. Into these burrows it makes its way backwards, very much as a crab crawls into its hole when seeking shelter from danger. There it sits, with its head poked out, watching for passing prey.

The Savannah Cricket Frog.

Both in the Northern and Southern States we shall find a merry little creature, with a voice greatly resembling that of the cricket. Living near the borders of stagnant pools, it frequently takes its seat on the large leaves of water-lilies and other aquatic plants; being able, by curious discs on its toes, to crawl easily over their smooth surfaces.

It is among the smallest of its tribe, measuring only one and a half inches in length. It is of a greenish-brown, variegated with streaks of green and white, the under surface being of a yellowish-grey, tinged with pink, and the legs banded. Its body is slender, with the hind-legs very long, enabling it to take enormous leaps to escape danger.

The Changeable Tree Frog.

Throughout all parts of the continent we shall find a curious little toad, about two inches in length, which possesses the nature of the chameleon—in being able to change its colour according to the tints of the object on which it rests. By this means, so completely does it assimilate its hue to the ground, that it often escapes observation. The changes of colour it thus rapidly passes through are indeed remarkable. From a nearly perfect white, it can assume every intermediate shade to a dark brown. It has a very toad-like look, and possesses skin glands which secrete an acrid fluid. Thus it is able, when attacked, to defend itself, as well as escape observation.

It may frequently be found on old plum-trees, where it climbs in search of the insects which there congregate. We shall frequently hear its voice, especially before rain, for it is a noisy creature. It has a liquid note, sounding like “el” frequently repeated, and then ending with a sharp, short monosyllable.

It leaves its arborial habitation during the breeding season, and makes its way to the nearest pools, where it joins in the concerts of its relatives.

It hibernates during winter, burrowing beneath the damp ground.

The Spotted Eft.

Related to the salamanders, we shall find a curious creature in Pennsylvania, and other parts of the States, known as the spotted eft, or ambystome. It has a thick, convex head, with a rounded muzzle; and is of a deep violet-black colour above, and purplish-black below, the sides being ornamented with a row of large yellow spots. Unlike other newts, it deposits its eggs in small packets under damp stones. There is another similar creature with mole-like habits, which burrows under the ground, found in various parts of the States.

The Menopoma.

Another of the same order—a formidable and savage creature—is the menopoma, inhabiting the Ohio, Alleghany, and other rivers of the south, frequently, from its propensities, called the young alligator. It is also known as the “ground puppy,” the “mud devil,” and other well-deserved, if not complimentary names.

It is about two feet in length; but the teeth, for its size, are small. In appearance, it is ugly in the extreme; and as, from its voracious habits, it devours a number of fish, and bites fiercely when captured, it is especially hated by the fishermen, who believe it to be venomous, and treat it as seamen do the detested shark.

The above names have been given to it in consequence of its voracity, and its being found generally in muddy bottoms.

The Congo Snake.

In digging into the mud, sometimes a number of snake-like creatures, between two and three feet long, are turned up—which have hidden themselves away, often three feet below the surface—in the Southern States. On examination, however, they will be found to have legs, though small and feeble, with only two toes on each foot. They are of a blackish-grey above, and a lighter hue beneath.

Another species of congo snake is found with three toes,—hence the name of three-toed congo snake is given to it.

The Necturus.

Related to the curious eyeless proteus, found in the celebrated cavern of Adelsberg, is an animal very much larger, called the necturus, inhabiting the waters of the Mississippi, and several southern lakes. It is a creature nearly three feet in length, with a thick body, and, being designed to live in daylight, possesses eyes. It is between a fish and a reptile, as it is furnished with large, well-tufted gills; and, at the same time, has four legs, and four toes on each foot, though it is destitute of claws.

It is of an olive-brown colour dotted with black, and a black streak reaching from one end of the body to the termination of the somewhat thick, short tail.

The Siren, or Mud Eel.

Another curious batrachian, the mud eel, is found in Carolina, in marshy situations. Its total length is about three feet. The head is small, as is the eye, while on each side of it are three beautifully plumed gill-tufts. It has no hind-legs; while the front pair are very small, and do not aid it in moving along the ground. This it does in the wriggling fashion of an eel; indeed, when discovered in the soft mud in which it delights to live, the creature, at the first glance, would be taken for an eel. It has many of the habits of that animal, living on worms and insects; indeed, it is difficult to say whether it should be classed with eels or batrachians. It is, however, a true amphibian, respiring either in the water by means of branchiae, or in the air by means of lungs. It approaches, in the structure of its head, to the salamanders, though much less so in its general form and proportions.

The curious “axolotl,” which we shall meet with in Mexico, belongs to a closely allied genus.

Grasshoppers, or Locusts.

When travelling across the prairies, we may, at times, when gazing upwards at the sky, see what appears to be a vast cloud approaching from the horizon. It is produced by infinite swarms of locusts, or grasshoppers, as they are called in North America. (From Professor Hind’s “Red River Exploring Expedition.”) About noon they appear to lessen perceptibly the rays of the sun. The whole horizon wears an unearthly ashy hue, from the light reflected by their transparent wings. The air is filled as with flakes of snow. The clouds of insects, forming a dense body, cast a glimmering, silvery light from altitudes varying from 500 to 1000 feet. The sky, as near the sun as its light will allow us to gaze, appears continually changing colour, from blue to silvery white, ashy grey, and lead colour, according to the numbers in the passing clouds of insects. Opposite to the sun, the prevailing hue is a silvery white, perceptibly flashing. Now, towards the south, east, and west, it appears to radiate a soft, grey-tinted light, with a quivering motion. Should the day be calm, the hum produced by the vibration of so many millions of wings is quite indescribable, and more resembles the noise popularly termed “a ringing in one’s ears,” than any other sound. The aspect of the heavens during the period that the greatest flight is passing by is singularly striking. It produces a feeling of uneasiness, amazement, and awe, as if some terrible unforeseen calamity were about to happen.

When the grasshoppers are resting from their long journeys, or in the morning when feeding on the grass and leaves, they rise in clouds as we march through the prairie; and when the wind blows, they become very troublesome, flying with force against our faces, and into the nostrils and eyes of the horses, filling every crevice in the carts. Fortunately, comparatively few take flight on a windy day, otherwise it would be impossible to make headway against such an infinite host in rapid motion before the wind, although composed individually of such insignificant members. The portions of the prairie visited by the grasshoppers wear a curious appearance. The grass may be seen cut uniformly to one inch from the ground. The whole surface is covered with the small, round, green exuviae of these destructive invaders. They frequently fly at an enormous height above the earth. An engineer engaged in the Nebraska survey, mentions that, when standing on the summit of a peak of the Rocky Mountains, 8500 feet above the level of the plains in Nebraska—being 14,500 feet above that of the sea—he saw them above his head as far as their size rendered them visible.

Grasshoppers are excellent prognosticators of a coming storm. They may be seen at times descending perpendicularly from a great height, like hail—a sign of approaching rain. At this time the air, as far as the eye can penetrate, appears filled with them. Early in the morning they commence their flight, and continue it till late in the afternoon, when they settle round the traveller in countless multitudes, clinging to the leaves of the grass, as if resting after their journey.

They are fearful depredators. Not only do they destroy the husbandman’s crops, but so voracious are they, that they will attack every article left even for a few minutes on the ground—saddle-girths, leather bags, and clothing of all descriptions, are devoured without distinction. Mr Hind says that ten minutes sufficed for them to destroy three pairs of woollen trousers which had been carelessly thrown on the grass. The only way to protect property from these depredators is to pile it on a waggon or cart out of reach.

Two distinct broods of grasshoppers appear—one with wings not yet formed, which has been hatched on the spot; the other, full-grown invaders from the southern latitudes. They sometimes make their appearance at Red River. However, Mr Ross, for long a resident in that region, states that from 1819, when the colonists’ scanty crops were destroyed by grasshoppers, to 1856, they had not returned in sufficient numbers to commit any material damage. Their ravages, indeed, are not to be compared to those committed by the red locust in Egypt; and yet Egypt has ever been one of the chief granaries of the world.

Part 2—Chapter II.

Central America.

Leaving the continent of North America, which may be said to terminate at the southern end of Mexico, we enter that extremely irregular portion of land which, now widening, now narrowing again, stretches in a south-easterly direction till it unites with the southern half of the American continent at the Isthmus of Panama. We find in Central America three marked centres of elevation. The first we reach is the great plain, nearly 6000 feet above the level of the sea, on which the city of Guatemala is situated. Numerous volcanic peaks rise from its midst; from it also flow several large rivers, some falling into the Gulf of Mexico, others eastward into the Gulf of Honduras, while smaller streams send their waters westward into the Pacific Ocean. The banks of these rivers are mostly covered with the richest tropical vegetation—the scenery of the river Polochie in Guatemala being especially beautiful. Another high plain occupies the centre of Honduras, and extends into the northern part of Nicaragua. From it also rise numberless streams, some emptying themselves into the Caribbean Sea, and others into the Lakes of Nicaragua and Managua. Further south rises the volcano of Cartago. Here the Cordilleras resume their general character of a vast mountain barrier, but once more sink down into low ridges as the chain passes through the Isthmus of Panama.

As in South America, the Cordilleras run close along the Pacific coast. In consequence, the rivers which flow from their heights have a long course on the Atlantic side, and have carried down a large quantity of alluvial soil. Here, too, rain falls in greater or lesser quantities throughout the year. The vegetation is consequently rank, and the climate damp, and proportionately unhealthy. As the trade-winds blow from the north-east, the moisture with which they are saturated is condensed against the mountainsides, and flows backwards towards the Atlantic. The Pacific slope is, therefore, comparatively dry and salubrious—as indeed are also the elevated table-lands of the interior.

The whole region is subject to earthquakes, and numberless volcanoes rise in all directions. In the low ridge which separates the Lake of Nicaragua from the Pacific are several volcanic hills, most of them active; while further to the north-west, in the district of Conchagua—scarcely more than one hundred and eighty miles in length—there are upwards of twenty volcanoes. The two most lofty are found in the Guatemala range—that of Fuego being upwards of 12,000 feet in height, and that of Agua, 18,000 feet.

Many parts of the interior of the country have been but very partially explored, and are, indeed, almost unknown. Of the purely native tribes, most of them have become mingled with Spaniards or negroes. Parts of the coast are inhabited by mixed races of Caribs, who have migrated from Saint Vincent, one of the Leeward islands. These Caribs are known as the Black and Yellow Caribs—the former being the descendants of the survivors of the cargo of an African slaver, wrecked in the neighbourhood of that island. The descendants of the Spaniards are the dominant race, and they have divided the country into various republics, though the greater portion is still in almost as savage a condition as when first discovered.

Honduras and the Mosquito Country.

The English have, however, a settlement in Honduras; and there is an Indian state forming the eastern portion of Nicaragua, under the government—if so it can be called—of a native king. His territory is known as the Mosquito Country, from the name of the chief native tribe over which he rules.

The climate is very similar to that of the West Indies. On the lower lands a variety of tropical productions can be brought to perfection, while in the high regions cereals of various sorts are abundantly produced.

Fauna.

The fauna partakes partly of the character of that of the equatorial regions of South America, and of the semi-tropical districts of Mexico. There are several varieties of ant-eaters, similar to those found in the valley of the Amazon, while the grey squirrel of more northern latitudes skips playfully amid the forests of the interior. In the woods and wide savannahs are two or more varieties of deer—one resembling the European deer in colour, but of less size, and adorned with large antlers. The other is of a lighter and browner tint, possessing short, smooth-pointed horns. The peccary is common in the valleys and low ground along the coast; while the waree, or wild hog, runs in large droves in many districts. The tapir, similar to that of the southern continent, also frequents the seashore and banks of the rivers; and another species, peculiar to the region, is said to have been discovered lately. There are numerous varieties of monkeys, among which are the brown, the horned, and the little, playful capuchin. The raccoon, as elsewhere, is common, and is noted for its thieving propensities. It lives chiefly on animal food. There is an interesting little opossum of about ten feet in length, of a grey colour, with a somewhat large head, and a long and very flexible tail—the feet being provided with sharp claws. When the young leave the mother’s pouch, she can place them on her back, to which they cling, while she scrambles amid the forest boughs. Besides the great ant-eater, there is the smaller striped ant-eater, and the little ant-eater. There is a curious creature, called the quash, resembling the ichneumon, which possesses a peculiarly fetid smell, and is known for its powerful, lacerating teeth. There are several species, also, of the armadillo, distinguished as the three-banded, eight-banded, and nine-banded. The paca is also very plentiful, and becomes easily domesticated. It reaches two feet in length, and its thick, clumsy form, of a dusky brown colour, may be seen scampering through the woods. The agouti, or Indian cony, or rabbit, frequents the same region as the paca, and is about the size of an ordinary hare. It does not, however, run in the same way, but moves by frequent leaps. The jaguar ranges through the whole of this part of the continent, and is remarkable for its large size and great strength. Not only does it frequently kill full-grown cattle, and drag them to its lair far-away in the woods, but, if irritated, it does not hesitate to attack human beings. The tiger-cat, or ocelot, which much resembles a common cat, but is considerably larger, is also found in the forest; but at the sight of man it takes to flight, and is, therefore, less frequently seen than its fiercer relatives. The puma also makes its way from one end of the country to the other; but though destructive to cattle, it is said here, as elsewhere, to fly from the face of man. The savage wolf, the cayote, is frequently met with.

A considerable number of the birds of South America, or of allied species, are found in many parts of the country. This is the home of the resplendent trogon, called the quetzal—the imperial bird of the Quiches. It, however, has but a limited range, being found only in the mountains of Merendon in Honduras, and in the department of Quezaltenango in Guatemala. There are numerous varieties of the parrot tribe, many of them of the most magnificent description with regard to their colouring. Here, also, the forests are adorned with the gay plumage of the red and blue macaws, as also by a toucan with a yellow tail. It is remarkable not only for its bright colour, but for its curious pendent nests, of which frequently fifty are seen hanging together from the branch of a single tree. Among the birds of prey, the ever-present turkey-buzzard and other vultures, hawks, owls, and sea-eagles, are common; as is the Mexican jay, the ring-bird, the rice-bird, swallow, and numerous varieties of humming-birds. Among the water birds are the pelican, the muscovy, and black duck; the spoon-bill, plover, curlew, teal, darter; while herons, ibises, and cranes, are found in great numbers on the shores of the lagoons and rivers. In the interior of the country the splendid Honduras turkey, as well as the curassow, and several varieties of the wood-pigeon and dove, as also the partridge, quail, and snipe, exist in abundance.

Of the reptile tribes, alligators of great size are found in nearly all the lagoons and rivers. There is an infinite variety of lizards,—the most noted of which is the iguana, which frequently attains a length of four feet;—and its flesh is here, as in other parts of the continent, esteemed. There are many varieties of serpents, some of which are harmless. Of the venomous species, there are the golden snake, the whip-snake, and the tamagas—the bite of which is considered deadly. So is also that of the corral. It is of the most brilliant colour, covered with alternate rings of green, black, and red. To this last may be added the rattlesnake and the ordinary black snake. Most of these snakes are found in the lower region near the sea-coast.

In all the rivers and lakes, tortoises and turtles of several kinds are abundant. The land turtle reaches a foot in length. Its shell is of a dark colour. It is eaten, but is not esteemed of so good a quality as the sea turtle. The coasts are frequented by various species of sea turtle, known as the green, the hawks-bill—which affords the best tortoise-shell to commerce—and the trunk-turtle, which is larger than either of its two relatives. From its flesh is extracted a kind of oil, which is of considerable value.

The hawks-bill turtle, which gains that name from its narrow, sharp, and curved beak, like that of a hawk, is also called the imbricated turtle, because its scales overlap each other at their extremities, as tiles are placed on the roofs of houses.

The green or edible turtle is of great size, weighing often six hundred pounds, and being upwards of five feet in length. It gains its name from its rich fat, which is of a green colour; and its flesh is considered very much superior to that of all its relatives.

The variety and kinds of Crustacea are almost numberless, from the largest lobster to the smallest crab. Two species—the mangrove crab, and the white and black land crab—are found near the mouths of the rivers and in all the lagoons; while the curious soldier crabs, which seem as much at home in one element as in the other, inhabit in vast numbers the trees which lie rotting half submerged in the water. At certain times they may be found making their way into the interior, to return afterwards to the ocean.

The neighbourhood of the ocean, and the rivers and lakes of the interior, swarm with an endless variety of fish; while the huge manatee, or sea-cow, is found in most of the rivers.

The Mahogany-Tree.

The most valuable production of the forests of this part of the world is the mahogany-tree of Honduras, well-deserving, from its magnificent foliage and vast size, to be called the king of the forest. It is remarkably slow of growth, its increase during half a century being scarcely perceptible.

The life of the mahogany-cutter is wild in the extreme, yet he carries on his occupation in a systematic manner. Parties, or gangs, are formed, consisting of fifty men, with a captain, or hunter, attached to each. The business of the hunter is to search out the mahogany-trees fit for cutting. To do this, he makes his way through the thick forest to the highest ground in the neighbourhood he can find, and then climbs one of the tallest trees. From thence he surveys the surrounding country in search of the foliage, which presents a yellow, reddish hue, assumed by the mahogany—tree at that season of the year—about August. Having thus discovered a spot on which a number of the sought-for trees grow, he descends, and as rapidly as possible leads his party to it, lest any others on the search should be before them. Huts are now built, roofed with long grass, or the branches of the thatch-palm. His furniture consists of a hammock swung between two posts, and a couple of stones on which his kettle is supported. Stages, on which the axemen stand, are erected round the trees, which are cut down about ten or twelve feet from the ground. The trunk is considered most valuable, on account of the size of the wood it furnishes; but the branches are also of value, from their grain being closer and more variegated.

While one party is employed in cutting down the trees, another is engaged in forming a main road to the nearest river, with others from the various spots where the axemen are at work leading to it. This operation is concluded by the end of December. The trees are now sawn into logs of various lengths, and are squared by the axe, in order to lessen their weight, and to prevent them from rolling in the truck. When the dry weather sets in—about April or May—trucking commences. The trucks are drawn by seven pair of oxen. Each is accompanied by two drivers, sixteen men to cut food for the cattle, and twelve to load the trucks. In consequence of the hot sun during the day; trucking is always carried on at night. A wild scene is presented while the trucks are moving from the forest, each accompanied by several men carrying torches, the drivers cracking their whips and uttering their shouts. Thus they go on till they reach the river’s brink, when the logs—each marked with the owner’s initials—are thrown into the water, and the trucks return for a fresh load. When the rains commence, the roads are impassable, and all trucking ceases.

As the rivers are swelled by the rains, the mahogany-logs are floated away, followed by the gangs in flat-bottomed canoes, called pit-pans. Their crews are employed in liberating the logs from the branches of the overhanging trees and other impediments, till they are stopped by a beam placed near the mouth of the river. The logs of each owner are now collected into large rafts, in which state they are floated down to the wharves of the proprietors. Here they are newly smoothed, and made ready for shipping to England.

Many other valuable woods come from this region. Rosewood is common on the northern coast of Honduras. The bushes which produce gum-arabic abound in all the open savannahs on the Pacific slope. In the forest is found the copaiba-tree, producing a healing liquid. Here also are found the copal-tree, the palma-christi, the ipecacuanha—the root of which is so extensively used in medicine—the liquid amber, as well as caoutchouc. Here the vast ceiba, or silk-cotton-tree, is abundant, from which canoes are frequently hollowed out. Indeed, a considerable number of the trees found on the banks of the Orinoco and Amazon here also come to perfection.

Humming-Birds:—The Slender Shear-Tail.

Central America is the home of several beautiful species of those minute members of the feathered tribe—the humming-birds. Among them is found the slender shear-tail, which will be known by its deeply-forked black tail, its wings of purple-brown, and its body of deep shining green, changing to brown on the head, and bronze on the back and wing-coverts. The chin is black, with a green gloss; the throat is of a deep metallic purple; while a large crescent-shaped mark of huff appears on the upper part of the chest. There is a grey spot in the centre of the abdomen, and a buff one on each flank, the under tail-coverts being of a greenish hue.

The female differs greatly from her consort. Her tail is short, the central feathers being of a golden green; the exterior ones rusty-red at their base, and black for the greater part of their length, with white tips. The upper part of her body is also of a golden green; the lower of a reddish-buff.

The Rufus Flame-Bearer.

The beautiful little rufus flame-bearers belong to the genus Phaethornis. They are known by their long, graduated tails, all the feathers of which are pinnated—the two central ones extending far beyond the others. “They may be seen early in the year, darting, buzzing, and squeaking in the usual manner of their tribe, engaged in collecting sweets in all the energy of life, appearing like breathing gems—magic carbuncles of glowing fire—stretching out their glorious ruffs, as if to emulate the sun itself in splendour. The female sits towards the close of May, when the males are uncommonly quarrelsome and vigilant, darting out as the stranger approaches the nest, looking like angry coals of brilliant fire, returning several times to the attack with the utmost velocity, at the same time uttering a curious, reverberating, sharp bleat, somewhat similar to the quivering twang of a dead twig, and curiously like the real bleat of some small quadruped. At other times the males may be seen darting high up in the air, and whirling about each other in great anger and with much velocity.

“The nests are funnel-shaped, measuring about two and a quarter inches in depth, and one and three-quarters in breadth at the upper part, composed of mosses, lichens, and feathers woven together with vegetable fibres, and lined with soft cotton.”

This description is given by Mr Nuttal the naturalist, and quoted by Audubon.

Princess Helena’s Coquette.

This beautiful little gem—a native of Vera Paz, in Guatemala—is adorned somewhat after the fashion of the Birds of Paradise, its head being ornamented with six long, green, hair-like feathers, three on either side of the body. The upper part is of a coppery bronze colour, a band of buff crossing the lower end of the back. The face is green; and the throat is adorned with emerald feathers surrounded with others long and white. These start from the neck, being edged with blue-black. Beautifully adorned as is the male, the hen-bird possesses neither crest nor neck-plumes, her colour being of a dull, bronze-green, and greyish-white sprinkled with green on the under part of the body.

The Sparkling-Tail Humming-Bird.

The little sparkling-tail is one of the boldest and most familiar of its tribe, being seen flitting from flower to flower among the gardens in Guatemala, and remaining with perfect confidence even while people are moving about near it. It is one of the smallest of its tribe—the nest being also of a proportionate size, formed of various delicate fibres, such as spider’s webs and cottony down, and covered with lichens. Within it the female lays two eggs, scarcely larger than peas, of a delicate, almost transparent, pearly white. This nest is secured to a slight twig by spider’s webs.

The general colour of the male is bronzed green above, with a crescent-shaped white mark on the lower part of the back. It has a rich metallic blue throat, changing in certain lights; and the wings are of a dark purple-brown. The tail is composed of feathers of different tints—the two central of a rich, shining green; the next, green, marked with bronze; and the outer, dark brown, with triangular white spots on the inner web.

The whole length of the bird, with its forked tail, is about four inches. The hen has a shorter tail, the feathers purple-black, bronzed at the base, and most of them tipped with white and ringed with buff. The upper part of the body is of a rich bronzed green; and the lower, a rusty-red.

Many other beautiful humming-birds appear throughout different parts of Mexico and Central America; but we may grow weary even when examining caskets of the most brilliant gems; and we shall have many others to describe when we reach the southern part of the continent.

Locusts.

Insect life is as active in Central America as in other parts of the tropics. The most dreaded insect is the locust, which makes periodical attacks on the plantations, and in a single hour the largest fields of maize are stripped of their leaves, the stems alone being left to show that they once existed. This creature is called by the natives the “chapulin,” or langosta. They make their first appearance as little wingless things, swarming over the ground like ants, when they are called “santones.” In order to destroy them, the natives dig long trenches, into which they are driven, when, unable to leap out, they are easily buried and destroyed. Still, vast numbers escape, when they appear in enormous columns, darkening the air, and as they sweep onwards, destroy every green thing in their course. They cover the ground on every side, then rising in clouds, fill the atmosphere with their multitudes, causing the trees to appear brown, as if seared by fire. Frequently, as their hosts sweep onwards, they are seen falling like flakes in a snow-storm from a dark cloud. Every device that the farmer can think of is employed to prevent their settling: sulphur is burned, drums beaten, guns fired, and other noises made. Often, by such means, a plantation is preserved from destruction; but when the columns once alight, no device avails to save the plantation from speedy desolation.

This locust or grasshopper is generally from two and a half to four inches in length, but specimens sometimes appear five inches long; and it may be conceived what an enormous amount of food such monsters must consume.

Part 2—Chapter III.

Ruins of Central America.

In all parts of Central America are found numerous signs that the country was, in bygone days, inhabited by a numerous population far more advanced in civilisation than the tribes which peopled it when first discovered by Columbus and his companions. In Yucatan and Chiapas, especially, ruins of numerous houses exist, with elaborately carved monuments and large buildings, bearing a remarkable resemblance to those of Egypt and Babylon. Throughout Nicaragua and other districts many remains—such as tombs, monuments, and edifices—are found, as well as carved rocks, which were probably the work of a people of still greater antiquity than those who inhabited the first mentioned region.

Dr Seeman describes some rocks near the town of David, in Chiriqui, on which characters are engraved similar, or indeed absolutely identical, with inscriptions which have been found in the northern parts of the British Islands. The rock is fifteen feet high, nearly fifty feet in circumference, and rather flat on the top. Every part—especially the eastern portion—is covered with incised characters about an inch or half an inch deep. The first figure on the left hand side represents the radiant sun, followed by a series of heads with some variation. These heads show a certain resemblance to one of the most curious characters found on the British rocks. They are followed by scorpion-like and other fantastic figures. The tops of the stones on either side are covered with a number of concentric rings and ovals, crossed with lines. He considers them to be symbols full of meaning, and recording ideas held to be of vital importance to the people who used them, and whose names have become a matter of doubt.

In the district of Chontales, a vast number of ancient tombs are met with in almost every direction. They are found in plains having a good drainage, such as was generally selected by the Indians for the sites of their villages. These tombs are of different heights and sizes. Some are about twenty feet long by twelve feet wide, and eight feet above the ground. In one which was opened was found a round pillar seven feet high and eighteen inches across, which was standing upright in the centre of the tomb. There was a hand-mill for grinding corn—in shape like those still in use in the country—a knife ten inches long, a hatchet like a reaping-hook, and a tiger’s head of natural size,—all of stone. In some instances gold ornaments have been found, but not in sufficient numbers to induce the people to destroy the relics.

The Indians inhabiting Nicaragua in ancient days did not apparently construct any large temples or stone buildings, as some other natives of Central America have done. They, however, formed stone figures of considerable size, which remind us greatly of those which exist in Easter Island in the Pacific. These stone figures, often of colossal dimensions, are of two different descriptions—the one having a mild, inoffensive expression of countenance; while the others, presenting a combination of both human and animal, have invariably a wild, savage look, apparently for the purpose of terrifying the beholders. The first, it is supposed, are the idols which the ancient Nicaraguans worshipped before the Aztec conquest of their country; while the latter were introduced when the people had been taught to engage in the bloody rites practised by the Mexicans.

These stone monuments, though similar, as has been remarked, to those of Easter Island, and to others found far-away across the Pacific, are strong corroborative proofs that America was first peopled by tribes who made their way by various stages from the continent of Asia, though, at the same time, that long ages have passed away since they first left that far-distant region—the cradle of the human race. The Indian priests, like the Druids of old, appear to have chosen the hill-tops and mountainsides, shady groves and dark ravines, for the sites of their temples or places of worship.

From the midst of Lake Managua, in Nicaragua, rises the volcanic island of Momotombita, towering in a perfect cone towards the blue sky. In the midst of a natural amphitheatre on the slope of the mountain were discovered a large number of statues (fifty or more), arranged in the form of a square, their faces looking inwards. Many were cast down, but others stood erect, though all apparently had been more or less purposely mutilated. Some of the figures represent males, but others are undoubtedly those of females. They are cut in black basalt of intense hardness. The features of the face of one, which has been conveyed to the Museum at Washington, are singularly bold and severe in outline. The brow is broad, the nose aquiline, while the arms and legs are rudely indicated. Other curious idols have been dug up in the neighbourhood of the town of Leon. The Spanish priests, anxious to put down the ancient idolatry from the time of their arrival in the country, have taken pains to destroy these idols, and many have been mutilated and others buried by their orders.

In the island of Zapetero, rising out of Lake Nicaragua, there are a still greater number of statues—some from eight to twelve feet in height, and others of still greater magnitude—elaborately carved out of hard stone. Sometimes they are placed round mounds which have evidently served the purpose of altars, on which human sacrifices probably were offered. One of the most interesting which has been brought to light is twelve feet high, sculptured from a single block, and representing a human figure seated on a high pedestal, the stone at the back of the head being cut in the form of a cross. The limbs are heavy, and the face large and expressive of great complacency.

Some of the idols represent an animal, apparently a tiger, springing upon the head and back of a human figure. One—also at the Washington Museum—represents a man squatted on his haunches, with one hand at his side, and the other placed on his breast. The head is erect, and the forehead encircled by a fillet, much carved. The features are unlike most others—indeed, it seems as if each one had its individual characteristic. A jaguar appears on the back of this statue, its fore-paws resting upon the shoulders, and its hind ones upon the hips, while it grasps in its mouth the back part of the head of the figure.

Although many of the figures represent human beings, others are those of animals. One, a jaguar, is seated on its haunches, the head thrown forward, the mouth open,—the attitude and expression being that of great ferocity. It is very boldly sculptured. Another, a very well proportioned human figure, is seated on a square throne raised five feet from the ground. It is remarkable for having on its head another monstrous head, representing some fierce animal. The heads of several of the idols are thus surmounted. These symbolical heads were probably introduced with the same object as those which were so general among the Egyptian idols.

In the midst of this collection of idols are two or more oblong stones, on the sides of which are hieroglyphical inscriptions. In the centre are hollow places, probably designed to receive the blood of the victims.

It is remarkable that the heads of many of the figures are surmounted with cross-shaped ornaments similar to the one discovered at Palenque by Mr Stevens. One of these crosses—which no doubt had their origin in Babylon, where they are well-known symbols—was set up by the Spaniards in the convent-church of Tonala, and there venerated.

The Mexicans possessed a symbol called the Tonacaquahutl, or “tree of life,” which was represented with branches somewhat in the form of a cross, surmounted by a bird. This symbol also appears on a tablet discovered by Mr Stevens at Palenque. In various parts of the country terra cotta figures have been dug up. Some of them are rude, but others are extremely artistic; and though not equally graceful, resemble much, in the form of the limbs, many Egyptian figures. Among them is a figure from the island of Ometepe, which represents an alligator upon the back of a human figure, which apparently originally surmounted a large vase.

Mounds similar to those found in the valley of the Mississippi have been discovered in Honduras. But by far the most interesting remains are those of Palenque, in Chiapas; of Copan, in Honduras; and of Uxmal and Chi-chen, in Yucatan. Here are extensive ruins of cities, containing the remains of pyramids, and the walls of massive buildings, broken columns, altars, statues, and numberless sculptured fragments, showing that a large population inhabited this country, and that the people had attained a considerable knowledge of the arts, though, at the same time, they seem to have been sunk in the grossest idolatry.

In the western part of Honduras, adjoining the province of Guatemala, are extensive ruins, which stretch for more than two miles along the banks of the river Copan. The outer walls, which run north and south along the margin of the stream, are from sixty to ninety feet high; while other walls, of a similar character, surround the principal ruins. Within these walls are extensive terraces and pyramidal buildings, massive stone columns, idols, and altars covered with sculpture. The numerous terraces and pyramids are also walled with cut stone, and ornamented with carved heads of gigantic proportions, and colossal idols of solid stone from ten to fifteen feet in height. The altars in front of the statues are of single blocks of stone, many of them richly carved, but all differing from each other. One of the most remarkable altars stands on four globes cut out of the same stone. It is six feet square and four feet high, its top covered with hieroglyphics, while each side represents four individuals. The figure is sitting cross-legged, in the Oriental fashion, and the head-dresses are remarkable for their curious and complicated forms. All have breastplates, and each holds some article in his hand.

From these carvings we read, though indistinctly, some of the characteristics of the people. From the absence of all weapons of war, however, we may suppose them peaceable, though grossly idolatrous, and, from being unwarlike, easily subdued.

On entering the town, after some adventures, Mr Stevens made his way to an area, which he ascertained to be a square, with steps on all sides, almost as perfect as those of the Colosseum. He ascended the steps, which were ornamented with sculptures, till he reached a broad terrace, one hundred feet in height, overlooking the river. The whole terrace was covered with trees, among which were two gigantic cotton-trees of about twenty feet in circumference, extending their roots fifty to one hundred feet round, and which had, in many places, displaced the stones. Among other ornaments were rows of gigantic heads, which, no doubt, were intended to represent those of apes; for amongst the fragments were the remains of the body of a colossal ape, strongly resembling in outline and appearance one of the four monstrous animals which once stood in front of the obelisk of Luxor, and which, under the name of Cynocephali, were worshipped at Thebes. This fragment was about six feet high.

No verbal description can give a correct idea of the elaborate workmanship of the numberless idols. One, described by Mr Stevens as the most beautiful in Copan, he considers equal to the finest Egyptian sculpture; and thinks, indeed, it would be impossible, with the best instruments of modern times, to cut stones more perfectly. They are generally from twelve to fourteen feet in height, about four wide, and two or three deep. On the front is, in all cases, a human head, with arms and hands, surrounded by the most intricate carving. Frequently other smaller heads appear below the large one. In many instances the legs and feet, as well as the body, are represented. The backs and sides are covered with the most elaborate hieroglyphics, deeply carved—the whole forming a mass of rich ornamentation. Before several of the idols stand altars, also carved in the same finished way.

The most interesting figure—which, unlike all the others, is remarkable for its simplicity—is that of a human being, bearing on its head a heavy cross-like crown. It cannot fail to remind those acquainted with the idols of Babylon of the Triune God represented in the sculptured stones of those far-famed ruins.

Stone Quarries.

Some two or three miles from the ruins are the quarries, from which the stones for the buildings and statues of Copan are evidently taken. Here still exist huge blocks of stone, in different degrees of preparation. Near a river was found a gigantic block, much larger than any in the city, which was probably on its way thither, to be carved and set up, when the labours of the workmen were arrested. It is difficult to conjecture how these vast masses were transported over the irregular and broken surface of the country, and particularly how one of them was set up on the top of a mountain two thousand feet in height.

A place of this name was captured by Hernandes de Chaves at the time when its now broken monuments, ruined terraces, walls, and sculptured figures, were entire, and were all richly painted; and it seems strange that Europeans could have beheld its wonders without spreading the report of them throughout the civilised world, yet no account of this strange city was extant till it was visited by Mr Stevens.

Palenque.

Still more curious and interesting than the last described city, are the ruins of Palenque, in the province of Chiapas, bordering upon Yucatan. One of the chief structures of this ancient city stands on an artificial elevation 40 feet high, 310 feet in length, and 260 feet in width. The sides were originally covered with stones, which have been thrown down by the growth of trees. On the summit are the ruins of a building, known as the Palace, about 25 feet in height, with a front measuring 228 feet by 180 feet deep. In front were, originally, fourteen doorways, with intervening piers, covered with human figures, hieroglyphics, and carved ornaments. The walls are of stone, laid with mortar and sand; and the whole is covered by stucco, nearly as hard as stone, and richly painted. On each side of the steps are gigantic human statues carved in stone, with rich head-dresses and necklaces.

In one of the buildings is a stone tower of three stories, thirty feet square at the base, and rising far above the surrounding walls. The walls are very massive, and the floors are paved with large square stones. In one of the corridors are two large tablets of hieroglyphics.

There are numerous other buildings, all standing on the summits of similar pyramids. In several of the buildings the roofs still remain, and preserve the stuccoed ornamentation with which the walls are adorned. The colours, in many of them, are still bright; and could the hieroglyphics with which they are surrounded be read, they would probably give as clear a history of the departed inhabitants as do those found in the tombs on the banks of the Nile. The most remarkable figures are the bas-reliefs, in stucco, representing a woman with a child in her arms—which forcibly remind us of the statues in ancient Babylon representing the goddess mother and son (the same worshipped in Egypt under the names of Isis and Osiris; in India, even to this day, as Isi and Iswara; and also in China, where Shingmoo, the holy mother, is represented with a child in her arms, and a glory round her head). It is impossible, looking at these figures, to suppose otherwise than that they were derived from the same source whence the idols of Egypt, Greece, and pagan Rome had their origin.

Ruins of QuichÉ.

In the north-east of Guatemala are the ruins of another city, the capital of the province of QuichÉ. It is surrounded by a deep ravine, which forms a natural foss, leaving only two very narrow roads as entrances, guarded by the castle of Resguado. The palace of the kings, which stood in the centre of the city, surpasses every other edifice, competing in magnificence with that of Montezuma in Mexico. It was constructed of hewn stones, of various colours. So large was the city, that it could send no less than seventy-two thousand fighting men to oppose the Spaniards. The whole palace is now, however, completely destroyed, and the materials have been carried away to build a village in the neighbourhood. The most conspicuous portion of the ruins remaining is called El Sacrificatorio. It is a quadrangular stone structure, rising in a pyramidal form to the height of thirty-three feet. At the corners are four buttresses of cut stone. Steps lead up on the eastern side. On the top it is evident that an altar was once placed, for the sacrifice of human victims, which struck even the Spaniards with horror. The whole was in full view of the people who collected round the base. The ruins differ entirely from Copan and Palenque. Here no statues, carved figures, or hieroglyphics are seen. It is therefore supposed that these cities are of a much older date, and built by another race.

Uxmal.

The most magnificent and perfect remains in the country are those of Uxmal, about fifty miles south of Merida, the principal city of Yucatan. Here, amid the dense forest, are found walls of considerable elevation, with very extensive buildings,—the walls still standing to their full height, and even the roofs, in some places, perfect. The largest building—supposed to be the palace of the sovereign—stands on the uppermost of three terraces, each walled with cut stone. It is 322 feet in length, 39 broad, and 24 high. The front has thirteen doorways; the centre of which is 8 feet, 6 inches wide, and 8 feet, 10 inches high. The upper part is ornamented with sculpture in great profusion, of rich and curious workmanship. The walls are covered with cement; and the floors are of square stones, smoothly polished, and laid with as much regularity as that of the best modern masonry. The roof forms a triangular arch, constructed with stones overlapping, and covered by a layer of flat stones. It is remarkable that the lintels of the doorways are of wood, known as Sapote wood. Many of them are still hard and sound, and in their places; but others have been perforated by wormholes, their decay causing the fall of the walls.

Two other large buildings, facing each other, are embellished with sculpture, the most remarkable features of which are two colossal serpents, which once extended the whole length of the walls. Further on are four great ranges of edifices, placed on the uppermost of three terraces. The plan of these buildings is quadrangular, with a courtyard in the centre. The walls are, like the others, ornamented with rich and intricate carving, presenting a scene of strange magnificence. One of the buildings is 170 feet long, and is remarkable for the two colossal entwined serpents which run round it, and encompass nearly all the ornaments throughout its whole length. These serpents are sculptured out of small blocks of stone, which are arranged in the wall with great skill and precision. One of the serpents has its monstrous jaws distended; and within them is a human head, the face of which is distinctly visible in the carving.

The most tastefully ornamented edifice is know as the “House of the Dwarf.” It stands on the summit of a lofty mound, faced with stone, nearly ninety feet high, the building itself being seventeen feet high. Its purpose it is difficult to divine.

Scattered throughout the ruins are a number of dome-shaped subterraneous chambers, from eight to ten feet deep, and from twelve to twenty in diameter. The floor is of hard matter, and the walls and ceilings of plaster. A circular hole at the summit of each, barely large enough to admit a man, is the only opening into them. It is not known whether they were used as cisterns, or for granaries, like those of Egypt.

Other Ruins.

The whole country to the south of Uxmal is covered with ruins. At a place called Labra, there is a tower richly ornamented, forty feet in height, which stands on the summit of an artificial elevation. In another place there is one forty-five feet high; along the top of which, standing out from the wall, is a row of deaths’ heads—or perhaps monkeys’ heads—and underneath are two lines of human figures, greatly mutilated.

At Kewick, a short distance from Labra, are numerous other ruins, mostly remarkable for the simplicity of their architecture and the grandeur of their proportions. It is still uncertain whether these cities were inhabited by the unhappy people conquered by the Spaniards, or whether they were built by a race which, from some unknown cause, had already passed away. We see how completely the Mexicans and Peruvians, after the conquest, sunk from their comparatively high state of civilisation into barbarism; and such might have been the case with the inhabitants of these cities. Their origin will probably for ever afford matter for speculation.

The different cities vary in their style of architecture almost as much as as they do from those of Assyria or Egypt; but when we come to examine the sculptures, we may be able to trace a much stronger resemblance. The statues of the woman and child, the cruciform ornaments, the serpents and gigantic heads of apes, as well as those of the typical heads of savage animals surmounting the heads of the statues, are all to be found on the banks of the Nile, and were probably derived from the same central source. While the tribes who proceeded westward peopled Egypt, others, among whom a similar system of idolatry prevailed, may have migrated towards the east, and finally made their way across the Pacific to the shores of America.

Part 3—Chapter II.

A General View of South America.

Three separate mountain-systems exist in South America:—that of the Andes on the west, Guiana and Venezuela on the north, and the serras of Brazil in the centre. The surface of the remainder of the continent is occupied by vast level, or undulating tracts of different elevations. The chief portion of the region through which the Amazon flows, but slightly raised above its surface, is covered with the richest and most varied vegetation to be found on any part of the globe, extending on either side of its course, as also along the shores of the Atlantic, north and south, for many hundreds of miles. Here enormous trees of many descriptions, of varied shapes and heights, grow in wonderful profusion. The candelabra, sumaumÉra, the manicaria, and raphia, with their enormous leaves, and other palms innumerable, tower towards the sky. To the south of the Orinoco is another thickly-wooded region, known as the Silvas; which, united to the woods of Guiana and those of Brazil, Eastern Peru and Bolivia, form one enormous forest. From the north bank of the last-named river, the ground gently rises towards the interior at the rate of five feet in a mile. At a distance of one hundred miles from its hanks, at a slightly increased elevation, appears a sandy terrace—the greater portion barren, though in some places bearing grasses, and supplying water to the wide-extending plains below. This barren region, which occupies the most northern part of South America, is called the Llanos Altos. A far wider and more level country extends between the base of the Andes and the banks of the Orinoco, at a height of between two hundred and five hundred feet. Not a stone or rock, not even a pebble, is to be seen on these vast plains. So level are they, that the currents of the rivers crossing them are almost imperceptible, and are frequently sent back towards their sources when met by strong winds. They are covered with grass, which affords pasturage to large herds of wild cattle—the only other species of vegetation being a few bushes growing on the banks of the streams; while here and there, scattered at considerable distances apart, a few tall palm-trees are seen, reminding the traveller of the deserts of Arabia.

In the southern part of the continent are the treeless plains of the Pampas, extending from about 20 degrees south latitude for a distance of fully two thousand miles into Patagonia, and averaging in width five hundred miles. Stretching, as do these plains, across a large portion of the South Temperate Zone, they present great varieties of climate. The northern portion is watered by the River La Plata and its tributaries. To the south of Buenos Ayres the rivers are fewer and of less extent. The north-western Pampas consist of slightly undulating and dry plains, though interspersed with vast tracts on which lofty thistles rear their heads—useful, however, as fuel to the inhabitants. Further on, to the west, is a wide-extending pastoral district; and yet beyond, reaching to the foot of the Cordilleras, the soil is well-suited for agriculture. The pastoral region is almost a dead level, with large shallow salt-lakes,—one of them measuring fifty miles in length by twenty in width. Scarcely a tree is to be found throughout this region, and but few permanent water-courses. To the north extends a salt desert for upwards of one hundred miles, with a width of two hundred miles. It is crossed by the River Salado, which, rising in the Cordilleras, falls into the Plata, to the south of which rises a number of step-like terraces, sterile during the heats of summer, but covered with verdure after the rains of spring. Huge boulders, brown grass growing in tufts, and low spine-covered bushes, diversify the surface. In this inhospitable region transitions from heat to cold are very great. Now the traveller is panting under the intense heat of the sun’s rays; and anon an icy blast rushes across the plain, compelling him to draw close around his body his thick poncho, for protection against its chilling influences.

Further to the south are found large swamps and lagoons, one of them having an area of one thousand square miles, its surface covered with aquatic plants. In the rainy season, the rivers, overflowing their banks, inundate the plains—leaving behind, however, a thick deposit of fertilising soil, from which, as elsewhere, rich crops are capable of being produced. Further on, to the south, the Pampas, over which the yet savage and untamed Patagonians roam, and hunt the huanacu and ostrich, is generally higher and drier.

The South American continent, it will thus be seen, consists of several distinctly different descriptions of country:—the long line of the Cordilleras, with their snow-capped peaks and their lofty punas or high table-lands, and the narrow strip of arid soil at their western base; the three separate mountain-systems of Venezuela, Guiana, and the Brazils; the mighty forests bordering the great rivers and their tributaries, to which must be added the wooded heights of the inter-tropical regions, where tall trees, including several palms, flourish at an elevation of many thousand feet above the level of the ocean; and lastly, the wide-extending regions of the Llanos and the Pampas. These, as might be supposed, present great varieties of animal life—though scarcely so great as might have been expected, when it is remembered that they extend from 10 degrees north to 50 degrees south latitude. Several species indeed are found far to the north of the equator, and also near the southern end of the continent. But to give an idea of these different regions, they must be described in detail.

Part 3—Chapter III.

Valley of the Amazon.

Standing on the eastern spur of the Andes, between 3 degrees and 4 degrees south of the equator, the eye of the traveller may see in imagination a vast valley, clothed with a dense forest, stretching towards the far-distant Atlantic. Behind him, on the west, tower the lofty peaks of the Cordilleras; on his left, in a northerly direction, appear the mountains and highlands of Venezuela and Guiana; while to the south rise the serras and table-lands of the Brazils. It is the Valley of the Amazon, in which more than half of Europe might be contained. Down the centre flows a mighty stream, the tributaries of which alone contain a bulk of water greater than all the European rivers put together.

Upwards of five hundred miles away to the south of the spot where the traveller stands, is the little lake of Lauricocha, near the silver-mines of Cerro de Pasco in Peru, just below the limit of perpetual snow—14,000 feet above the level of the sea. This lake has the honour of giving birth to the mighty stream: its waters forming the River Tunguragua, which, roaring and foaming in a series of cataracts and rapids through rocky valleys, flows northerly till it reaches the frontier of Ecuador. It then turns suddenly to the east, which direction it maintains, with a slightly northerly inclination, for two thousand miles—its volume greatly increased by numerous large streams, each of which is by itself a mighty river—till, attaining a width which may vie with that of the Baltic, it rushes with such fierce force into the Atlantic as to turn aside on either hand the salt-waters of the ocean. Thus the seaman approaching the shore of South America, when still out of sight of land, may lower his bucket and draw up the fresh-water which, it may be, has issued forth weeks before from the sides of the Andes. The whole length of the river, following its main curves, is but little under three thousand miles, while the tributaries from north to south stretch over seventeen hundred miles.

The basin of the Amazon may be considered like a shallow trough lying parallel to the equator, the southern sides having double the inclination of the northern, the whole gently sloping eastward. The channel of the river lies rather to the north of the basin, some hills rising directly above its waters; while the falls of several rivers to the south are two hundred miles above their mouths. Two thousand miles from its mouth the depth of the river is never less than eighteen feet, while many of its tributaries at their embouchures are of equal depth; and at the junction of the great rivers the hollows of its bed attain a depth of twenty-four fathoms. At Tabalingua, two thousand miles from its mouth, it is a mile and a half broad; and lower down, at the entrance of one of its tributaries—the Madeira—it measures three miles across. Still further to the east its sea-like reaches extend to the north for ten miles, with still wider lake-like expanses, so that the eye of the voyager can scarcely reach the forest-covered banks on the opposite side; while if the River Para is properly considered one of its branches, its measurement from shore to shore, across a countless number of islands, is one hundred and eighty miles—equal to the breadth of the widest part of the Baltic.

After receiving the waters of numerous streams, many of which flow for considerable distances parallel with its shores, and are united by a network of channels, it is joined by its most considerable northern tributary—the Rio Negro. This stream, rising in the mountains of Venezuela, and passing amidst the Llanos, robbing the Orinoco of part of its waters, has already, before it reaches the Amazon, flowed for a course of one thousand five hundred miles. It is called the Negro from its black colour. It is here not less than nineteen fathoms deep, and three thousand six hundred paces broad. The next great affluent is the Yapura, which, rising in the mountains of New Granada, takes a south-easterly course for one thousand miles, its principal mouth entering the Amazon opposite the town of Ega; but it has numberless small channels, the streams of which, two hundred miles apart, flow into the great river. The upper part of the Amazon is frequently called the Solimoens, which name it retains as far south as the mouth of the River Negro.

About sixty miles further east, its largest southern affluent—the gigantic Madeira—unites its milky waters with the turbid stream of the main river. One branch, the Beni, rises in the neighbourhood of the ancient Cuzco in Peru, near Lake Titicaca, its whole extent from the centre of the province of Bolivia being nearly the length of the Amazon itself. At its mouth it is two miles wide and sixty-six feet deep; and five hundred miles up it is a mile wide. Numerous islands are found in its course: for nearly five hundred miles it is navigable for large vessels, when a cataract intervenes. Were it not for this, there would be a free navigation from the centre of the province of Bolivia to the ocean, embracing islands the size of many of the Old World provinces, and widening into broad lakes. The monarch of waters flows on between its low forest-clothed banks till, four hundred miles from its mouth, it reaches the Strait of Obydos, where it is narrowed to two thousand paces. Through this channel its waters rush with immense force, calculated at five hundred thousand cubic feet in one second—sufficient to fill all the streams in Europe, and swell them to overflowing. No plummet has hitherto sounded the depth of its bed at this point, the force of the stream probably rendering the operation almost impracticable.

Its last two great tributaries are the Tapajos, six times the length of the Thames, and the Xingu, twice that of the Rhine; while further east a narrow channel unites it with the River Para, into which flows the broad stream of the Tocantins. This river, rising in the Minas-Geraes, six hundred miles from Rio Janeiro, is one thousand six hundred miles long, and ten miles wide at its mouth. Opposite to Para is the large island of Marajo; and if Professor Agassiz is right in supposing that the continent once extended much further to the east than it now does, this island may properly be considered in the centre of the mouth of the river, and the River Para might then properly be called one of its true embouchures. But only a few of the streams which feed the Amazon have been named. Numberless other rivers swell its waters, united to it by countless channels which form a wonderful network throughout the whole region, joining also many of the main rivers together, with the intricate navigation of which the natives alone are acquainted.

These curious water-paths, or igarapes, as they are called, are often so narrow that the branches of the lofty trees meet overhead, enabling the traveller in his canoe to proceed for miles together sheltered from the noonday sun. Here and there a glimpse of the sky can be discovered through the umbrageous foliage overhead, while birds of gay plumage flit to and fro, or sit perched on the branches uttering their strange and varied cries. In the intervals, or sometimes forming the termination of the water-path, numerous pools of various sizes exist—some a few yards across, others expanding into lakes—filled mostly by the overflowing of the main river during the rainy season. They are the habitations of a great variety of fishes. Here several species of turtles and alligators swarm in vast numbers; electric eels, too, abound in them, as well as many of the other curious water-creatures of that region. Water-fowl and various other aquatic birds dwell on their banks, while on the surface of their placid waters float the wide-spreading leaves and magnificent blossoms of the Victoria Regia, as also of other lilies and water-plants.

Scenes on the Amazon.

The chief feature of the Lower Amazon is the vast expanse of smooth water, of a pale yellowish-olive colour, bearing on its bosom detached masses of aquatic grass floating down like islands, sometimes mixed with huge trees, their branches and roots interlocked, and often carrying among them wild animals, which, unconscious of their character, have there taken refuge from their foes, or have ventured thither in search of prey. The timid stag and fierce jaguar are sometimes thus entrapped and carried out to sea. At even and morn flocks of parrots and large and yellow macaws, fly backwards and forwards, uttering their wild and hoarse cries; herons and rails frequent the marshes on its banks; while all night long the cries of gulls and terns are heard over the sandy banks where they deposit their eggs, while they may be seen during the day sitting in rows on floating logs gliding down the stream, motionless and silent, as if contemplating the scenery. There are divers and darters, too, in abundance. Now and then a huge manatee comes gliding by, its cow-like head rising to breathe the upper air; while dolphins, porpoise-like, rear their backs above the surface, or leap half out of the water as they swim up the stream. On the low banks, huge alligators with open jaws are basking in the sun, or leisurely swimming across the river.

The Rainy Season.

This magnificent region enjoys a perpetual summer, its various fruits coming to maturity, according to their character, at different periods throughout the year. It has, however, its wet and dry seasons. The rain occurs at one time in the Upper Amazon, and at another in the Lower,—greatly swelling the volume of water in the main stream, which, unable to find its way towards the ocean, rushes through the countless channels and igarapes, overflowing the lower portions of a vast district called the Gapo. The waters begin to rise in February, and progress inch by inch until the middle of June, gradually swelling the rivers and lakes, when, these becoming filled, the lower lands and sand-banks are overflowed even far-away in the interior. The forests are traversed by numerous gullies, which in the dry season are wide dells, but now become transformed into broad creeks, through which canoes can proceed to great distances under the shade of the lofty trees.

At this period of the year the inland pools are frequented by swarms of turtle, as well as alligators, and shoals of fish which leave the main river; while the flocks of wading birds migrate northerly, thus greatly dispersing the food on which the natives depend for their existence. The fishermen who have been employed during the dry months in catching turtle and fish on the sand-banks return to their villages, though some employ themselves in collecting the Brazil-nut and wild cacao, which are now ripe.

About the first week in June, the flood has risen sometimes to the height of forty feet above the usual level of the river, when it now begins to subside. The rains, however, do not fall continuously, though very heavy at times. Several days of beautiful sunny weather generally intervene. The fine season begins with a few days of brilliant weather—the rays of the sun breaking forth among the passing clouds. Towards the middle of July the sand-banks again appear, flocks of gulls and other water birds fly by, and the gaily-plumaged inhabitants of the forest come forth into full activity and life.

Storms.

The navigation of the Amazon is not free from danger. Fierce storms arise; black clouds gather over the blue expanse, suffused anon with a lurid yellow tinge, and the fierce whirlwind howls along the river-banks, tearing the placid stream into masses of foam; the tall trees bend before the blast, and huge branches are wrenched off and hurled into the water. The long-legged waders and other water birds, unable to face it, throw themselves on the ground, and cling with claws and beak to the sand to escape being carried helplessly away.

The Pororocca.

Sometimes, too, the destroying pororocca—a vast wave rising across the whole width of the stream, to the height of twelve or fifteen feet—sweeps up the stream. Advancing noiselessly over the deeper portions of the river-bed, it rises into an angry billow, with a fearful roar when passing over a shallow, or meeting any impediment in its course. A French traveller describes an island where he and his companions had rested on their voyage down the stream. They had happily gone over to the mainland on the previous evening, when, as they stood on the shore, the pororocca was heard approaching. Onward it came till the island was reached, when, with an angry roar, it burst into masses of foam, and swept over the devoted spot, carrying in its fierce embrace not only the whole mass of vegetation, but overturning the foundations of the island itself, so that in a few seconds not a vestige remained. Sometimes, too, the higher banks of the Upper Amazon, crowned by lofty trees, are worn away by the rapid current, increased during the rainy season, continually passing beneath them, till the upper portions, deprived of their support, fall over with a terrific roar into the stream, dragging with them their neighbours. The earth trembles with the concussion, the waters hiss and foam and rush furiously over the impediments in their course. Sometimes miles of the bank thus give way, the sound being heard far up and down the stream. Occasionally a canoe and its crew—who, to avoid the current, have been toiling close along the bank—have been thus overwhelmed; while others, descending, unaware of the obstruction, have been dragged by the furious whirlpool thus formed amid the tangled branches, and destroyed.

Part 3—Chapter IV.

Character of Vegetation on the Banks.

A dense vegetation, though somewhat varied in character, rises like a lofty wall of verdure along the banks of the mighty stream, from the base of the Andes to its mouth in the Atlantic. There, where the influence of the sea-breeze is felt, the ever-present mangrove of the tropics forms a thick belt round the shores of its numberless islands. Higher up, various palms of many graceful forms appear, interspersed with numberless other trees, some bearing huge pods a yard long, others vast nuts and other curious fruits,—the banks below fringed either with giant grasses and broad-leaved bananas, or here and there with the large wide heart-shaped leaves of the aninga growing on the summit of tall stems, or in other places with the murici of a lower growth close to the water’s edge. Among the most remarkable is the white-stemmed cecropia, the lofty massaranduba, or cow-tree, often rising to the height of one hundred and fifty feet; the seringa, or india-rubber tree, with its smooth grey bark, tall erect trunk, and thick glossy leaves. The assai-palm, with its slender stem, its graceful head and delicate green plumes, is at first more numerous than any other. Now appears the miriti, or mauritia—one of the most beautiful of its tribe, with pendent clusters of glossy fruit, and enormous spreading fan-like leaves cut into ribbons; the jupati, with plume-like leaves forty feet and upwards in length, graceful in the extreme, starting almost from the ground. Here is seen also the bussu, with stiff entire leaves, also of great length, growing upright from a short stem, close together, and serrated along their edges. Higher up still, while the palms become less numerous, other trees take their places. Among them appears conspicuous the majestic sumaumera, its flat dome rounded, but not conical, towering high above the forest. The branches of this tree are greatly ramified and knotty, and the bark is white. Conspicuous, too, is the taxi, with brown buds and white flowers; while the margin of the water is thickly fringed by a belt of arrow-grass, or frexes—so called by the Portuguese—six feet in height. Its name is given in consequence of being used by the Indians in making arrows for their blowpipes.

Amid this wonderful mass of forest vegetation grows an intricate tracery of lianas and climbing sipos, some running round and round the trees, and holding them in a close embrace; others hanging from branch to branch in rich festoons, covered with starlike flowers, or dropping in long lines to the ground,—often to take root and shoot upwards again round a neighbouring stem, or drooping like the loose cordage of a ship swinging in the breeze. Often they form so dense and impenetrable a thicket from the ground upwards that a way must be cleared with an axe to proceed even a short distance from the banks towards the inner recesses of the forest.

The Gapo.

On the Gapo, or submerged lands, however, a considerable difference in the vegetation appears. The palms are here often more numerous than in other parts. This is the region where the cacao-tree and prickly sarsaparilla grow. Here the underwood is less dense, the sipos retiring to weave their tracery among the upper branches alone. Though during the dry season the vegetation springs up with wonderful rapidity, it is swept away by the next overflow.

Here the lovely orchis tribe adorn the gloomy shades with their brilliant flowers. Among the most beautiful is the oncidium, of a yellow hue, often seen—apparently suspended in air between the stems of two trees—shining in the gloom, as if its petals were of gold. In reality it grows at the end of a wire-like stalk a yard and a half long, springing from a cluster of thick leaves on the bark of a tree; others have white and spotted blossoms, growing sometimes on rotten logs floating on the water, or on moss and decayed bark just above it. Still more magnificent is the Flor de Santa Ana, of a brilliant purple colour, emitting a most delicious odour.

Peculiar and strange is this region of the Gapo. When the waters are at their height it can be traversed in all directions. The trees which grow on it, and the animals which here have their abodes, appear to differ from those of other districts.

Let us accompany the naturalist Wallace, in his canoe, through a district of this description; now forcing our way under branches and among dense bushes, till we get into a part where the trees are loftier and a deep gloom prevails. Here the lowest branches of the trees are level with the surface of the water, many of them putting forth flowers. As we proceed we sometimes come to a grove of small palms, the leaves being now only a few feet above us. Among them is the maraja, bearing bunches of agreeable fruit, which, as we pass, the Indians cut off with their long knives. Sometimes the rustling of leaves overhead tells us that monkeys are near, and we soon see them peeping down from among the thick foliage, and then bounding rapidly away. Presently we come out into the sunshine, on a lake filled with lilies and beautiful water-plants, little bladder-worts, and the bright blue flowers and curious leaves with swollen stalks of the pontederias. Again we are in the gloom of the forest, among the lofty cylindrical trunks rising like columns out of the deep water; and now there is a splash of fruit falling around us, announcing that birds are feeding overhead, and we discover a flock of parrakeets, or bright blue chatterers, or the lovely pompadour, with its delicate white wings and claret-coloured plumage. Now, with a whir, a trogon on the wing seizes the fruit, or some clumsy toucan makes the branches shake as he alights above our heads.

This region, as might be supposed, is not destitute of inhabitants. Several tribes of Indians dwell within it all the year round. Among them are the Purupurus and Muras tribes, who, spending most of their time in their canoes, in the dry season build small huts on its sandy shores; and when the waters overflow it, form rafts, which they secure between the trees, sleeping in rude huts suspended from the stems over the deep water, and lighting their fires on masses of mud placed on their floating homes. They subsist entirely on fish, turtle, and manatee.

Several species of trogons are peculiar to this submerged region. The curious black umbrella-bird is entirely confined to it, as is also the little bristle-tailed manakin. Several monkeys visit it during the wet season, for the sake of its peculiar fruits; and here the scarlet-faced urikari has its home.

For miles and miles together the native traverses this region in his canoe, passing through small streams, lakes, and swamps, scraping the tree trunks, and stooping to pass between the leaves of the prickly palms, now level with the water—though raised on stems forty feet high—while everywhere round him stretches out an illimitable waste of waters, but all covered with the lofty virgin forest. In this trackless maze, by slight indications of broken twigs or scraped bark, he finds his way with unerring certainty.

“This curious region,” says Wallace, “extends from a little above Santarem to the confines of Peru, a distance of about 1700 miles; and varies in width on each side of the river from one to ten or twenty miles.”

Trip up an Igarape into the Interior.

Let us leave the mighty stream, and wander amidst the picturesque windings of an igarape, into the depths of the forest, with Professor Agassiz. Passing into its narrow entrance, the lofty trees arching overhead shelter the voyager in his light canoe from the glaring heat of the noonday sun. The air is cool and refreshing. Not a ripple stirs the water, save that caused by the paddles of the Indian crew. Clumps of the light and exquisitely graceful assai-palm shoot up everywhere on either side from the denser forest. Here and there the drooping bamboo dips its feathery branches into the water, covered sometimes to their very tips with the purple of convolvuli; yellow bignonias carry their golden clusters to the very summits of some of the more lofty trees; while white-flowering myrtles and orange-coloured mallows border the stream. Life abounds in this quiet retreat. Birds and butterflies are numerous on the margin of the water. Crabs of every variety of colour and size sit on the trunks of decaying logs, watching for their prey,—to make their escape, however, with nimble feet, when pursued.

Or let us start before daylight, on a calm morning, along the banks of a larger tributary, to proceed towards the heights of the Sierra Erere. As dawn begins to redden the sky, large flocks of ducks and of a small Amazonian goose may be seen flying towards the lake. Here and there we see a cormorant, seated alone on the branch of a dead tree; or a kingfisher poises himself over the water, watching for his prey. Numerous gulls are gathered in large companies on the trees along the river-shore. Alligators lie on its surface, diving with a sudden splash at the approach of the canoe. Occasionally a porpoise emerges from the water, showing himself for a moment, and then disappearing. Sometimes a herd of capybaras, resting on the water’s edge, are startled at our approach.

There sits, on the branch of an imbauba, rolled-up in its peculiar attitude, a sloth, the very picture of indolence, with its head sunk between its arms. The banks, covered in many places with the beautiful capim-grass, afford excellent pasturage for cattle.

Now we turn into an inner stream, or igarape, often having to make our way with difficulty amid islands of capim-grass. Now we pass through a magnificent forest of the beautiful fan-palm—the miriti—overshadowing many smaller trees and innumerable shrubs, bearing light conspicuous flowers. Among them are numerous Leguminosae—one of the most striking, the fava, having a colossal pod.

The whole mass of vegetation is interwoven with innumerable creepers, amid which the flowers of the bignonia, with their open trumpet-shaped corollas, are conspicuous. The capim is bright with the blossoms of the mallow growing in its midst, in some places edged with the broad-leaved aninga—a large aquatic arum. Through these forests, where animal life is no less rich and varied than the vegetation, our canoe glides silently for hours.

The sedgy grasses on either side are full of water birds. One of the most common is a small chestnut-brown wading bird—the jacana—whose toes are immensely long in proportion to its size, enabling it to run over the surface of the aquatic vegetation as if it were solid ground. It is their breeding season—January. At every turn of the boat we start them up—usually in pairs. Their flat, open nests generally contain five flesh-coloured eggs, streaked in zig-zag with dark brown lines. Among the other waders are a snow-white heron, another ash-coloured, and a large white stork. The ash-coloured herons are always in pairs—the white always singly, standing quiet and alone on the edge of the water, or half hidden in the green capim. The trees and bushes are full of small warbler-like birds. The most numerous and interesting is one which builds a very extraordinary nest, considering the size of the bird. It is known among the country people by the name of pedreiro, or the forneiro—both names referring to the nature of its habitation. This singular nest is built of clay, and is as hard as stone—pedra; while it is the shape of the mandioca oven—forno—in which the country people prepare their farina. It is about a foot in diameter, and stands edgewise upon the branch or crotch of a tree. Among the smaller birds are bright tanagers, and a species resembling the canary. Humming-birds are scarce, though here and there a few appear; while countless numbers of parrots and parrakeets fly overhead in dense crowds, at times drowning every other sound with their noisy clatter.

Birds of prey are not wanting. Among them is the red hawk, about the size of a kite—and so tame, that even when a canoe passes under the branch on which he is sitting, he does not fly away.

Among the most striking are the gallinaceous birds. The commonest is the cigana, to be seen in groups of fifteen or twenty perched on trees overhanging the water, and feeding upon berries. At night they roost in pairs; but in the daytime are always in larger companies. In appearance they have something of the character of both the pheasant and peacock, and yet do not closely resemble either. With the exception of some small partridge-like gallinaceous birds, the representatives of this family in Brazil belong to types which do not exist in any other parts of the world. Here the curassow, the jacu, the jacami, and the unicorn resemble as much the bustard and other ostrich-like birds as the hen and pheasant.

The most numerous insects to be met with are dragonflies; some with crimson bodies, black heads, and burnished wings; others with large, green bodies, crossed by blue bands.

The Campos.

Although the forests cover generally the whole length and breadth of the Amazonian Valley, there are here and there, on the higher ground, open dry plains with scanty vegetation,—the ground in the water-courses or gullies, formed of clay, being baked by the heat of the sun into slate-like masses. One of these spots we now reach. The most prominent plants of this sandy or clayey region are clusters of cacti and curua palms—a kind of stemless, low palm, with broad leaves springing, vase-like, from the ground. Here also grow wild pineapples; and in broad sunlight numerous humming-birds delight to sport and feed upon the blossoms of the various plants which find no room to bloom in the darker shades of the forest.

Geology of the Amazonian Valley.

Professor Agassiz remarks that no formation—known to geologists—resembling that of the Amazon exists on the face of the earth. Its extent is stupendous. It stretches from the Atlantic shore through the whole width of Brazil into Peru, to the very foot of the Andes—one vast extent of red sandstone, capped by a yellow-ochred clay; not only along the banks of the main river, but forming the sides of those of its tributaries, to their far-off sources, probably over the whole basin of the Paraguay and the Rio de la Plata. How are these vast deposits formed? is the question. The easiest answer, he observes, and the one which most readily suggests itself, is that of a submersion of the continent at successive periods—to allow the accumulation of these materials—and its subsequent elevation. This explanation is rejected, for the simple reason that the deposits show no signs whatever of a marine origin. No sea-shells, or remains of any marine animal, have as yet been found throughout their whole extent—over a region several thousands of miles in length, and from five to seven hundred miles in width. It is evident, he considers, that this basin was a fresh-water basin, these deposits fresh-water deposits. It is true that calcareous layers thickly studded with shells have been found interspersed with the clay; but though supposed to be marine fossils, he recognised them for what they really are—fresh-water shells of the family of the Naiades. As their resemblance is very remarkable, the mistake as to their true zoological character is natural: indeed, many travellers have confounded some fresh-water fishes from the Upper Amazon of the genus of Pterophyllum with the marine genus Platax. He considers that the immense glacier which probably existed at the same time that ice, thousands of feet thick, covered the centre of Europe, must have been formed in this valley, and then, ploughing its bottom over and over again, and grinding all the materials beneath it into a fine powder, must ultimately have forced its way through the colossal sea-wall which it had built up eastward into the Atlantic.

A Day and Night on the Amazon, with their Sights and Sounds.

Day is beginning to dawn, the birds are astir, the cicada have begun their music; flocks of parrots and macaws, and other winged inhabitants of the forest, pass by in numbers, seeking their morning repast; beautiful long-tailed and gilded moths like butterflies fly over the tree-tops. Rapid is the change from the dark night. The sky in the east assumes suddenly the loveliest azure colour, across which streaks of thin white clouds are painted. The varied forms of the numberless trees, imperceptible during the gloom of night, now appear, the smaller foliage contrasting with the large glossy leaves of the taller trees, or the feathery, fan-shaped fronds of palms. For a time the fresh breeze blows, but flags under the increasing power of the sun, and finally dies away, the heat and electric tension of the atmosphere becoming almost insupportable.

The heat increases as the day draws on. Languor and uneasiness seize on every one;—even the denizens of the forest betray it by their motions. By this time every voice of bird or mammal is hushed. Only in the trees is heard at intervals the whir of the cicada. The leaves, so soft and fresh in the early morn, now become lax and drooping. The flowers shut their petals. The natives, returning to their huts, fall asleep in their hammocks, or, seated on mats in the shade appear too languid even to talk. White clouds now appear in the east, and gather into cumuli, with an increasing blackness along their lower portions. The whole eastern horizon becomes rapidly black, the dark hue spreading upwards. Even the sun is at length obscured. Then the rush of a mighty wind is heard through the forest swaying the tree-tops. A vivid flash of lightning bursts forth, then a crash of thunder, and down streams the deluging rain. The storm soon ceases, leaving the bluish-black motionless clouds in the sky till night. Meantime all nature is refreshed, but heaps of flower petals and leaves are seen under the trees.

Towards evening life revives again. The noises of the forest animals begin just as the sun sinks behind the trees, leaving the sky above of the intensest shade of blue. The briefest possible twilight commences, and the sounds of multifarious life come from every quarter. Troops of howling monkeys, from their lofty habitations among the topmost branches—some near, some at a distance—fill the echoing forest with their dismal noise; flocks of parrots and blue macaws pass overhead, the different kinds of cawing and screaming of the various species making a terrible discord. Added to them are the calls of strange cicada—one large kind perched high on the trees setting up a most piercing chirp. It begins with the usual harsh jarring tone of its tribe, rapidly becoming shriller, until it ends in a long and loud note resembling the steam whistle of a locomotive engine. A few of these wonderful performers make a considerable item in the evening concert. The uproar of beasts, birds, and insects lasts but a short time; the sky quickly loses its intense hue, and the night sets in. Then begin the tree-frogs—Quack, quack! Drum, drum! Hoo, hoo! These, accompanied by melancholy night-jars, keep up their monotonous cries till late at night.

The night, however, is not given over to darkness. In every forest path, across the calm waters of the igarapes, along open spaces, in the village as well as in spots remote from man’s abode, the whole air is full of bright and glittering lights of varied hue; now darting here, now there, like meteors flashing through the sky—now for a moment obscured, to burst forth again with greater brilliancy. Beautiful as is the English glow-worm, the fire-flies and fire-beetles, the elaters of the tropics, far surpass them in brilliancy. Their light is redder and more candle-like, and being alternately emitted and concealed, each of the tiny vermilion flames performing its part in the aerial mazy dance, the spectacle is singularly beautiful. In the marshy districts is seen the large elater, which displays both red and green lights; the red glare, like that of a lamp, alternately flashing on the beholder, then concealed as the insect turns his body in flight, but the ruddy reflection on the grass beneath being constantly visible as it leisurely pursues its course. Now and then a green light is displayed, and then the mingling of the two complementary colours, red and green, in the evolutions of flight, surpasses description. Even the brilliant elaters, however, will scarcely enable the traveller to find his way amid the darkness through the forest.

Wallace describes a midnight walk he was compelled to take. He was barefooted, every moment stepping on some projecting root or stone, or treading sideways on something which almost dislocated his ankles. Dull clouds could just be distinguished in the openings amid high-arched, overhanging trees, but the pathway was invisible. Jaguars, he knew, abounded, deadly serpents were plentiful, and at every step he almost expected to feel a cold gliding body under his feet, or deadly fangs in his leg. Gazing through the darkness, he dreaded momentarily to encounter the glaring eyes of the jaguar, or to hear his low growl in the thicket. To turn back or stop were alike useless. Unpleasant recollections of the fangs of a huge dried snake’s head he had just before examined, would come across his memory; and many a tale of the fierceness and cunning of the jaguar would not be forgotten. Suddenly he found his feet in water, and then he had to grope for a narrow bridge it was necessary to cross. Of its height above the water, or the depth of the stream, he was utterly ignorant. To walk along a plank four inches wide, under such circumstances, was a nervous matter. He proceeded, however, placing one foot before the other, and balancing steadily his body, till he again felt himself on firm ground. Once or twice he lost his balance, but happily he was only a foot or two from the ground and water below—though, had it been twenty it would have been all the same. Half-a-dozen such brooks and bridges had to be passed, till at length, emerging from the pitchy shade upon an open space, he saw two twinkling lights, which told him that the village was ahead.

But we were describing a tropical day. Night is over. The sun rising again in the cloudless sky, the cycle is completed—spring, summer, and autumn, as it were, in one tropical day. The days are more or less like this throughout the year. A little difference exists, between the dry and wet seasons. The periodical phenomena of plants and animals do not take place at about the same time in all the species, or in the individuals of any given species, as they do in temperate countries. The dry season here is not excessive, nor is there any estivation, as in some tropical countries. In these forests the aspect is the same or nearly so every day in the year—budding, flowering, fruiting, and leaf-shedding, are always going on in one species or other. The activity of birds and insects proceeds without interruption, each species having its own breeding-times. The colonies of wasps, for instance, do not die off annually, leaving only the queens, as in cold climates, but the succession of generations and colonies goes on incessantly. It is never either spring, summer, or autumn, but each day is a combination of the three. With the day and night always of equal length, the atmospheric disturbances of each day neutralise themselves before each succeeding morning. With the sun in its course proceeding midway across the sky, and the daily temperature the same within two or three degrees throughout the year, how grand in its perfect equilibrium and simplicity is the march of nature under the equator!

“Oppressive, almost fearful, is the silence and gloom of the Brazilian forest,” says Bates. “The few sounds of birds are of that pensive or mysterious character which intensifies the feeling of solitude, rather than imparts a sense of life and cheerfulness. Sometimes, in the midst of the stillness, a sudden yell or scream will startle one. This comes from some defenceless fruit-eating animal, which is pounced upon by a tiger-cat or stealthy boa-constrictor. Morning and evening howling monkeys make a most fearful and harrowing noise, under which it is difficult to keep up one’s buoyancy of spirit. The feeling of inhospitable wildness which the forest is calculated to inspire, is increased tenfold under this fearful uproar. Often, even in the still hours of mid-day, there is a sudden crash, resounding afar through the wilderness, as some great bough or entire tree falls to the ground. Sometimes a sound is heard like the clang of an iron bar against a hard hollow tree, or a piercing cry rends the air. These are not repeated, and the succeeding silence tends to heighten the unpleasant impression which they make on the mind. The natives believe it is the curupira—the wild man of the forest—who produces all the noises they are unable to explain. He is a mysterious being,—sometimes described as a kind of orang-outang, covered with long shaggy hair, and living in trees; at others, he is said to have cloven feet and a bright red face. He has a wife and children, who, as well as himself, come down to the plantations to steal the mandioca.”

Such is a faint outline of some of the more prominent features of the great Amazonian Valley—the most interesting portion of the southern half of the New World. No verbal descriptions can do justice to the reality—although drawn, as some of the above are, by master hands. We will next range along the mighty Cordilleras to the ancient kingdom of the Incas, looking down on the Pacific shores; and then, again descending from the mountain heights, take a brief glance at the debased human beings who people the valley, and pass in review the more interesting of the countless wild creatures which inhabit its forests and waters. Afterwards we will traverse Venezuela, Guiana, the rest of the Brazils, and the wide-spreading level regions to the south of that vast country, the river-bound province of Paraguay, the territories of the Argentine Republic, the wild district of the Gran Chaco, the far-famed Pampas, and the plains of Patagonia.

Part 3—Chapter VI.

Southern and Western Shores of the Continent.

Tierra Del Fuego appears as if a mountain region had been partly submerged in the ocean, so that deep inlets and bays occupy the place where valleys would have existed had its base still been above the sea. The greater portion of the mountainsides are covered, from the water’s edge upwards to the elevation of 1500 feet, by one wide-extending forest of evergreen beeches. Scarcely a level spot is to be found throughout the whole country; and so dense is the wood, and encumbered by the trunks of fallen trees and waterfalls, that it is scarcely possible to penetrate it. Here and there on the western side, and in the Strait of Magellan, the forest disappears, and magnificent glaciers extend down to the very water’s edge. The mountains on the north side rise to the height of 4000 feet, with one peak above 6000 feet high, covered with a mantle of perpetual snow; while numerous cascades pour their waters through the woods into the narrow channel below. It is scarcely possible to imagine anything more beautiful than the beryl-like blue of these glaciers, especially contrasted with the dead white of the upper expanse of snow.

The inhabitants of this region are among the lowest in the scale of human beings, living in wretched hovels, composed often merely of boughs and leaves, their only clothing scanty pieces of skin, worn on one side, to defend themselves from the icy winds.

These evergreen forests, consisting of only two or three species of trees, with several Alpine plants growing on the heights above them, continue round the coast for six hundred miles or more northward of Cape Horn, till, in the more northern and warmer latitudes, they give place to semi-tropical vegetation. Now stately trees of various kinds appear, with smooth and highly-coloured bark, loaded with parasitical plants; while large and elegant ferns, and numerous and arborescent grasses, entwine the trees into one entangled mass. Palm-trees appear in latitude 37 degrees; and an arborescent grass, very like the bamboo, three degrees further north.

In many places the ocean washes the base of the Andes, or huge spurs project from the mountains; and in others a narrow belt alone is left between them and the water. The whole of Chili, indeed, consists of a narrow strip of land between the Cordilleras and the Pacific; while this strip is often traversed by several mountain lines, which in some parts run parallel to the great range. Extending to the south, between these outer lines and the main Cordilleras, we find a succession of level basins, generally blending into each other by narrow passages.

In the neighbourhood of Valparaiso, above which Aconcagua (23,000 feet in height) looks down on the Pampas on one side and the blue Pacific on the other, is the beautiful valley of Guillota, thoroughly irrigated and brought under cultivation. It has, during the whole summer, the hot sun striking down from a cloudless sky. It is only in these parts where the nature of the streams affords means of irrigation that vegetation can exist.

Further north, the western shore is in many parts very arid; and about latitude 20 degrees south the burning desert commences, extending 540 leagues—almost to the Gulf of Guayaquil—and varying in width from three to twenty leagues. Over this region of death, heaps of stone or mounds of sand are alone seen, except where, at wide intervals, some mountain stream, fed by the melting snows of the lofty peaks, finds its way into the ocean. It is only in the neighbourhood of these rivers that man can venture to take up his abode. On the banks of most of them have been built the few cities which exist near the sea in Peru. For some miles the traveller finds not a drop of water, no trace of vegetation. His weary horse sinks, overcome with the pangs of thirst and the fatigue of dragging its limbs through the soft sand. Through this region the mule can alone be trusted, as, like the camel of the Eastern desert, it will longer endure fatigue and want of water. Here, as in the deserts of Africa, violent winds stir up the sand, forming vast columns, as terrible in their effects as the flames of the prairie. Rising to a hundred feet in height, they are seen approaching, whirling through the air, till the unhappy traveller finds himself surrounded by an overwhelming mass, and, unable to breathe, sinks exhausted on the ground. Flight alone can save him. Many have here perished. On several occasions, troops attempting to cross the desert have been overwhelmed. Others have lost their way when traversing the sandy plains, and have wandered about, in vain seeking for water to quench their burning thirst. On one side is the salt ocean, on the other the rocky precipices of the mountains. Wandering on for hours and hours, at length, exhausted, they have abandoned themselves to despair. These sand-storms occur more especially during the heats of summer, so completely altering the appearance of the country, by covering it with large hillocks, that the most experienced guides find it at times impossible to discover their way; and perhaps, when searching for it, another storm arises, and once more spreads the mounds over the level plain.

In some places the whole soil is covered with a thick crust of salt, white and hard, giving the country the appearance of being covered with snow. For months and months together, in many parts not a drop of rain falls. At length a shower descends, and, as if by magic, the grass springs up in spots where not a blade was before visible; and for a short time the whole country puts on a green mantle, soon, however, to be withered up by the burning heat.

Northward of this desert region, the land on the shores of the Gulf of Guayaquil and its neighbourhood is covered with the richest vegetation, supported by the numerous streams which descend from the Andes of Quito and Columbia.

Part 3—Chapter VII.

The Indians of the Cordilleras.

Leaving the burning sand-coast, we will ascend once more the steep sides of the Cordilleras to those fertile tracts found at an elevation of many thousand feet above the ocean; but, before describing the brute creation and the vegetable products of this interesting region, we should properly take a glance at the human beings inhabiting it.

When, in 1524, the Spaniards first reached the western coast of South America, of which they were soon to become the conquerors, they found a people greatly advanced in civilisation. They consisted of two distinct races; the one, known as the Incas, showing a decided superiority in intellectual power over the other. Whence they came is unknown; but a tradition existed, that two persons—husband and wife—had appeared some four hundred years before that period in the neighbourhood of Lake Titicaca, announcing themselves as the Children of the Sun. The husband, Manco Capac, taught the men the arts of agriculture; and his wife, Mama Oello (mama, meaning mother), initiating her own sex in the mysteries of weaving and spinning. The wise policy which regulated the conduct of the first Incas (kings, or lords), was followed by their successors, and under their mild sceptre a community gradually extended itself along the surface of the broad table-land, which asserted its superiority over the surrounding tribes.

Fine cities sprang up in different parts of their kingdom, connected by well-formed roads, suited to the nature of the country. Their capital was Cuzco, at some distance to the north of the lake, in latitude 14 degrees south; while the city next in importance to it was Quito, in a rich valley, beneath the equator. These cities were connected by two roads; one passing over the grand plateau, and the other along lowlands at the borders of the ocean. The first was conducted over mountain-ridges, frequently buried in snow; galleries were cut through the living rock; rivers crossed by suspension-bridges; precipices scaled by stairways; and deep ravines were filled up with solid masonry.

This road was upwards of fifteen hundred miles long; and stone pillars, to serve the purpose of mile-stones, were erected at intervals of about a league along the route. Its breadth was about twenty feet. In some places it was covered with heavy flagstones; and in others, with a bituminous cement, which time has rendered harder than the stone itself. Where the ravines had been filled with solid masonry, the mountain torrents have eaten a way beneath it, leaving the superincumbent mass still spanning the valley like an arch. The suspension-bridges—instead of which wretchedly inferior ones of wood are now used—were composed of the tough fibres of the maguey; a species of osier, possessing an extraordinary degree of tenacity and strength. The fibres were woven into cables of the thickness of a man’s body, which were then stretched across the water, and conducted through rings or holes cut in immense buttresses of stone raised on the opposite banks of the river, and there secured to heavy pieces of timber. Several of these enormous cables bound together, side by side, formed a bridge—which, covered with planks well secured, and defended on each side by a railing of the same material, afforded a safe passage for the traveller. The length of this aerial bridge, sometimes exceeding 200 feet, caused it—confined as it was only at the extremities—to dip, with an alarming inclination towards the centre; while the motion given it by the passenger created an oscillation frightful to one whose eye glanced down into the dark abyss of waters, that foamed and tumbled many a fathom beneath.

Over these roads a system of communication throughout the country was kept up by running postmen, called chasquis. Along the roads small buildings were erected, within five miles of each other, at which a number of chasquis were stationed. They were trained to the employment, and selected for their speed and fidelity. As the distance each had to perform was small, he ran over the ground with great swiftness, and messages were carried along all the routes at the rate of a hundred and fifty miles a day. The chasquis not only carried despatches, but brought fish from the distant ocean, and fruits, game, and other commodities, from the warm regions on the coast.

It is not our province to describe the gorgeous temples, palaces, and convents, in which the Virgins of the Sun resided, and the numerous other public buildings, extensive remains of which still exist scattered throughout the region. The glory of the Incas has departed. But few of their descendants remain, and their blood has generally mingled with that of their conquerors.

The Native Indians.

The tribes over whom they ruled are still to be found, though in diminished numbers, and debased by the cruel system of oppression under which they long groaned. The native inhabitants of the central region of the Andes are known as the Quichuas, and their chief characteristics are common to the greater number of the tribes along the whole extent of the range. Though the languages of the different tribes vary, they are probably derived from the same source. The head of the Quichua is an oblong longitudinal, somewhat compressed at the sides. He has a low and very slightly arched forehead; a prominent, long, aquiline nose, with large nostrils. The mouth is large, and the teeth very fine, while the lips are not thick; the chin is short, but not receding; cheek-bones not prominent, eyes horizontal and never large, eyebrows long, the hair jet-black—and, though thick, straight and coarse, yet soft. He has little or no beard. In stature they seldom reach five feet. The chest is long, broad, deep, and highly arched. The hands and feet are small. The colour is between olive, brown, and bronze,—somewhat like that of the mulatto. Though their chests are broad, and their shoulders square, their arms are weak—their chief strength existing in their backs and legs. Mild, generous, and submissive, they have existed when a fiercer race would have been exterminated; but, on several occasions, they have shown that they can be goaded into revolt. About the year 1770, under Tupac Amaru, they broke into rebellion, when, had they possessed better arms and more discipline, they might, with the courage they exhibited, have driven the Spaniards from the country. The rebellion was put down with the atrocious cruelties to which the Spaniards have invariably subjected this unhappy race.

On the eastern slopes of the Andes are found savage tribes, wearing few or no clothes, painting their skins, and ornamenting themselves with the coloured feathers of birds. Towards the southern end of Chili, the fierce Araucanians inhabit the mountains. Beyond them are the large-limbed Patagonians, clothed in skins; and at the extreme end, the wretched Fuegans, living in nearly a state of nature, on seals and fish.

The race supposed to have been the most civilised before the time of the Incas were the Aymaras, whose descendants still inhabit the shores of Lake Titicaca. Their language differs from the Quichua, though evidently a sister-tongue.

This expanse of water, already mentioned, is about eighty miles long and forty broad. Numerous rivers flow into it; in some places it is very deep, but in others so shallow that there is only just room to force the balsas through the rushes. It abounds in fish of peculiar form, and in aquatic birds. Several islands rise above its surface. That of Titicaca, from which it takes its name, is most celebrated.

During one of the several occasions when the Indians rose against their taskmasters to free themselves from the mita—a system which compelled one-seventh part of the male population to labour in the mines—the lake, for a long time, afforded them a place of refuge. In some places along the shores, beds of rushes exist nine leagues long and one broad. In the midst of them there is an island, to which lanes were cut through the tangled mass. This watery labyrinth was navigated by the Indians in their balsas; and, secure in their retreat, they contrived to make inroads on the Spanish towns in the neighbourhood for a length of time. (These balsas are composed of reeds, tightly fastened together on the sides, in the form of boats, and are propelled both by sails and paddles.) Several of the Indian chiefs were at length captured and executed. This, however, only exasperated the rebels, who, under an enterprising leader, attacked the bridge over the Desaguadero, and carried off the heads of their chiefs, which had been stuck on poles above it. The Spanish troops sent against them waded to some islets, but the Indians, hovering round them in their balsas, prevented them from advancing further. At length the Spaniards embarked in twenty balsas, and came in sight of the native squadron. The Indians, however, going in and out among the lanes and rushes, baffled their oppressors, cutting off several Spanish balsas. A party of cavalry also, advancing into the swampy ground, was suddenly surrounded and cut to pieces, with a loss to the Indians of only three men.

These outbreaks, and the far more important rebellion under Tupac Amaru, show that Spanish tyranny had not entirely succeeded in crushing the spirit of the Indians. During the civil wars which for so long devastated the Spanish provinces of South America, the Indians fought with a courage fully equal to that of the whites.

The Puna.

An elevated region called by the Quichuas the Puna, or “the uninhabited,” must be described. A scanty vegetation covers these vast plains. Man can with difficulty breathe on them, or produce the means of existence. Barley, though cultivated, seldom ripens; the chief plant which grows to maturity being the maca, which has tuberous roots, and is used like the potato. In consequence of the diminished pressure of the air, water begins to boil at so low a temperature that neither meat, potatoes, nor eggs, can be sufficiently cooked. From the same cause, those unaccustomed to the rarefied air are afflicted with an attack called the vela—consisting of headache, nausea, and producing even spitting of blood, and other disorders of the mucous membrane. Horses suffer in the same way; and cats are so affected that they die in violent convulsions. There is another complaint, called the chanu, affecting the skin of the hands and face, as well as the eyelids; when, the skin breaking, blood flows from every opening. The surumpe, by which travellers are affected—the inflammation of the eyes caused by the reflection from the snow—is still more painful. Often the agony which even an Indian suffers from it is so great, that he has been known to sit down and utter cries of anguish; while, occasionally, total blindness has been the ultimate consequence.

But it is time that we should turn to the brute creation existing in these regions, noticing the interesting specimens of the vegetable kingdom as we proceed in our survey. As the camel is the characteristic animal of the sandy deserts of Arabia and Africa, the royal tiger of the jungles of Bengal, and the kangaroo of the wide-extending plains of Australia, so the llama brings to our recollection the lofty plateaus of the Andes, and the mighty condor its still higher peaks.

Part 3—Chapter VIII.

The Wild Animals of the Cordilleras.

The Llama.

It is on the above-mentioned bleak table-land that the llama, with its kindred—the alpaca, vicuÑa, and huanucu—are found. The historian of the conquest calls them the sheep of Peru, but the llama is more allied in its characteristics to the camel of the desert. In outward form, except that it has no hump on its back; in the structure and cellular apparatus of the stomach, which enable it to abstain for a long time from water; in the expression of its large full eye; in the mobility and division of the upper lip; in its fissured nostrils; in the nature of its teeth; and in its long woolly clothing and slender neck,—the llama has a strong resemblance to the camel of the deserts of Arabia. While the camel’s feet, however, are formed for passing over the burning sands or level ground, and are therefore broad and cushioned, those of the llama, to enable it to climb the rugged crags of the Cordilleras, are slender, elastic, and claw-tipped. The llama has indeed been rightly called the camel of the mountains, and was employed by the ancient Peruvians—as it is at present—as a beast of burden. The load laid upon its back rests securely upon a bed of wool, without the aid of girth or saddle. It cannot carry more than from eighty to one hundred pounds. If overladen it will lie down, and nothing will induce it to rise till it has been relieved of its burden.

The llamas move in troops of five hundred or even one thousand, and thus, though each individual carries but a little, the aggregate is considerable. The whole caravan travels at a regular pace—passing the night in the open air without suffering from the cold—marching in perfect order, and in obedience to the conductor. Thus they proceed over rugged passes from twelve to fifteen miles a day. They were especially employed in bearing the produce of the mines of Potosi to the coast, often in places where the hoof of the mule could find no support. It was estimated, after the conquest, that 300,000 were thus employed. As they never feed after sunset, it is necessary, when journeying, to allow them to graze for several hours during the day. They utter a peculiar low sound, which at a distance resembles, when the herd is large, the tone of numerous Aeolian harps. On seeing any strange object which excites their fears, they immediately scatter in every direction, and are with difficulty reunited. The Indians treat them kindly, ornamenting their ears with ribbons, and hanging little bells about their necks. When any of them, over-fatigued, fall to the ground, their conductors endeavour by every gentle means to induce them to proceed. In spite, however, of the kind treatment they receive, numbers, from the heat of the coast region, which they cannot stand, annually perish.

When offended, the llama shows its anger by turning its head at its driver, and discharging a saliva with a bad odour in his face. It is about the size of the stag. It carries its long neck upright, constantly moving its long ears. The animals vary in colour. Some are of a light brown, the under part being whitish; others dappled; but they are seldom found quite white or black. In consequence of the introduction of the mule and horse into the country, which have superseded them in many places as beasts of burden, their price seldom exceeds three or four dollars. The flesh of the llama is eaten; and as many as 4,000,000 were, in days gone by, annually killed for food.

The Alpaca.

The alpaca is smaller than the llama, and somewhat resembles the sheep. It has a long, soft, fine fleece of a silky lustre. In the domestic breeds the wool falls in large flakes reaching down to the knees. This wool was employed by the ancient Peruvians for weaving a kind of cloth. It approximates in character to silk, and a large quantity is now exported to Europe for the manufacture of shawls and other delicate fabrics. Immense herds of the llama or alpaca were held by the Peruvian government, and placed under the protection of herdsmen, who conducted them from one quarter of the country to another, according to the season. They were exclusively the property of the Incas; as were the vicuÑas, which roam in native freedom over the frozen ranges of the Cordilleras.

The Huanucu.

The huanucu is considerably larger than the llama, which it so much resembles, that it was formerly considered to be the same animal in a wild state. The body is brown, with the under parts white; the face is of a blackish-grey, approaching to white about the lips. The fleece is shorter and not so fine as that of the llama. The huanucus are very shy, and only when caught young can they be tamed—and even then they can rarely be induced to carry burdens. They generally live in small troops of from five to seven. Not unfrequently they may be seen scaling the snow-covered peaks to a height which no other living thing save the condor can reach. They find sustenance in the ychu, a species of grass which grows all along the great ridge of the Cordilleras, from the equator to the southern limits of Patagonia.

The VicuÑa.

The vicuÑas are very beautiful and graceful creatures, with the habits of antelopes. They have long, slender necks, and rich fawn-coloured coats, with patches of white across the shoulders and inside the legs. The wool is shorter and more curly than that of the three other species, and, from its extreme fineness, is of much greater value.

During the dry season, when the grass of the plains has withered, they descend to the swampy ground below. One male is followed by a dozen or more females, over whom he watches with the most faithful care. Should he apprehend danger, he utters a loud, shrill cry of alarm, and rapidly advances. The herd then collecting, moves forward slowly; but immediately they discover the approach of an enemy they wheel round and fly—at first at a slow pace, frequently looking round, and then away they dart, fleet as the wind, the male covering their retreat. Should their protector be wounded, the females return and keep circling round him, uttering piercing notes of sorrow, and remain to be shot rather than desert their companion.

Although it is only when enraged that the llamas and huanucus spit upon those near them, the vicuÑas and alpacas invariably eject saliva and undigested food—which has a peculiarly disagreeable smell—upon all who approach them.

VicuÑas in vast numbers are found ranging over the more remote and lofty regions of the Puna, where they are able to find a safe retreat from the attacks of man. They have, however, a very formidable enemy in the ravenous condor, who frequently robs them of their young.

These two wild species the Peruvian peasants were never allowed to hunt, they being as much the property of the government as if enclosed within a park. Only on stated occasions, once a year, great hunts took place under the superintendence of the Inca, or his principal officers. They were never repeated in the same quarter oftener than once in four years, that time might be allowed for the waste occasioned by them to be replenished. At the time appointed the whole surrounding population—sometimes, it is said, amounting to nearly ten thousand men—formed a circle round the area which was to be hunted over. Armed with spears, they gradually closed in, destroying the beasts of prey, and driving the huanucus, vicuÑas, and deer towards the centre, where the male deer and the huanucus were slaughtered. Their skins were reserved for various useful manufactures; and their flesh, cut into thin slices, was distributed among the people, who converted it into chasqui, or dried meat (constituting then, as it does now, the principal animal food of the lower classes of Peru).

The vicuÑas are hunted at the present day. A member from each family of the Puna villages joins the hunting party, forming altogether a band of about one hundred persons. They carry poles with cordage. The poles are placed in the ground, and united by ropes at about the height of two feet, forming a circle of half a league in circumference, enclosing a space called the chasqu. Coloured pieces of rag are attached to the ropes, which are moved about by the wind. Some of the hunters are on horseback, others on foot. Each man is armed with the well-known bolas; which consists of three balls of lead, two of which are heavy and one lighter, attached to a long leathern thong knotted together at one extremity. The hunter takes the lighter ball in his hand, and swings the other two in a wide circle over his head. When at a distance of fifteen or twenty paces from the animal, the lighter is let loose, when the three fly in circles towards it, encompassing it in their snake-like folds. Thus prepared, the hunters disperse, forming a circle several miles in circumference, driving all the vicuÑas before them towards the entrance of the circle. As soon as the animals have entered, it is closed. The vicuÑas, afraid to spring over the ropes with the coloured rags fluttering in their faces, are attacked by the hunters with their bolas, the hind-legs being generally aimed at. The huanucus, which are much wilder, invariably leap the barriers and escape, when frequently the vicuÑas follow their example. As soon as the animals within the chasqu are killed, it is carried off and again erected at a distance of twelve or more miles, when the same operation is gone through. Thus from one hundred to three hundred animals are killed during the chase, which generally lasts for a week.

Notwithstanding the opposition from the Peruvian government, a large herd of alpacas were, some years ago, successfully carried to the coast and shipped off to Australia, where, in a high and dry district, they appear to be flourishing.

The Condor.

The traveller standing on the rocky heights of the Cordilleras, at an elevation which Etna does not surpass, though still with many a snow-capped mountain round him, may see, on one of the dizzy pinnacles amid which he stands, a vast bird. It is the condor, the largest of the vulture tribe; the monarch of the birds of that region. He may know it by the glossy black colour, tinged with grey, of its body; the greater wing-coverts, except at the base and tips, and the quill-feathers being mostly white. Round the neck is a white ruff of down; the skin of the head and neck is excessively wrinkled, and is of a dull reddish colour with a tinge of purple. Surmounting the forehead is a large, firm comb, with a loose skin under the bill which can be dilated at pleasure. Now it expands its wings, nine feet from tip to tip. Off it flies from its rocky perch, now appearing to sink with its own weight; but, gradually rising, it soars aloft, even above the glittering dome of Chimborazo, no vibration seen in its powerful wings. Higher and higher it soars, till it appears a mere speck in the blue ether; then, lost to the sight of human eye, darts rapidly downwards towards the sultry coast of the Pacific, there to prey upon the putrefying carcasses of animals it may espy from afar.

On that lofty pinnacle, or some jutting ledge near it, the female has laid its two eggs, and here it rears its young. The eggs are large and white, and laid upon the bare rock. The young are covered with a whitish down, and, it is said, are unable to fly for an entire year. Few other birds can fly to so great a distance above the earth. It appears to respire as easily in the most rarefied air as on the seashore. They do not live in pairs, like the eagle, but several are generally found together. When an animal falls dead, a number of the vast birds are soon seen coming from afar to feast on the carcass.

Great as is the altitude to which the condor can fly, and although it ranges through clouds and storms to the southern end of the Andes, it is not found to the north of Panama.

The condor is a true vulture, gorging itself on dead and putrid carcasses. It will also attack the young llama, as well as lambs and calves, which it carries away in its powerful talons. This makes it dreaded and hated by the shepherds of the hills and plains alike, who seek its destruction by a variety of means. Firearms are, however, useless, as its thick and strongly-constructed coat of feathers will turn aside a bullet. Besides, it is so tenacious of life, that one has been known to receive several bullets in its body, and to have lived a considerable time afterwards. The shepherds train their dogs to give notice of the approach of a condor; and the moment one appears in the sky, they look upwards, and bark violently till their masters appear. Among other modes which the natives employ to capture it, they kill an old mare—which they have an idea is better than a horse—and allow the bird to gorge itself. It then becomes so sluggish, that they can without difficulty throw their bolas round its neck and legs. It also sleeps so soundly, that they frequently manage to approach it when at roost, and capture it in the same way.

In the province of Abacay, in Peru, another method is employed. A native fastens a quantity of putrid flesh to a fresh cow-skin, under which he lies hid with a supply of rope. When the condor pounces down upon the meat, and remains gorging himself, the native fastens its legs by means of the rope to the skin. As soon as this is done, he creeps from beneath it. The frightened bird in vain attempts to escape. Immediately the hunter’s companions, rushing forward, throw their bolas over the bird, and make it captive. Frequently several are thus caught at the same time.

The cruel and disgusting custom of bull-baiting is still kept up in the country, and the condors are employed to add to the terror and sufferings of the unhappy bull. Before the unfortunate animal is driven into the circus, his back is laid bare with a lance, and one of the birds, which has been starved for a week or more, is bound upon it. The famished condor immediately attacks the raw, quivering flesh of the poor beast; and while it is thus engaged, the bull is driven into the midst of the arena, to afford amusement to the savage spectators.

There is among the mountains a natural funnel-shaped excavation, sixty feet in depth, and about eighty feet in diameter at the top. The Indians place, on the edge of the pit, the putrid body of a mule, so balanced that it will easily fall over. In a short time it is discovered by numbers of condors, which, darting down, greedily attack it. Tugging and pulling at the flesh, they soon draw it over the edge, when it falls to the bottom of the pit. Not to be disappointed of their prey, they hold tightly to the body, and descend with it. Here, having gorged themselves, they are unable to rise again to the mouth of the pit, and are speedily killed with stones and sticks by the natives who collect round it, or are drawn captive to the surface. Dr Tschudi, in his Travels, mentions having seen twenty-eight birds at one time thus destroyed.

They are caught in a similar manner in other places, and brought down to the coast, where they are sold for a few dollars; and often thus find their way to Europe. It was long an unsettled point whether the condor discovers the dead animals on which it feeds by the power of sight or of scent; but Darwin, by several experiments, has settled the question in favour of the bird’s keenness of vision.

A number of condors were kept captive in a garden, secured by ropes. Wrapping up a piece of meat in white paper, and holding it in his hand, he walked up and down in front of the birds; but they took no notice of it. He then threw it down in front of an old male bird; but it was still disregarded. He then pushed it with a stick till it touched the condor’s beak, when the paper was torn off with fury, and every bird in the row began struggling and flapping its wings to reach the food. Under the same circumstances, no dog would have been deceived.

The condor is said formerly to have been worshipped in Peru. Perhaps the Peruvians, seeing it descend through the air from beyond their sight, supposed it a celestial messenger from the sun, which they worshipped. If so, their descendants treat it in a very different way to what they must then have done.

A condor ordinarily measures nine feet from tip to tip of the wings, and slightly over four feet from beak to tail.

Part 3—Chapter IX.

The Vegetable Productions of the Cordilleras.

Chinchona or Peruvian Bark.

The chinchona (it is erroneously spelt cinchona) tree constitutes the type of a natural order (Chinchonaceae), which also includes ipecacuanhas and coffees.

On the western slopes of Chimborazo, and in several other regions extending from the wooded heights of Merida and Santa Martha, at the northern end of the Cordilleras, as far as the Republic of Bolivia, 19 degrees south, the chinchona-tree has its range. Vegetation in the Cordilleras within the tropics reaches to a much greater height than in higher latitudes. The sun’s rays have there great power in heating the soil; while the mists drawn from the broad Pacific, rising above the plains, rest upon the lofty sides of the mountains. The warm and humid atmosphere thus created is especially favourable to the growth of certain trees and shrubs. Among others is the chinchona-tree, from which quinine is obtained. It is generally found growing at a height of from 6000 feet to 10,000 feet above the ocean.

It would have been strange had not the native Peruvians been acquainted with the qualities of the bark. The Quichua name for the tree, quina-quina—“bark of barks”—shows that they believed it to possess medicinal properties; indeed, there is little doubt that they were aware of its febrifugal qualities, though they might not have attached much importance to them. Through them, probably, the Spanish colonists in the neighbourhood of Loxa first discovered its virtues. It was, however, but little known till the year 1638, when the wife of the Count of Chinchon, Viceroy of Peru, lay sick of an intermittent fever in the palace of Lima. The corregidor of Loxa, who had himself been cured of an ague by the bark, hearing of her sickness, sent a parcel of powdered quinquina bark to her physician. It was administered to the Countess Anna, and effected a complete cure. She, in consequence, did her utmost to make it known. Her famous cure induced Linnaeus long afterwards to name the whole genus of quinine-yielding trees Chinchona, in her honour. The Jesuit missionaries, who had learned its virtues, also sent parcels of the bark to Rome, whence it was distributed to members of their fraternity throughout Europe by the Cardinal de Lugo. Hence it was sometimes called Jesuits’ bark, and sometimes Cardinal’s bark. For many years, however, great opposition was made by European physicians to its use. Some Protestants, indeed, went so far as to decline taking it, because it was favoured by the Jesuits. Although the bark was used for many years, it was not till Dr Gomez, a surgeon in the Portuguese navy, in 1816 isolated the febrifugal principle, and called it chinchonine, that its true value became known. But the final discovery of quinine, as it is now used, is due to the French chemists Pelletier and Caventon, in 1820. It is a white substance, without smell, bitter, fusible, and crystallised.

Chinchonine is of less strength than quinine, and is used in mild cases of intermittent fever; but in severe cases, the use of quinine is absolutely necessary. Since the discovery of the medicinal properties of this bark, it has proved an inestimable blessing to the human race. For many years the bark itself was used as a febrifuge; but quinine, which is extracted from it, is of still greater value in curing or preventing ague. On various occasions it has rendered great service by preserving the health of troops. Many lives were saved by it in the disastrous Walcheren expedition. In India it is now universally used with the same beneficial effect; and several African explorers have been enabled to prosecute their journeys through pestiferous regions by its frequent use. Dr Livingstone, among others, speaks of it as the chief remedy he has employed when attacked by sickness on his journeys.

Most of the Chinchonae, when growing in good soil, and under favourable circumstances, become large forest-trees. When crowded, they frequently run up to a great height without a branch; while at the upper limit of their zone, they become mere shrubs.

There are numerous species of chinchona, producing bark of greatly different values. There are upwards of nineteen different species of the true Chinchonae, and upwards of seventy once received as such, though now considered of no commercial value. The three characteristics by which the true chinchona may be known are—the presence of curly hairs bordering the laciniae of the corolla; the peculiar mode of dehiscence of the capsule from below upwards; and the little pits at the axils of the veins on the under sides of the leaves. The leaves are of a great variety of shapes and sizes. In the finer species they are lanceolate, with a shining surface of bright green, traversed by crimson veins and petioles of the same colour. The flowers are very small, and hang in clustering panicles like lilacs. They are generally of a deep roseate colour, paler near the stalk, and dark crimson within the tube, with white curly hairs bordering the laciniae of the corolla. The colour of one species is entirely white. They send forth a delicious fragrance, which scents the air in their neighbourhood.

The region round the little town of Loxa, on the southern frontier of Ecuador, is the original home of the chinchona. In its sheltered ravines and dense forests were found those precious trees which first made known to the world the healing virtues of Peruvian bark. They grow at a height above the sea of from 6200 to 8200 feet. The trees are there from 30 to 48 feet high, with three or more stems growing from the same root. The leaves are like those already described. The bark is black when exposed to the sun and wind, but of a brownish colour when surrounded by other trees; and is always covered with lichens. The bark from the Loxa region is known as crown bark; that from Chimborazo, as red bark; while in the Huanaco region of Northern Peru grey bark is produced.

When first the demand for the bark was established, bark-collectors, called cascarilleros, entered the forests in parties of a dozen or more, supplied with food and tools. At their head was a searcher (cateador), who, climbing a high tree, looked out for the manchas, or clumps of chinchona-trees, which experience taught him to know by their dark colour and the peculiar reflection of the light from their leaves amidst those endless expanses of forest. Having marked the spot, he descended, and led his party, sometimes for hours together, through the tangled wilderness, using the wood-knife to mark his way to the chinchona clump. As soon as it was found, rude huts were built, and the parties commenced their work. Having with their axes laid the tree level with the ground, cutting it as close as possible to the roots, the work of stripping off the bark was commenced. The original mode of doing this is still continued. It is done by dividing the stems into pieces of uniform length. The bark is then cut lengthwise, so as to remove the rind without injuring the wood, or severing any of the fibres. In a few days the bark is taken off in strips as broad as possible, and is afterwards pressed out into flat pieces. That, however, taken from the thinner branches is allowed to retain its form, and is known as quill bark—called by the natives canuto; that from the solid trunk is called tabla or plancha. It is sewn up in coarse canvas, with an outer covering of fresh hide, forming packages called serons. Thus prepared, it is transported to the coast for shipment.

From the careless way in which the bark-collectors have hewn down the trees, often digging up the roots themselves, the production has greatly decreased. When the root is allowed to remain, and the stem hewn as near as possible to it, an after-growth is produced, which, in the milder regions, in the space of six years again produces bark. In the colder regions twenty years are required before a tree is fit to be cut down.

With great care and trouble chinchona plants and seeds have been transported from South America to India by Professor Markham; and in the mountainous regions of the East the tree is now cultivated and flourishing. It had some years before been carried by the Dutch to Java, where, however, from want of sufficient care at first, its cultivation has not been so successful as it appears to be in India, Coca.

The native Indian, as he climbs the dizzy precipice, or passes over the rocking bridge, in his journey across the rugged mountains, or leads his troop of llamas to the seashore, or labours in the dark mines, bringing up vast weights from the bowels of the earth, is enabled to bear the fatigue he is called on to undergo by putting a few dried leaves into his mouth, which he chews, and replenishes from time to time. Thus the coca leaf is a great source of comfort and enjoyment. As he journeys, his chuspa or coca-bag, made of llama cloth, dyed red and blue in patterns, is hung over his shoulders. In his bag he also carries small cakes—composed of carbonate of potash mixed with lime and water—called clipta. Sitting down, he first puts a few leaves into his mouth, which he chews, and turns over and over till he has formed a ball. He then adds a small piece of the cake; and, sustained by the wonderful qualities of the morsel, will go on for many hours without food. He usually replenishes his mouth about three times in the day.

The smell of the leaf is agreeable and aromatic, and gives out a grateful fragrance. When, however, used to excess, like other narcotics, coca—though the least injurious—is still prejudicial to health.

The coca plant (Erythoxylon coca) grows at an elevation of between 5000 and 6000 feet above the level of the ocean, in the warm valleys of the eastern slopes of the Andes, where rain frequently falls. It is from four to six feet high, with straight and alternate branches. The leaves, which are of a light green, are alternate, and in form and size similar to tea leaves. The flowers, which are solitary, have a small yellowish white corolla. It requires careful cultivation. It is produced from seeds, and the plants are then transplanted into soil carefully weeded and broken up. It is found growing on terraces on the mountainsides, which will allow of but a single row of plants. At the end of eighteen months the plants yield their first harvest, and continue to yield for upwards of forty years. The green leaves, when picked, are carefully spread out in the sun to dry. The name of “coca” is bestowed on them only when they are dried and prepared for use.

Some writers, objecting altogether to stimulating narcotics, assert that the use of coca produces all the evil results of opium; but this, from the evidence of many enlightened travellers, seems not to be the case. Taken immoderately, no doubt it is injurious,—as is tea, coffee, tobacco, or wine; but used as it generally is by the natives, it is to them a great blessing. The valleys, however, most suitable for its cultivation are reputed to be unhealthy.

So valuable was coca considered in the days of the Incas, that divine honours were paid to it, and it was especially the property of the sovereign. Even at the present day the miners of Peru throw a quid of coca against the hard veins of ore, under the belief that they are thereby more easily worked. The natives also sometimes put coca in the mouth of the dying man, believing that if he can taste the fragrant leaf it is a sure sign of his future happiness.

Its moderate use is considered wholesome; and European travellers who have chewed coca state that they could thus endure long abstinence from food without inconvenience, and that it enabled them to ascend precipitous mountainsides with a feeling of lightness and elasticity, and without losing breath.

Part 3—Chapter XI.

Mammalia.

The Savage Inhabitants of the Amazonian Valley.

Full of animal life as are the forests of South America, the number of species of what are generally called wild beasts is remarkably small. Four only are capable of attacking man—the jaguar, the puma, the great ant-eater, and the savage little peccary, with its lancet-like tusks. The first only is universally dreaded; the puma flies when bravely confronted; the great ant-eater is not dangerous, except to those who get within its reach; and the peccary is dreaded chiefly when hunting in a pack, as it does, like the wolf. The burly tapir, the largest animal of the continent—though a hippopotamus would look at it with contempt—is perfectly harmless; and, with the exception of a few species of tiger-cats, nearly all the other Mammalia are rodents, or belong to the order Quadrumana. The latter are by far the most numerous inhabitants of its wide-extending forests. It is especially the country of monkeys, where they have arrived at their highest development. Several of the species are not only furnished with four hands, but they have tails which serve them, to all intents and purposes, as a fifth hand. They can hang by them, or insert them into a hole and pick out a bird’s egg, or a minute insect, with the greatest ease. They are generally, with the exception of the howlers, amicably disposed, easily tamed, with beautiful coats of fur, and, if not exactly elegant in their forms, very agile, and generally attractive, interesting little creatures.

The serpents and insects are far more dreaded and annoying than the wild beasts. Many of the former are fearfully venomous. The boa occasionally finds a human being in the forest, sick or wounded, and unable to fly, and winds its huge coils round his body. The anaconda is equally dangerous to those sleeping near the river’s edge; while the cunning and savage alligator lies in wait for the unwary bather or drawer of water who ventures into the stream; and termites and ants devour the stores of the inhabitants, and, in certain localities, well-nigh sting them to madness.

The Puma.

The gaucho of the Pampas, the llanero of the savannahs in the north, the herdsman on the slopes of the Cordilleras facing the Pacific, and the settlers on the eastern shore, dread the wide-ranging puma—or the American lion, as the creature, on account of its tawny hide, is wrongly called. Supplied with powerful limbs, capable of climbing tall trees and swimming rivers, neither mountains, forests, open plains, nor streams stop its progress. Like the cat, to which genus it belongs, it stealthily approaches its prey, and, seizing it with a sudden spring, rends it to pieces. When coming upon a flock of sheep or vicuÑas, it deals havoc and destruction on every side, often striking down in mere wantonness a far greater number than it can carry off or devour. Yet, though far larger than the jaguar, it is inferior to it in courage, and, when boldly opposed by man, will always take to flight; though, like the jaguar, it will track a human being through the forest, in the hope of springing on him when unobserved. Yet, boldly faced, it plays the coward, and will creep off, unable to stand man’s steady gaze. Like a wild cat, it climbs a tree with ease; and, taking post on a branch, crouches down, stretched out at full length along it, its colour harmonising with the bark, so that it cannot be seen by its unwary prey moving near it. As the deer or vicuÑa passes below, it launches itself on the doomed creature, and, drawing back its neck with its powerful claws, breaks the vertebra, and instantly kills it. Darwin states that he has frequently seen skeletons of huanucus with their necks thus dislocated.

In the Amazonian forests the puma is not so common as the jaguar. The colour of its fur resembles that of the deer in these forests. The natives call it the sassu-arÂna, or the false deer, as it frequently, in consequence, deceives them at first sight. “It was from this name being misspelt that it is called the cuguacuarana, the first c being soft,” observes Bates. Hence the name cougar, employed by French zoologists, and copied in most works on natural history. The hunters do not fear it, describing it as a coward; and such, in spite of its strength, it undoubtedly is. Still, instances have occurred of its killing human beings.

It is often found at an elevation of upwards of 10,000 feet. After killing an animal and eating its fill, it covers over the carcass with bushes, and lies down to watch it. This habit frequently causes its destruction, for the condors, attracted by the carcass, assemble from far and near to their expected feast, when the puma springs out to drive them off. The gauchos of the Pampas, observing the birds rise together on the wing, hurry with men and dogs to the chase. Whirling their bolas round their heads, they quickly entangle the animal’s limbs, and then, throwing their lassoes over it, drag it along the ground till rendered insensible, when its brains are quickly beaten out. In Chili it is hunted with dogs, or, driven up a tree, is easily shot. It is noted for its craft. When once it has been betrayed when watching a carcass, and has managed to make its escape, it is said never to resume that habit. When pursued it will stop and spring on one side, and wait till the dogs have passed by. Unlike the jaguar, which is among the most noisy of beasts of prey, the puma seldom utters any sound, even when wounded, but silently takes its way, its presence only known as it makes the fatal spring on its victim.

The Jaguar.

The Indian, as he roams through the forest, turns many a cautious look over his shoulder, lest the savage jaguar, with stealthy feet, may be following his trail. Meeting the monarch of his forests face to face, he fears it not, provided he is armed with a bow and poisoned arrows, or sumpitan and envenomed dart, which will soon compel the fierce creature to succumb to its deadly influence.

Of the jaguar, or ounce (Felis onca), there are two species—the one of a palish brown-yellow, variegated on the upper parts of the body with streaks and regular oblong spots of black; while the other is of a general black hue, and is considered the more savage of the two. It reaches a size which may vie with the tigers of India, though it is often not much larger than a wolf. It is frequently called the tiger or panther of the New World. The tail is not so long as the body. In outward appearance it closely resembles the leopard, especially in its arborial habits, as by means of its powerful claws it can with ease spring up the trunk of a tree, and make its way along the branches, ready to pounce down upon a foe. Nearly every creature of the forests and arid plains over which it roams, and many which frequent the margins of the rivers and lakes, have to dread its voracious jaws. It will spring from the bough, along which it lies crouching, on the back of the thick-skinned tapir, which, with those powerful claws clinging to its hide, dashes terror—stricken through the thickets, endeavouring to shake off its foe. It will even fearlessly attack the alligator, in spite of the latter’s enormous jaws,—avoiding which, by its agility, it will tear open the reptile’s side, and devour it before life is extinct. It lies watching from a projecting trunk for the huge manatee swimming by, and grappling it with its claws, holds it fast in the struggle for life and death, by degrees dragging the vast body out of the water, and never letting go its grasp till it has succeeded in capturing its prey. Turtles become its easy victims. Watching for them as they crawl up the sandy banks, it turns them helplessly over with its paws. The capybara, or water-hog, seems born for the especial purpose of serving it as food, enormous numbers of that big rodent being devoured by it. Even active monkeys cannot escape it. It will climb the trees and surprise them when sleeping; or sometimes, lying in concealment, springs out among a troop of them joyously gambolling, unsuspicious of danger, when their shrieks of terror and the hoarse roar of the jaguar may be heard resounding through the forest.

But where flocks and herds are collected in the neighbourhood of man’s abode, the jaguar is especially dreaded, as it will spring upon a horse and bring it to the ground with ease; it has been known to drag one many yards to the water’s side, and swim across the river with its prey, carrying it away on the opposite side to its home in the forest. Sheep and deer fall easy victims. When seizing a deer or horse, it leaps on the animal’s back, and grasping the head with its claws, wrenches it back till the vertebrae of the neck are broken.

There are but two animals who do not fear the jaguar. The great ant-eater is defended from the monster’s attacks by its shaggy, thick coat. It will often grasp the jaguar in its powerful claws, and keep it in a close embrace, while these formidable weapons tear open its side—treating it as some chiefs in India were in the habit of treating their guests, whom they pretended to receive with an embrace of friendship, their hands armed with the steel-formed claws in imitation of those of tigers. Though the savage little peccaries, when caught singly, are quickly despatched by the jaguar, yet when meeting it collected in a herd, they so fiercely assault it with their sharp tusks, that it is either pierced to death, in spite of the blows of its claws, or compelled to take to flight.

It catches fish as it does the manatee, suddenly thrusting forth its talons as they pass below it; while it scrapes up the turtle’s eggs in numbers. It even pounces on birds and lizards, in spite of their activity and means of escape; and, when pressed by hunger, it will attack a native village, and carry off, not only fowls and other tame animals, but the children, and sometimes full-grown people, whom it may catch unawares.

Darwin says, that when the floods drive these animals to drier ground, they are most dangerous; and mentions many instances of people being destroyed by them. On the Parana they have been known to get on board vessels at night. He heard of a man who, coming up from below when it was dark, was seized on the deck by a jaguar. He escaped, however, with the loss of the use of an arm. At Santa FÉ, two padres entering, one after the other, a church into which a jaguar had made its way, were both killed. A third, who came to see what was the matter, escaped with difficulty. The beast was destroyed by being shot at from a corner of the building which was unroofed.

The gauchos say, that when wandering at night, it is frequently followed by foxes yelping at its heels. If such is the case, it is a curious coincidence with the fact, generally affirmed, that jackals accompany the East Indian tiger.

The jaguar often leaves marks on the bark of trees, which it scrapes for the purpose of tearing off the rugged parts of its claws; a habit common also to the puma, as Darwin says he frequently found in Patagonia scores so deep on the hard soil, that no other animal could have made them.

Brett mentions several instances which came under his notice of human beings being killed by jaguars. A Carib Indian had gone into the forest to procure touari,—the inner bark of the sapucaya-nut tree, of the thin papery layers of which the Indians form the envelopes of their cigarettes. While employed in cutting off the long strips of the bark, on turning round he discovered a jaguar stealthily approaching. His friends, as he did not return, set out in search of him. For a whole day they searched in vain; but on the second they discovered his foot-tracks, and those of a large jaguar. Following these for a long way in anxious suspense, they at length came to a spot where there were marks of a conflict, and they discovered their comrade’s bow lying broken on the ground. Still it was apparent that the Indian had beaten off his assailant, for the tracks of both led still further into the forest. At length they reached the scene of the last desperate struggle. On the ground lay the man’s knife, which he had lashed to the end of a stick; but it had been loosened and turned aside against the tough hide of the animal. From the marks on a tree it was evident that the poor fellow, in dire extremity, at the approach of night, had been trying to climb it, but ere he had ascended ten feet the jaguar had sprung after him, and pulling him down, had torn him to pieces. The remains, terribly mangled and half-devoured, lay near. One of the Caribs who had found the body described the sickness which came over him at the sight, and remarked that he had never since felt secure when traversing the forest with only his knife and bow and arrows. On the banks of the Pomaroon lived a Carib family, with a number of small children. The young ones had gone into the water to bathe, when they were startled by the cry of the smallest of their party—a little boy—whom they had left seated at the water’s edge. On looking round they beheld a huge jaguar which had been attracted by their noises of splashing, and which, having come behind the poor child, was standing with one paw on his shoulder. The elder children, screaming for help, attempted bravely to drive away the savage beast, but their efforts only resulted in it seizing the poor little fellow’s head with its powerful jaws. It was a moment of agony. Their father was absent, but another Carib who was near rushed to the spot, followed by the child’s mother and some other females. The beast, startled at this sudden increase in the number of its assailants, dropped its victim, whom the man immediately took up and gave to the mother. But assistance had come too late. The child gave his last struggle as his mother received him in her arms. When night set in, the disappointed beast came back to claim his prey, roaring and yelling through the hours of darkness around the open shed which formed their dwelling. Females alone were present, as the man had gone off to call the child’s father; and they had great difficulty, with firebrands and shouting, in keeping the brute off till help arrived.

Some time after this, another man, of considerable personal strength and cool courage, was one day in his field, with a little dog playing by his side, when he saw a jaguar at a distance watching his movements. The beast slunk away when observed, and as the Carib had no gun, he went on quietly with his work, clearing away the bush with his cutlass, which was a new and sharp one. The jaguar had, however, marked the dog for its prey, and only retreated to execute a flank march through the bush, and to come unperceived on his rear. Having effected this, it crept noiselessly forward, and sprang on the dog, which was instantly killed. The Carib rushed to the assistance of his favourite, compelling the savage jaguar to relinquish its hold, but the creature turned and sprang upon him. The man, however, anticipating the attack, dashed forward and decided the contest by a single blow, which buried his cutlass deep in the jaguar’s skull. The same man, on another occasion, clove the skull of a second jaguar with an axe with which he was about to fell some trees.

The jaguar, however, is capable of being tamed. The well-known Captain Inglefield possessed one, afterwards placed in the Zoological Gardens. It was so tame that he used to lie down and place his head on its body as on a pillow. It was allowed to roam at liberty about the ship. It was remarkable, however, that this creature could never be trusted when a young child or a dog was present. On such occasions it became greatly excited, endeavouring to break away from the chain with which it was secured when on shore. Probably in its native wilds both would have fallen victims to its natural ferocity.

The Bishop of Demerara witnessed an instance of the way in which these savage creatures may occasionally be tamed, while on an expedition up the River Demerara. On approaching the falls, he and his party halted at an Indian settlement on the left bank, where they saw a young jaguar only a few weeks old, which appeared to be extremely savage, when any of them went near it. “But,” he continues, “never did I observe such apparent gentleness and attachment in any animal; as, when one or two of our party had certainly not gone the way to win the creature’s affections, it allowed itself to be drawn close to us by an Indian woman, and afterwards by a little child. Not a moment before, it was as angry and savage as could be; but no sooner did the child draw it towards her, than, looking up with an expression of intelligence and trustfulness quite new to me, it nestled itself within the embrace of its kind protectress.”

The Indians are proverbially famous for the facility with which they attract animals towards them. Bates and Wallace also mention having seen, on several occasions, jaguars perfectly tame, roaming in and out of the huts, as their smaller feline relatives would have done.

Ant-Eaters.

Within the recesses of the primeval forest, near the borders of a river or lake, a large mass of what looks, at a little distance, like a collection of some long, coarse, curled, fibrous substance, is often seen by the hunter. The jaguar glances at it askance and passes it by,—although, when hunger presses him, he may long to obtain the dainty meal which lies beneath. The huge hairy mass is the tail of the ant-bear, which serves it as a shelter from the rays of the noonday sun and from the deluges of the rainy season: spread out over its body, it is the sole covering it seeks, as it neither burrows, nor takes up its abode in the hollows of trees nor in artificial caves. With its elongated toothless head and thin tongue, it seems utterly incapable, at the first glance, of defending itself, not only against the jaguar or puma, but, notwithstanding its great size, against even the attacks of the smallest carnivorous animals of the wilds, as it moves with toilsome and awkward steps over the ground. It cannot climb the trees; unadapted for swimming, it dare not seek safety in the water; and incapable of moving rapidly, it is unable to run from its foes. Its hind-feet, unlike those of many animals, are valueless for defence; but yet it has not been left without ample means of protection. Examine its fore-feet, and on each will be seen two large, powerful, trenchant claws. With these, aided by its muscular power, and thick hide covered with long coarse hair, it boldly defies the attacks of the fiercest creatures.

Of a peaceable disposition, it makes its solitary way through the forest; but woe betide the hunter’s dogs, or any other animals, which venture to assail it! With one blow of these sharp weapons it rips up its assailant, or hugs it in a close embrace, where its own thick skin resists the teeth of its foe; and, able itself to endure hunger longer than any other animal, it keeps it thus till starved to death.

Vast numbers of ants and termites swarm in the tropical forests of South America, of great varieties of form and mode of life and occupation. Their business in the economy of nature is chiefly the consumption of decayed vegetable matter, which would otherwise contaminate the atmosphere. They are furnished with incalculable powers of increase, and, to prevent their too great excess, other animals have been created to prey on them. The chief creature engaged in that work is this most extraordinary denizen of the forest—the ant-bear, or great ant-eater (Myrmecophaga jubata), called also the tamanoir. It often measures, from the tip of its snout to the extremity of its tail, eight feet; and though it seems wonderful that so large an animal should be able to subsist solely on such minute insects, yet, from the formation of its mouth, it is unable to consume any other. It has a long slender head, with a pointed snout; and its mouth, entirely destitute of teeth, is furnished with a long flexible tongue, covered with a glutinous saliva. This it passes lightly over the swarms of ants which rush out when it attacks their dwelling, and they, adhering to it, are speedily dragged into its maw.

Its body is covered with long, coarse, shaggy hair, except on the head, where it is short and close; while its black bushy tail is of great size and length. It is plantigrade —that is, it stands lower on the hind-legs than in front. Though its mouth appears so incapable of enabling it to defend itself, it can do so effectually with the two long, sharp claws of its fore-feet. With these claws it opens the ant-hills, on whose inhabitants it subsists. Its hind-feet have five toes, but they are furnished with short, weak claws, similar to those of ordinary quadrupeds.

Its favourite resort is the low swampy marshes of the rivers and stagnant pools; but it also ranges widely in search of its prey. It lives in solitude; its habits are slothful; it sleeps during the greater part of the day. Its long claws, when not employed, are folded upon a thick rough pad, which renders the exertion of walking less difficult. As, however, it is compelled to step upon the outer edge of its fore-feet, it progresses in an awkward and painful manner, and it cannot move for any length of time. Its eye possesses a peculiarly cunning expression.

Of a peaceable and harmless disposition, the ant-bear, when not provoked, never attacks any animal; but on the approach of an enemy, it assumes the defensive in such a way as to make the boldest aggressor pause. Resting on its left fore-foot, it strikes out its right with a force sufficient to tear off the hide of the thickest-skinned assailant. When attacked from behind, it turns round with the rapidity of lightning; and when assailed from several quarters at once, it throws itself on its back, fighting desperately with both its fore-legs, and uttering angry growls of defiance. So thick is its hide, that no animal has been found with teeth capable of piercing it; and even when the jaguar, pressed by hunger, dares to assail it, the monarch of the American forest is often driven off, or left weltering in its blood from the wounds inflicted by the formidable claws of the ant-bear.

When attacking an ant-castle, the tamanoir strikes a hole in the wall of clay with his powerful, crooked claws. The warrior-ants then issue out by thousands to resent the insult, while the labourers retire to the inmost recesses. The soldiers swarm on every part of their assailant, but their sharp mandibles are unable to pierce its thick skin. The bear then putting forth its long tongue, which is lubricated from two large glands situated below its root, the insects remain sticking in the glutinous liquid. When a sufficient supply has been thus obtained, it draws back its tongue within its mouth, and swallows the whole army at a gulp.

Myrmecophaga Tamandua.

While the vast citadels of the white ant formed on the ground are attacked by the great ant-eater, the too great increase of the arborial termites is kept under by three smaller species, formed to live among the branches of the trees.

The tamandua is seen climbing the loftiest monarchs of the forest in search of its insect prey. It is about the size of a cat. Though its head is elongated, it is considerably less so than that of the ant-bear; while its hair is short and silky, resembling fine wool. The feet are formed in the same manner as those of the larger animal, but, to enable it the better to climb among the branches, it possesses a prehensile tail.

Though it cannot be said to possess a sweet tooth—as its mouth is as destitute of teeth as that of the tamanoir—yet it does not confine its food to the termites alone, but seeks the nests of the stingless bees, which form their hives among the loftiest branches of the forest, and robs them of their honeyed treasures.

Little Ant-Eater.

There is another curious little ant-eater, about the size of a squirrel,—which animal it resembles very much in its habits, and somewhat in its appearance. It possesses a prehensile tail, like that of the ateles and other American monkeys, with which it can swing itself from branch to branch. The tail is covered with fur, with the exception of about three inches of the under surface at the extremity. It has a small head, the snout sharpened and bent slightly downwards. A soft, curled, and pale yellow-brown fur clothes its body. It has only two claws on each of its fore-feet, the exterior one being stronger and larger than the interior. With these weapons it is enabled to hook out the small insects from the crevices of the bark, or grubs from the nests of bees or wasps. Like the squirrel, it sits upon its hind-limbs when eating, supporting itself with its prehensile tail. It may more properly be called the twisted-tail ant-eater (Cyclothurus didactylus).

There is another small ant-eater found in Guiana, called the striped ant-eater (Myrmecophaga striata), from the marks on its body. Its general colour is of a tawny hue, the under parts being white. It is marked with broad, distinct, blackish transverse stripes, and the tail is annulated with similar ones. Its whole length, from the tip of its nose to the end of its tail, is about twenty inches. The snout is elongated, the upper mandible extending very little beyond the lower.

The Sloth.

That shaggy-haired creature, which may be seen hanging from the boughs of the lofty cecropia—the much-abused sloth—is generally described as a type of laziness, doomed to a helpless and wretched existence; but such an animal the all-beneficent Creator has not placed on the earth. To each animal that he has formed he has given an instinct and organisation specially adapted to their mode of life and the part they are destined to perform in the economy of nature. The sloth is formed to pass its time in trees, and to feed on the superabundant leaves, which would otherwise impede the circulation of the air, retard their growth, or bring on premature decay. This duty it shares with numberless other animals of the luxuriant forests of Tropical America. Place the sloth out of its natural position, and, as would be the case with other animals, it finds itself in a difficulty. Its destiny is to live in the dense forest, where, the branches of the trees meeting each other, it can move along from bough to bough, and make its way for considerable distances without difficulty, or having to descend to the ground. When by force or accident placed on the ground, it is unable to move along except at a slow and toilsome pace. When by any chance thus seen, its arms appear much too long, while its hind-legs, which are very short, look as if they could be bent almost to the shape of a cork-screw. Both fore and hind-legs, by their form, and the manner in which they are joined to the body, are incapable of acting in a perpendicular direction, or in supporting its body. Hence its belly touches the ground. Even could the animal thus raise itself, it would be in pain, as it has no soles to its fore-feet, and its claws are very sharp, long, and curved. Thus, were its body supported by its feet, it would be on their extremities; just as a man would be were he to go on all-fours, and try to support his body on the ends of his toes and fingers. “Were the ground polished like glass,” says Waterton, “the sloth would actually be quite stationary; but as it is generally rough, the sloth moves its fore-legs in all directions, in order to find something to lay hold of; and when it has succeeded, it pulls itself forward, and is thus able to travel onwards, though in a slow and awkward manner. Indeed, as its looks and gestures betoken its uncomfortable situation, and as a sigh every now and then escapes it, it may be concluded that it actually is in pain.”

Thus it is evident that the sloth is formed, not to live on the ground, but in trees; and on further observation it will be seen that, unlike most other arborial animals, it lives, not on the branches, but under them. It moves, suspended from the branch; it rests, suspended from the branch; and sleeps, suspended from the branch. “Hence its seemingly bundled position is at once accounted for,” adds Waterton; “and in lieu of the sloth leading a painful life, and entailing a miserable existence on its progeny, it is but fair to conclude that it enjoys life as much as any other animal, and that its extraordinary formation and singular habits are but further proofs to engage us to admire the wonderful works of Omnipotence.”

In proportion as the sloth’s organisation unfits it for terrestrial progression, it is wonderfully adapted for climbing trees. With its long arms it reaches right up, and clings to the branches with its long and crooked claws. It has thus the power of grasping a tree which no other mammal possesses. It is indeed the best climber among mammals, while it is the only mammal that can neither walk nor stand. When sleeping, the sloth does not hang head downwards, like the vampire, but supports itself from the branch parallel to the earth. It first seizes the branch with one arm, and then the other, and then brings up both its legs—one after the other—to the same branch, so that all four are in a line.

It is almost tailless. Had it a tail it would be at a loss to know what to do with it in this position. Were it to draw it up between its legs, it would interfere with them; and were it to let it hang down, it would become the sport of the winds.

Waterton observes that he has never seen a tree entirely stripped of its leaves; indeed, he believes that by the time the animal had finished the last of the old leaves, there would be a new crop on the part of the tree it had stripped first, ready for him to begin again, so rapid is the process of vegetation in that region. In calm weather it remains tranquil, probably not liking to cling to the brittle extremities of the branches, lest they should break with it in passing from one tree to another; but as soon as the wind rises, the branches of the neighbouring trees become interlocked, and then the animal seizes hold of them, and pursues his journey in safety, travelling at a good round pace—showing that he does not deserve the name of sloth.

The head of the sloth is short, the face small and round, the hair coarse and shaggy. There are several species, differing considerably in colour, but resembling in general dry, withered grass, or moss. The species vary in size from two feet to the size of a rabbit. Its face resembles the human countenance as much as that of the monkey, but with a very sad and melancholy expression. It brings forth its young and suckles them like ordinary quadrupeds. The infant sloth, from the moment of its birth, adheres to the body of its parent, until it acquires sufficient size and strength to shift for itself. Its cry is low and plaintive, resembling the sound of “ai.” Hence the three-toed sloth has obtained the name of the ai.

Mr Bates says that the natives consider the sloth the type of laziness, and that it is very common for one native to call another—reproaching him for idleness—“beast of the cecropia tree;” the leaves of the cecropia being the food of the sloth. “It is a strange sight,” he adds, “watching the creature’s movements from branch to branch. Every movement betrays not indolence, but extreme caution. It never loses its hold of one branch without catching the next; and when it does not immediately find a branch to grasp with the rigid hooks which serve it for paws, it raises its body, supported by its hind-legs and claws, and feels round in search of a fresh foothold.” In one of their voyages, he and Mr Wallace saw a sloth (Bradypus infuscatus) swimming across a river, at a place where it was probably three hundred yards broad. It is not generally known that this animal takes to the water.

The Tapir.

Throughout the densely-wooded regions on the banks of the rivers from Demerara, across the Brazils, to Paraguay, the long-nosed tapir has its range. It and the peccary are the only two Pachydermata, or thick-skinned animals, indigenous to the southern continent. It is considered one of the links which connect the elephant and rhinoceros to the swine; its habits, indeed, are somewhat similar to those animals.

Six feet in length, and four in height, it is the largest quadruped in South America. In form it is somewhat like the hog; but its snout is lengthened into a flexible proboscis, which resembles the rudiment of the elephant’s trunk, and serves for the same purpose—that of twisting round the launches of trees and tearing off the leaves, on which it partly feeds. Like the rhinoceros, it delights in water, is a good swimmer and diver, and enjoys wallowing in the mud.

Though in its wild state its food consists of the shoots of trees, buds, wild fruits, gourds, and melons, when in captivity it is an indiscriminate swallower of everything, filthy or clean. During the day it remains concealed in the deep recesses of the forest, issuing out at night to seek its food. On its front feet are four toes, but there are only three on the hinder—their tips cased in small hoofs. The eyes are small and lateral, and the ears long and pointed. The teeth are strong and powerful, to enable it to crush its food, or defend itself against its enemies. The hair, of a deep brown, approaching to black, is short, scanty, and closely depressed to the surface; while it has little or no tail. It possesses enormous muscular power; and as its body is defended by a thick, tough hide, it can force its way through the dense underwood where no other creature can penetrate. Generally it moves in a trot, but when pursued breaks into an awkward gallop, carrying its head downwards, like the hog.

Its chief enemy is the fierce jaguar, which, leaping on its back, endeavours to bring it to the ground. The tapir, on being seized, darts through the forest, attempting to destroy its foe, and dislodge it from its back by rushing under the low boughs of the trees. Should this fail, and water be near, it quickly frees itself by diving down—as the jaguar, unable to dive, must either let go its hold or be drowned.

Of a peaceful and harmless disposition, it never willingly attacks man or beast; but when hunted and brought to bay, it will defend itself desperately, frequently inflicting, with its strong teeth, severe wounds on its assailants.

The Peccary.

The only other pachydermatous animal besides the tapir indigenous to South America is the little truculent peccary—a herd of which creatures is more feared by the natives than the jaguar, boa, or anaconda. There are two species—the Dicotyles tajacu and Dicotyles labiatus, or white-lipped peccary; the latter being the larger and fiercer of the two. The peccary is very like a small hog. Its form is short and compact, thickly covered with strong, dark-coloured bristles, except the lower part of the body, which is nearly destitute of hair. It has a somewhat large head, short snout, and short, upright ears; while a fleshy protuberance is its representative for a tail. At the first glance it seems harmless enough, but inside its mouth are found some short tusks, double-edged, and as sharp as lancets, with which the creature is capable of inflicting the most deadly wounds. It is remarkable for a glandular orifice at the lower part of the back, surrounded by strong bristles. From this gland exudes a strong-scented fluid; so that, as soon as the creature is killed, it is necessary to cut it out, or the rest of the flesh becomes so imbued as to make it unfit for food.

In its habits it is like the hog, and lives on the same kind of food, but its chief duty in the economy of nature is that of destroying reptiles and snakes of all sorts,—particularly the rattlesnake, which it attacks without the slightest hesitation; nor does it appear to suffer in any way when bitten. It gives voice with a sharp, shrill grunt; but when angry, it smartly clashes its tusks together, making a sound heard at a considerable distance, and announcing its approach.

The flesh is somewhat dry and insipid, and entirely destitute of fat. That of the female is considered the best.

The larger species—the white-lipped peccary—is dreaded by the farmers, as it frequently, in large numbers, attacks their crops, choosing always the most flourishing fields.

The peccary, though occasionally found by itself, is a gregarious animal. A herd will attack a jaguar or puma, and even the sturdy tapir, without fear; and rushing at their antagonist with their sharp tusks, never fail to come off victorious. Knowing their power, the jaguar, when meeting a herd, flies through the forest to avoid them. When the hunter and his dogs encounter one of these armies, his only chance of escape is to climb the nearest tree, when they can only stand below gnashing their teeth, and gazing up at him with their vindictive little eyes. His dogs, however, quickly fall victims to their fury.

On one occasion a party of hunters had brought a bear to bay, when, in the midst of the fierce contest, a herd of peccaries came charging over the ground, putting not only the bear, but the men and the dogs to flight.

The peccary will, indeed, attack man or beast without hesitation, its assaults being not the less dangerous because it seems utterly ignorant of the danger it runs itself. It is, however, hunted by the natives for the sake of its flesh. It frequently takes up its abode in some forsaken burrow or the hollow of a tree. The creatures back in, one after the other, till there is no room for more. The outer one then takes the post of sentinel, and gives notice of the approach of any desirable quarry. The hunters, aware of this habit, cautiously—sometimes with firearms and sometimes with pointed weapons—approach the peccaries’ abode. A slight noise draws the sentinel from the hollow, when it is immediately shot down or transfixed by a spear. Another at once takes its place, coming out to see what is the matter, when it is killed in the same way; and thus a whole family may be killed in detail.

Hydrochaerus Capybara.

In all parts of the continent,—on the banks of the streams flowing through the Llanos of Venezuela, as well as by the side of the La Plata and its tributaries,—the capybara, the largest rodent in existence, may be seen, seated on its haunches, like others of its family. It is of the size of a moderately large hog about two years old. It has a large head, and thick divided nose, on each side of which are long whiskers. The ears are small and rounded; the eyes are black and of considerable size; and the upper jaw much longer than the lower,—which gives the face a curious appearance. The body is thick, covered with short, coarse brown hair, and destitute of a tail. The neck is short, as are the legs—with remarkably long feet, which are also very broad, the claws of a blunt form, and approximate in shape to the hoofs of the Pachydermata. They are partly webbed, and thus adapted to the aquatic life it enjoys, and which has gained for it the name of the water-hog. Though it feeds on vegetables, it is also fond of fish, to catch which it enters the water, swimming after them with the rapidity of an otter. When seen at a distance as they run over the ground, from their colour they look like pigs; but when seen seated on their haunches, attentively watching any object with one eye, as is their habit, their true character is known.

Darwin describes his observing a party of several. As he approached nearer and nearer they made their peculiar noise,—which is a low, abrupt grunt, not having much actual sound, but rather arising from the sudden expulsion of air. The only noise like it is the first hoarse bark of a large dog. Having watched them from almost within arm’s-length and they him for several minutes, they rushed into the water with the greatest impetuosity, emitting at the same time their usual bark. After diving a short distance they came again to the surface, but just showed the upper part of their heads. When the female is swimming and has young ones, they are said to sit on her back.

The capybara is classed with the Cavidae or guinea-pig tribe. When not persecuted, it is very tame; but in the regions frequented by the jaguar it becomes his easy and constant prey. It is of a mild disposition, and is sometimes tamed. Its flesh is rather dry, and has a somewhat musky flavour, but affords wholesome food to man.

Agouti Dasyprocta.

Of agoutis there are several species. The larger agouti, mara, or Patagonian cony—twice the size of a hare—are seen three or four together, hopping quickly one after the other in a straight line across the Pampas. It is somewhat like a hare, but has the external covering of a hog, its long coat concealing its little stump of a tail. It has also the hog’s voracious appetite.

It is fond of occupying the burrows of the bizcacha when it finds them, but when they do not exist it is compelled to make a house for itself. It here stores away the food it does not require for present use. When eating, it sits up like the squirrel, using its fore-paws to convey the food to its mouth. Its hind-legs being very long, it leaps over the ground at considerable speed. As it is very fond of the sugar-cane, wherever plantations exist it is hunted without mercy, and driven from the district.

The smaller agouti, rather less than a rabbit, generally inhabits forest districts; and as it is there a nocturnal animal, it spends the chief part of the day in its hiding-place—usually the cleft of a rock or the hollow of a decaying tree—twenty or thirty creatures congregating together. Here their nests are formed of soft leaves, where the young are placed till they are able to accompany their parents on their predatory expeditions. It is a gentle little creature, and when caught, instead of attempting to bite, only gives vent to a piteous cry.

The larger agouti, or mara, is sometimes classed between the agoutis and the pacas. It is more easily tamed than the smaller species, and the fur is handsomer—of black, white, and golden brown.

The Paca (Coelogenys).

The paca—another rodent—is remarkable for its enormously-developed cheek-bone, and for the thick pouch which it possesses. Like its big relation, the capybara, it always takes up its abode in the neighbourhood of water. It forms a burrow so near the surface, that a person walking over it suddenly steps through. It generally makes three openings, which it covers with dry leaves and branches. The Indian easily discovers the entrances, when he closes up two of the apertures, and watches till the paca ventures out of the third. The little animal, however, defends itself bravely, and will severely bite its assailant.

It is of a thick, clumsy form, measuring about two feet in length from the tip of the nose to the extremity of the body, and about one foot in height. The hinder limbs are long, the front ones much bent. Its feet are armed with thick, strong, conical claws, suitable for digging.

Though a clumsy-looking creature, it can run and jump with great activity. It makes a noise somewhat like the grunting of a young pig. It lives upon fruits and tender plants, going out from its hole to forage at night, but generally remaining concealed during the daytime. When alarmed it readily takes to the water, and dives and swims remarkably well.

Bates describes a tame cutea, or an agouti, which he found feeding in the neighbourhood of a village, nibbling the fallen fruits of the inaja-palm. On his trying to catch it, instead of betaking itself, as he thought it would, to the thicket, it ran on to the house of its owners, which was at a distance of about two hundred yards.

The paca and agouti belong to the peculiar family of the rodent order confined to South America, and which connects the Rodentia to the Pachydermata—the order to which the elephant, horse, and hog belong.

The fossil toxodon resembled the Rodentia in its dentition, and, at the same time, was nearly related to the elephant. These facts make it probable that these animals are living representatives of a group which existed at a distant epoch of the world’s history, and which possessed a structure partaking of the character of the two great orders—Rodentia and Pachydermata—now so widely distinct in the majority of forms.

The Armadillo.

In days gone by, huge monsters—their backs covered with bony armour—ten feet and upwards in length, some perhaps of the bulk of the rhinoceros, crawled along the plains of South America. They have become creatures of the past, and their places have been taken by others of a similarly curious formation, of which even the giant armadillo, when compared to them, is a mere pigmy. These creatures abound in all parts of the continent, from Paraguay to Venezuela; but, incased as they are in coats of complete armour, and running so quickly, and so rapidly digging into the earth, they can rarely be overtaken by the hunter.

The armadillo (Dasypus) belongs to the order of Edentata. The armour, which covers the whole body, consists of a triangular plate on the top of the head, a large buckler over the shoulders, and a similar one covering the haunches; while between the solid portions a series of transverse bands intervene in such a manner as to allow the creature to move its body in a variety of postures. The tail is likewise covered with a series of calcareous rings. It can, in consequence of this peculiar conformation of its covering, roll itself up, like the hedgehog, into a ball, and thus present a solid surface, impervious to the attacks of birds of prey or small quadrupeds. The part over the shell is covered with short hairs, which appear between the joints of the armour. It has a pointed snout, long ears, thick, short limbs, and powerful claws. With these claws it burrows with extraordinary rapidity, and can inflict severe wounds.

The common armadillo, or the poyou, is about twenty inches in length, including the tail. As its hearing is very acute, and it never ventures far from its home during the daytime, it easily escapes the attacks of its foes, with the exception of man. It readily takes to the water when pursued, and swims well, but does not enter it by choice. The Indian hunter, however, attacks the creature with a skill it cannot escape.

It is a curious fact that mosquitoes often inhabit the burrows of the armadillo. The Indian, knowing this, as soon as he finds a burrow, puts a short stick down it. If a number of insects come out, he knows there is an animal within. When he finds no mosquitoes, he is sure there is no armadillo. If he is satisfied that the armadillo is at home, he cuts a long, slender stick, and introduces it into the hole, carefully observing the line which it takes, and then sinks a pit in the sand to catch the end of it. This done, he puts it further into the hole, and digs another pit; till he at last comes up with the poor armadillo—which has been making a passage in the sand, till, from its exertions, it has lost all its strength.

The armadillo feeds on all vegetable or animal matter not too hard for its sharp teeth. It is especially useful in devouring the offal or the putrid carcasses of animals which might otherwise affect the air. In spite of this coarse style of feeding, its flesh is esteemed by the natives—who for the sake of it perseveringly hunt the poor creature throughout the country.

The species are distinguished from one another chiefly by the number of bands on the trunk of the body, between the shield on the fore-shoulders, and that on the rump. Baron Cuvier, however, divides the whole genus into five small groups,—distinguishing one from another by the number and form of their teeth and claws.

The great armadillo (Dasypus gigas) has enormous claws and unequal toes, with twenty-four broad teeth on both sides of its jaws. It measures, exclusive of the tail, nearly three feet in length.

Darwin describes another, living on very dry soil, the pechy (Dasypus minutus), which wanders by day over the open plains, and feeds on beetles, leaves, roots, and even small snakes. So rapidly does it burrow, that scarcely is one seen before its hind-quarters disappear in the sand. It likewise tries to escape notice by squatting down close to the ground.

The Opossum.

There are numerous species of opossum, most of them marsupial, in the Brazils, where they take the place of the shrews of Europe. They are very destructive to poultry. One of the species is aquatic, and has webbed feet. The terrestrial species are nocturnal. They sleep during the day in the hollows of trees, and come forth at night to prey on birds in their roosting-places. Some live entirely on trees.

The Crab-Eating Opossum.

The crab-eating opossum is a curious creature, about ten inches in length; with a prehensile tail, fifteen inches long, in addition. It has a somewhat pointed nose, and a darkish fur. When born, the young are transferred by the mother to her cradle pouch, where they live for some weeks before they are sufficiently developed to venture abroad.

The creature is formed especially for living among the trees, about which it moves with the activity of a monkey. It advances carefully, always entwining its tail round one branch before venturing on to another.

The crabs and other crustaceans on which it lives—from which circumstance it obtains its name—are found on low marshy soils, in the neighbourhood of which these species exist.

Merian’s Opossum.

A still more curious creature is Merian’s opossum (Philander dorsigerus). It has no true pouch, and the mother, therefore, while her young are in their infancy, carries them on her back. From this circumstance the name of dorsigerus, or back-bearing, has been given to it. They cling to her fur with their little hand-like feet, while they twine their tails round hers, which she places over her back in a convenient position for that purpose. Other species of opossums carry their young in the same manner,—some even which are furnished with well-developed pouches.

Yapock Opossum.

The little yapock opossum is a representative of the aquatic species (Cheironectes yapock). It is of a fawn-grey tint, with dark black marks. It measures in length about ten inches, with a tail of twelve or fifteen inches. The hind-feet are furnished with a membraneous web, which connects the toes together, and serves as a paddle. The fore-paws possess great grasping powers, and have a hand-like appearance. The ears are small, sharp, and pointed, and the head tapering. It possesses also large cheek-pouches, similar in their use to those of monkeys. It is thus enabled to stow away the creatures it catches on its aquatic excursions, and to keep them there till it returns to the shore to dine. It feeds principally on fish, crustaceans, and aquatic insects. So similar is it in its habits to the otter, that it is frequently described as one, and has been called the Demerara otter; but it is in reality a true opossum.

Bats.

No animal’s physiognomy can be more hideous, when seen from the front, than the countenance of the largest South American vampire-bat. Fancy a creature measuring twenty-eight inches in expanse of wing, its large leathery ears standing out from the sides and top of the head, and an erect spur-shaped appendage on the tip of the nose,—the grin, and the glistening black eye, all combining to make up a figure which reminds one of some mocking imp of fable. No wonder that imaginative people have conferred diabolical instincts on so ugly an animal.

Ugly as is the broad leaf-nosed family of bats, it is in reality the least harmless. The little grey Phyllostoma is the guilty blood-sucker which visits sleepers and bleeds them in the night. It is of a dark grey colour, striped with white down the back, and having a leaf-like fleshy expansion on the tip of the nose. Although they undoubtedly attack sleeping people, yet they appear to be somewhat partial as to the individuals they select. Bates, when sleeping in a room up the Amazon, long unused, was awoke at midnight by a rushing noise made by vast hosts of bats sweeping round him. The air was alive with them. They had put out the lamp, and when he relighted it the place appeared black with the impish multitudes that were whirling round and round. After he had laid about him well with a stick for a few minutes they disappeared among the tiles; but when all was quiet again, they returned once more and extinguished the light. The next night several got into his hammock, and on waking in the morning he found a wound, evidently caused by one of them, on his hip. There were altogether four species. One of them (the Dysopes perotis) has enormously large ears, and measures two feet from tip to tip of the wings. The natives, however, assured him that it was the phyllostoma which had inflicted the wound, and they asserted that it is the only kind which attacks man. But Mr Bates considers that several kinds of bats have this propensity.

Darwin, when travelling in Chili, noticing that one of the horses was very restive, went to see what was the matter; and fancying that he could distinguish something, put his hands on the beast’s withers, and discovered a vampire-bat. In the morning, the place where the wound had been inflicted was easily distinguished by being slightly swollen and bloody.

Waterton describes the mode in which the vampire-bat makes the orifice through which to suck its victim’s blood. It does so by pressing gently the point of its sharp projecting teeth, noiselessly circling round, and making them act the part of a centre-bit,—performing the operation so quietly that no pain is felt. He says, however, that at times they commit a good deal of mischief. A young Indian boy suffered greatly by being frequently attacked; and the son of an English gentleman was bitten so severely on the forehead, that the wound bled freely on the following morning. The fowls also suffered so terribly that they died fast; and an unfortunate jackass on whom they had set their fancy was almost killed by inches.

The vampire rises in the air by means of a wide flattened membrane connecting the whole of the limbs and tail, the thumb of the fore-paws and the hind-feet alone being left free. This membrane, though wonderfully delicate, is furnished with minute blood-vessels. It also possesses a system of nerves of the most exquisite power of sensation, which enables it to fly rapidly among the boughs and foliage, avoiding all impediments even in the darkest hours of night. The vampire can run along the ground and climb trees by means of the sharp hooks on the fore-paws. They sleep, however, like ordinary bats, hanging by their hind-feet—being thus able at a moment’s notice to take to flight.

Of the other species, some have the fur of a blackish colour, some of a ruddy hue.

When flying, the larger ones wheel heavily round and round, somewhat in the manner of a pigeon, so that they may easily be mistaken for birds. Although they live largely on insects, they also greedily devour fruits; indeed, some species live chiefly on them. Bates opened the stomach of several, and found them to contain a mass of pulp and seeds of fruit, mingled with a few remains of night insects. On comparing the seeds taken from their stomachs with those of cultivated trees, he found that they were unlike any of them: he concludes, therefore, that they resort to the forest to feed, coming only to human habitations in the morning to sleep, where they find themselves more secure from animals of prey than in their natural abodes in the woods.

Part 3—Chapter XIII.

Birds.

Humming-Birds.

Most of the humming-birds found on the banks of the Amazon belong to the genus Phaethornis; remarkable for their long, graduated tails, the central feathers of which greatly exceed the others. Their nests are curious and beautiful, being formed in a long funnel-like shape, tapering below to a slender point. They are woven with great delicacy, and attached to some twig, or hanging leaf, by means of spider’s webs. They are lined with a soft silky cotton fibre; and composed, externally, of a woolly kind of furze, bound together with which appears also to be spider’s web.

One of the largest is the Eupetomena macroura, with a swallow tail, and a livery of brilliant emerald-green and steel blue. When feeding, it remains a shorter time than usual poised in the air before the flowers, frequently perching, and occasionally darting after small insects flying by.

When the orange-trees become fully covered with flowers, the humming-birds appear in vast numbers. Their motions are totally unlike those of other birds. So quickly do they dart backwards and forwards, that the eye can hardly follow them. Even when poising themselves before a flower, with such inconceivable rapidity do their wings move, that even then their bright colours are scarcely perceptible; and anon they shoot off to sip the nectar from another cup. Unlike the systematic way in which bees proceed, they seem to delight in darting, now in one direction, now in the other; now for a moment they perch on a spray, probing, as they sit, the flowers nearest to them; then again they fly off, in their eccentric course, to another spot.

“Wherever a creeping vine opens its fragrant cluster, or wherever a flower blooms, may these little things be seen,” writes Edwards, in his usual graphic way; “in the garden, or in the woods, over the water, everywhere, they are darting about, of all sizes, from one that might easily be mistaken for a different variety of bird, to the tiny hermit—T. Rufigaster, whose body is not half the size of the bee’s—buzzing about. Sometimes they are seen chasing each other, in sport, with a rapidity of flight and intricacy of path the eye is puzzled to follow. Again, circling round and round, they rise high in mid-air, and then dart off like light to some distant attraction. Perched upon a little twig, they smooth their plumes, and seem to delight in their dazzling hues; then, starting off leisurely, they skim along, stopping capriciously to kiss the coquetting flowerets. Often two meet in mid-air and furiously fight, their crests, and the feathers upon their throats, all erected and blazing, and altogether pictures of the most violent rage. Several times we saw them battling with large black bees who frequent the same flowers, and may be seen often to interfere provokingly. Like lightning our little heroes would come down, but the coat of shining mail would ward off their furious strokes. Again and again would they renew the attack, until their anger had expended itself by its own fury, or until the apathetic bee, once roused, had put forth powers which drove the invaders from the field.”

Bates remarks, that he several times shot, by mistake, a humming-bird hawk-moth, instead of a bird. This moth (Macroglossa Titan) is smaller than humming-birds generally are, but its manner of flight, and the way it poises itself before the flower whilst probing it with its proboscis, are precisely like the same actions of humming-birds. This resemblance has attracted the notice of the natives, who firmly believe that one is transmutable into the other. The resemblance between this hawk-moth and the humming-bird is certainly very curious, and strikes one, even when both are examined in the hand. Holding them sideways, the shape of the head and position of the eyes in the moth are seen to be nearly the same as in the bird, the extended proboscis representing the long beak. At the tip of the moth’s body there is a brush of long hair-scales, resembling feathers, which, being expanded, looks very much like a bird’s tail; but, of course, all these points of resemblance are merely superficial.

He one day saw a little pigmy, belonging to the genus Phaethornis, in the act of washing itself in a brook. It was perched on a thin branch, whose end was under water. It dipped itself, then fluttered its wings, and plumed its feathers, and seemed thoroughly to enjoy itself alone in the shady nook which it had chosen. “There is no need for poets to invent,” he adds, “while nature furnishes us with such marvellous little sprites ready to hand.”

But these beautiful little creatures require a separate description.

Topaz Humming-Bird.

The topaz humming-bird is perhaps the most resplendent and beautiful of its tribe. The fiery topaz (Topaza pyra) is found on the shores of the Rio Negro. The larger part of its feathers are of a blazing scarlet, which contrasts beautifully with the deep velvet-black of the head and part of the neck. The throat is emerald-green, with a patch of crimson in the centre. The lower part of the back, and the upper tail-coverts, are of a resplendent green with an orange gloss; and the wings and tail of purple-black, the two elongated feathers of the tail excepted—they being of a purplish-green. Its nest appears as if formed of leather, and is so cleverly woven that it can scarcely be distinguished from the bark or fungi growing on the branch to which it is fixed.

Ara Humming-Bird.

The crimson topaz, or ara humming-bird (Topaza pella), vies with it in beauty. Its hues are of a deeper crimson. The tail is of a reddish-buff, except the two central feathers, which are of the same hue as the preceding. Unlike most humming-birds, it is of a shy and retiring disposition, and seldom ventures from among the deep shades of the forest; and then only at early dawn, or late in the evening, when it may be seen darting across the stream in search of insects, on which it chiefly feeds.

The Racket-Tail Humming-Bird.

The racket-tail humming-bird (DiscÚra longicauda) takes its name from the curious form of its tail, the feathers of which are forked,—the two exterior ones being twice the length of the second pair. The colour of the tail is purple-black; the face, throat, and part of the neck light green; while under the chin there is a little velvet-black spot. The upper part of the body is a bronze-green, and a bright buff band crosses the lower end of the back.

The Cayenne Fairy.

The beautiful little Cayenne fairy (Heliothrix auritus) is often seen flitting among the flowers which adorn the trees near the mouth of the Amazon. It may be known by the snowy-white under part of its body, while the upper surface is of a glossy golden green, extremely light on the forehead. The middle feathers of the tail are blue-black, and the three exterior ones are white. Across each side of the face is a jet-black line, terminated by a small tuft of violet-blue, while below the black line runs a luminous green one. Few of these beautiful little creatures have any voice which rises above a mere twitter.

The best songster of the tribe is the Vervain humming-bird, found in the West India Islands. Those on the Amazon are almost mute. Small as they are, they are brave little creatures, and several of the species are tamed without difficulty.

Mr Webber describes one of the means by which nature has gifted these little creatures of escaping the observation of their foes. On leaving the spot where a number had perched not far from their nests, he observed them shoot suddenly and perpendicularly into the air till they had got out of sight. After a time, down came the hen-bird, like a fiery aerolite from the sky, upon the very spot where she had built her nest, so rapidly, as almost to escape observation.

Different species, of great varieties of form and colour, are found throughout the continent. Although the greater number are confined to particular localities, others have a wide range.

The Trochilus forficatus is found over a space of 2500 miles on the west coast, from the hot, dry country of Lima to the forests of Tierra del Fuego, where it may be seen flitting about in snow-storms; as also in the humid climate of the wooded island of Chiloe, where Darwin found it skimming from side to side amidst the drooping foliage. On the mountain heights, in the thick forests and open plains, wherever flowers and insects exist, there one or more species make their home throughout the continent.

Cotingas.

Lovely as are the humming-birds, the cotingas, belonging to the order of Passeres, and of which there are several species, almost rival them in beauty of plumage. The crown of one is of a flaming red, abruptly succeeded by a shining brown reaching half-way down the back. The remainder of the back, rump, and tail, the extremity of which is edged with black, is of a lively red. The belly is of a somewhat lighter red, the breast reddish-black, the wings brown.

This cotinga is a solitary bird, and utters only a monotonous whistle, which sounds like quet. Another has a purple breast with black wings, and tail and every other part of a light and glossy blue.

The pompadour cotinga has a purple body and white wings, their four first feathers tipped with brown.

None of these have any song. The last, however, utters sounds something like wallababa. They feed on the fig, wild guaco, and other fruit-trees.

The Campanero, or Bell-Bird.

Far-away in the forest a singularly loud and clear note, like the sound of a bell, is heard; mile after mile, and still the same strange note reaches the ear. A single toll; then a pause for a minute, then a pause again, then a toll, and again a pause; then for six or eight minutes no toll is heard; then another comes strangely and solemnly amid the tall columns and, fretted arches of the sylvan temple. Sometimes of a morning, and sometimes in the evening, and even when the meridian sun has silenced all the other songsters of the grove, that strange toll is heard. At length, high up on the dried top of an aged maura, a snow-white bird may be seen, no larger than a pigeon; and yet it is the creature who is uttering those strange sounds. It is another species of the cotinga—the well-known campanero, or bell-bird. On its forehead rises a spiral tube nearly three inches long, which is of jet-black, dotted all over with small white feathers. Having a communication with the palate, it enables the bird to utter these loud clear sounds. When thus employed, and filled with air, it looks like a spire; when empty, it becomes pendulous. Though, like most of its tribe, it is sometimes seen in flocks, it never feeds with other species of cotingas.

The witty Sydney Smith, remarking on the account Waterton gives of the campanero, observes: “This single bird then has a voice of more power than the belfry of a cathedral ringing for a new dean. It is impossible to contradict a gentleman who has been in the forests of Cayenne; but we are determined, as soon as a campanero is brought to England, to make him toll in a public place, and have the distance measured.”

Had the witty dean been aware of the fact—stated by the astronomer and aeronaut, Mr Glaisher—that a female voice is heard a mile further than that of the most hirsute and sturdy “tar,” he might have been less sceptical of the powers of the little cotinga to make itself heard for the distance of three miles through the pure and calm air of the tropics.

The Umbrella, or Fife-Bird.

In the yearly submerged gapo forests and the plains of the Upper Amazon, a singularly deep and long-sustained flute-like sound is often heard. It might be supposed that it was produced by the pan-pipes used by the natives of that region. It is, however, the note of a bird, named by the Indians uira mimbeu, or fife-bird, from the peculiar tone of its voice. It is, from the ornament on its head—consisting of a crest, with long curved hairy feathers, having long bare quills; which, when raised, spread themselves out in the form of a fringed sunshade over the head—called the umbrella-bird (Cephalopterus ornatus). It resembles in size and colour the common crow. In addition to this umbrella-like ornament on its head, it has what may be called a pelerine suspended from the neck, formed by a thick fan of glossy steel-blue feathers which grow on a long fleshy lobe or excrescence. This lobe is connected with an unusual development of the trachea and vocal organs, undoubtedly assisting the bird to utter its strange note. While singing, it draws itself up on the bough, spreads widely out the umbrella-formed crest, waves its glossy breast lappet, and then, in giving vent to its loud, piping note, bows its head slowly forward.

The female has only the rudiments of a crest and lappet, and is of a much duller colour than the male.

The Cock of the Rocks.

Among the forest highlands at the foot of the sierras to the north of the Amazon, the magnificent orange-coloured cock of the rocks enjoys existence. About the size of a pigeon, it belongs to the tribe of the diminutive manakins, most of which have beautiful and curious plumage. It, however, surpasses them all.

It has gained its name from the slight external resemblance that it bears to the gallinaceous form.

Its plumage is of a rich orange tint; with the exception of the quill-feathers of the wings, which are of a sooty black hue, and those of the tail, which are brown tipped with yellow. On its head it wears a peculiar fan-like crest, which, overhanging the forehead, extends to the back of the head, and which bears a strong resemblance to the plume of an ancient helmet. The tips of these crest-feathers are tinged with brown and yellow. Between the wing and upper tail-coverts appear flowing plumes, which droop gracefully over the firmer feathers of the tail and sides.

Like some birds of paradise in the Eastern Archipelago, the cocks of the rocks assemble in numbers to perform a kind of dance for their amusement, selecting generally the smooth rocks or roots of trees,—moving here and there, round and round, backwards and forwards, and erecting their gorgeous plumes, to exhibit their beauty. Wallace observed a company of birds engaged in this singular way, though he says that no females or young birds were present.

Schombergh describes a similar scene. A troop of these beautiful birds was celebrating its dances on the smooth surface of a rock. About a score of them were seated on the branches as spectators, while one of the male birds, with proud self-confidence, and with spreading tail and wings, was dancing on the rock. He scratched the ground, or leaped vertically in the air; continuing these saltatory movements until he was tired, when another male took his place. The females, meanwhile, looked on attentively, and applauded the performances of the dancers with laudatory cries.

Wallace, in his later work on the Eastern Archipelago, gives an equally animated picture of the king birds of paradise enjoying a similar performance on the topmost boughs of the most lofty trees in the Aru Islands.

Golden-Winged Manakin.

The golden-winged manakin—another tribe—are often seen perched in large flocks on the summits of the trees, or rapidly moving amid the branches in search of the rich fruits and numerous insects found in the gapo forests.

The beautiful little troupiale, arrayed in plumage of rich orange and shining black, with delicate and well-shaped form, pours forth a variety of sweet and plaintive notes among the dry forest lands, and has gained from the Portuguese the name of the nightingale of America.

There is another of a smaller size, and of less rich a colour, which also sings melodiously. It is a fearless bird, and the hen builds her nest often in the roofs of cottages, while her mate sings for hours close by. There are several species, one of which (the oriolus varius) builds a curious nest like a basket, of a conical form, and of a loose texture; securing it to the flexible end of a branch, thus enabling it the better to endure the movement to which it is subjected when agitated by the wind.

A fourth species flies in flocks—especially when the Indian maize is ripe—and is looked on with a jealous eye by the farmers, whom it robs, and whom it does not repay by the melody of its song.

Goatsuckers.

Numerous species of the goatsucker, well known as the bird of night, inhabit the forests of the Amazon as well as the settled districts. Their pretty mottled plumage is destitute of the lustre which is observed in the feathers of the birds of day. One is nearly the size of the common wood owl. Its cry once heard will never be forgotten. It seems like one in deep distress. “A stranger,” says Waterton, “would never believe the sound to be the voice of a bird. He would say it was the last groan of a midnight murdered victim, or the cry of Niobe for her children before she was turned into stone. Suppose a person in great sorrow, who begins with a loud note, Ha, ha, ha, ha! and so on, each note lower and lower, till the last is scarcely heard, pausing a moment or two between every note, and some idea may be formed of the moaning of the largest goatsucker.”

Other species articulate some words so clearly, that they receive their names from the sentences they utter. One cries “Who are you? who, who, who are you?” Another bids you “Work away; work, work away.” A third shrieks mournfully—“Willy come, go Willy, Willy, Willy come, go;” and a fourth exclaims—“Whip poor Willy; whip, whip, whip poor Willy!” Happily for it, neither the negro nor the Indian—who believe it to be a bird of ill-omen—will venture to kill it; supposing the bird to be the receptacle for departed souls, come back to earth, unable to rest for crimes done in their days of nature.

Ignorance alone has given the goatsucker its name. When the moon shines bright, it may be seen close by the cows, goats, and sheep, jumping up every now and then under their bellies. “Approach a little nearer,” says Waterton; “he is not shy, he fears no danger, for he knows no sin. See how the nocturnal flies are tormenting the herd, and with what dexterity he springs up and catches them as fast as they alight on the bellies, legs, or udders of the animals! Observe how quiet they stand, and how sensible they seem of his good offices; for they neither strike at him, hit him with their tails, tread on him, nor try to drive him away as an uncivil intruder. Were you to dissect him, and inspect his stomach, you would find no milk there. It is full of the flies which have been annoying the herd.”

Caciques.

A species of cacique—of which there are several—like the blue jay of the northern part of the continent, is celebrated for its imitative powers. It is one of the handsomest in form of the feathered tribe, in size somewhat larger than a starling. On each wing it has a yellow spot; and its rump, belly, and half the tail are of the same colour. All the rest of the body is black; while the beak is of the colour of sulphur.

It lives on the fruits and seeds which nature has provided in the forest; but wherever human habitations are found, it delights to take up its station on a tree close by, and there, for hours together, pour forth a succession of imitative notes. Its own song is sweet, but very short. If a toucan is yelping in the neighbourhood, it drops its own note and imitates the huge-beaked bird. Then it will amuse itself with the cries of different species of woodpeckers; and when the sheep bleat, it will distinctly answer them. Then comes its own song again; and if a puppy-dog or a Guinea-fowl interrupt it, it takes them off admirably,—and by its different gestures during the time, it might be supposed that it enjoys the sport.

The cacique is gregarious, and is generally found in large flocks,—sometimes one species building their nests on one side of a tree, while another, with a neighbourly feeling, appears to have selected the opposite side; and they may be seen working amicably away, without interfering with each other. They show wonderful instinct in the selection of trees, sometimes hanging their large pendulous nests to the extremities of palm branches, that they may thus be as much as possible out of the reach of enemies who might attempt to take their young brood. Others are said to select the trees on which the stinging-wasps have already built their nests, as no tiger-cat nor reptile of any description would venture to attack such adversaries.

One species (the casicus cristatus) weaves its nest of lichens, bark fibres, and the filaments of the tillandsias; another (the casicus ruba) of dry grasses, and always suspends it over the water. This has a slanting opening in the side, so that no rain can penetrate it.

Toucans.

During the dry season, on the topmost boughs of the lofty trees growing on the gapo lands, large gaily-coloured birds, with huge beaks of the shape of a banana or pacova, are perched, in bands of five or six, uttering loud, shrill, and yelping cries, having somewhat the resemblance to “Tocano! tocano! tocano!” Hence the Indians give them the name from which we derive toucan—a bird especially characteristic of the forests of Tropical America. The Brazilians also call them “preacher-birds,”—from their habit of lifting up their beaks, and clattering them together, and shouting hoarsely. One, mounted higher than the rest, acts either as the leader of the inharmonious chorus, or does the duty of sentinel. He keeps a bright look-out on every side, and as danger approaches, gives a warning cry, when his companions stretch their necks downwards in an inquisitive manner, to ascertain what foe is below; and on espying the least movement among the foliage, fly off to a distance.

Sometimes the whole flock, including the sentinel, set up simultaneously a deafening loud yell, which can be heard a mile off, and serves to lead the hunter to their haunts. They are said also to mob any strange bird which gets among them, surrounding it, and shrieking at it in whichever way it turns; so that it sees itself surrounded on all sides by huge snapping bills, and long tails bobbing regularly up and down with threatening gestures, till it is seized by its foes or manages to make its escape.

It seems wonderful at first sight that any creature should be encumbered with so huge a beak; but the toucan knows well how to use it. Though of great size, it is of light structure, and serrated at the edges. In some species it attains to a length of seven inches, and a width of more than two inches. It assists the bird in climbing the branches of the trees on which he lives, and from which he never willingly descends to the ground. It enables him to seize the large fruits and small birds which serve him for food; and enables him to chew the cud—his huge tooth-bill being useful in holding and re-masticating the food.

As the flowers and fruits which crown the large trees of the forest grow principally towards the end of slender twigs, which would not bear his weight; and as he has a heavy body, with feeble organs of flight, he cannot seize his food on the wing. He therefore sits on some opposite branch, eyeing the fruit which he thinks will suit his taste, and then darting off, seizes a mouthful, and returns to his perch.

Though their general diet is fruit, they also devour small birds and their eggs, as well, probably, as caterpillars, and the larvae of insects in general. Mr Broderip describes the curious way in which he saw a toucan seize a small bird, pluck off the feathers, and having broken the bones of the wings and legs with his beak, continue working away till he had reduced it to a shapeless mass. He then hopped from perch to perch, uttering a peculiar hollow, chattering noise, and began pulling off piece after piece, till he had swallowed the whole, not even leaving the beak and logs. In a quarter of an hour he had finished, when he cleansed his bill from the feathers. After a time he returned his food into his crop, and after masticating the morsel for a while in his bill, again swallowed it.

The bird mentioned was in captivity; and though his food consisted of bread, boiled vegetables, and eggs, he showed a decided preference for animal food when given to him.

The toucan (Ramphastos) belongs to the genus of scansorial birds. There are several species, five of which inhabit the forests of the Upper Amazon. The largest of that region is Cuvier’s toucan, and is distinguished from its nearest relatives by the feathers at the bottom of the back being of a saffron hue instead of red. It lays its eggs in hollows of trees, at a great height from the ground, and moults between March and June.

Solitary toucans are sometimes met with, hopping silently up and down the larger boughs, and peering into the crevices of tree trunks. When the gapo is flooded, they fly to the drier ground, assembling in large flocks, when they are easily shot by the hunters. The birds are then very fat, and their flesh sweet and tender.

In some species the bill is nearly as large and as long as the body itself. It is light, cellular, and irregularly notched at the edge, having both mandibles arched towards the tip. The tongue is also of a singular form, being narrow and elongated, and literally barbed like a feather. The feet are short—formed, like those of parrots, rather for grasping than for climbing; the tail long, and the wings moderate. It has a straight but laborious flight, and seems awkward, except on the boughs, when it moves lightly and actively from branch to branch. When eating, it throws up its head, apparently to allow the food to fall down its throat with greater ease. When the toucan is at roost, it turns its long tail directly over its back, and thrusts its beak beneath the wing, so as to appear very much like a large mass of feathers.

The common or crested toucan (Ramphastos dicolorus) inhabits chiefly the lower part of the Amazon. It is about eighteen inches in length, of a black colour, with a gloss of green. The cheeks, throat, and fore part of the breast are either of a sulphur or orange-yellow. Across the lower part of the breast is a broad crimson bar. The rump is crimson or orange-yellow. The bill is of a dark olive-green, with a pale yellow base, bounded by a thick bar.

The tocano pacova has a beak of a rich glowing orange, with a large patch near the tip, a black line round the base, and a number of dark red bars upon the sides. The body and head are black, the throat and cheeks white; while the breast is of a yellow brimstone hue, edged with a line of blood-red. The upper tail-coverts are greyish-white, and the under deep crimson. A large orange circle surrounds the eye, and within it is a second circle of cobalt-blue. A green ring incloses the pupil, with a narrow yellow ring round it.

Cuvier’s toucan inhabits the woods of the Upper Amazon. There are several smaller toucans, one of which (the Pteroglossus Havirostris) has the most beautiful plumage,—its breast being adorned with broad belts of rich crimson and black.

The most curious, however, is the curly-crested toucan (Pteroglossus Beauharnaisii). The feathers on its head consist of thin, horny blades of a lustrous black colour, curled up at the ends, and resembling shavings of steel. The curly crest assumes, indeed, the grotesque form of a coachman’s wig dyed black, and produced apparently by the tongs of the hair-dresser.

None of the smaller species utter the loud yelping notes of the larger. The cries of the curly-crested toucan are very singular, resembling somewhat the croaking of frogs.

Mr Bates had one day wounded one; and on attempting to seize it, it set up a loud scream. In an instant, as if by magic, the wood seemed alive with its companions, who descended towards him, hopping from bough to bough, some of them swinging on the loops of the lianas and sipos, croaking and fluttering their wings like so many furies. Had he had a long stick in his hand, he could have knocked over several of them. The screaming of their companion which he had killed having ceased, they remounted the trees; and before he could reload his gun, which he had left at a little distance, they had all disappeared.

He possessed a tame toucan of one of the large species, which was allowed to go free about the house. Having chastised it for mounting his work-table, the first time it made the attempt, it never again repeated it. It slept on the top of a box in a corner of the room, with its long tail laid right over its back, and its beak thrust underneath its wing. It ate of everything—beef, turtle, fish, farina, fruit—and was a constant attendant at meals. It learned the hour to a nicety, and he found it difficult to keep the bird away from the dining-room at these hours. When it had become somewhat impudent and troublesome, he tried to shut it out in the back-yard; but Tocano used to climb the fence, and hop round by a long circuit, making its appearance with the greatest punctuality as the meal was placed on the table. One day it was stolen, and given up for lost; but two days afterwards it stepped through the doorway at the dinner-hour, with its old gait and sly magpie-like expression, having escaped from the house of the person who had stolen it, situated at the further end of the village.

The Realejo, or Organ-Bird.

(Cyphorhinus Cantans; called also the flute-bird.)

While the strange, harsh voice of the goatsucker is hushed, the mycetes has ceased to howl, and no roar of jaguar is heard, a few slow, sweet, and mellow notes reach the ear, following one another like the commencement of an air. The unimpressible natives stop their paddles as they are floating up an igarape to listen to the dulcet strains. The sounds appear to be those of a human voice; some young girl gathering fruit in the neighbouring thicket, it would seem, warbling a few notes to cheer herself in her solitude. Now the tones become more flute-like and plaintive,—now they seem to be those of a flageolet. It is difficult to imagine that they can be produced by a bird. No bird, indeed, can be seen, however closely the surrounding trees and bushes are scanned. Yet that sweet voice seems to come from a thicket close at hand. The listeners are silent, expecting to hear the strain completed, but disappointment follows. An abrupt pause occurs, and then the song breaks down, finishing with a number of clicking, unmusical sounds, like a piping barrel-organ out of wind and out of tune.

This is the organ-bird—the most remarkable songster by far (says Bates) of the Amazonian forests. When discovered, he seems habited in sober colours; but he need not envy his gaily-dressed companions—while, as a songster, he remains unrivalled in his native woods.

The Curassow.

High up among the lofty boughs of the thick forest sit a flock of magnificent birds, each the size of a turkey. They are the crested curassow (Crax elector). The plumage is of a deep, shining black colour, reflecting purple and green shades. The abdomen and tail-coverts are white, but the tail is black, and generally tipped with white. On its head it carries a handsome golden crest, the feathers narrow at the base and broad at the tip, which it raises and depresses as it moves along. Its voice, far from sweet, sounds like a hoarse cough, and each time it utters its cry it partially spreads its feathers and throws up its tail. The hen, however, has another way of expressing herself, uttering a whining sound.

Among the trees where they are perched are their large nests, roughly formed of sticks and leaves and plaits of grass. Their eggs, of which there are six or seven, are about the size of those of a turkey, and of a pure white. They feed on bananas and other fruits, as well as maize and rice.

There are several species. One (the mitu tuberosa) has an orange-coloured beak, surmounted by a bean-shaped excrescence of the same hue. It lays two rough-shelled white eggs.

Another species (the crax globicera) inhabits the Upper Amazon, and possesses a round instead of a bean-shaped excrescence on the beak.

These birds are easily tamed. Bates mentions one which used to attend the family with whom he lived at all the meals, passing from one person to another round the mat to be fed, and rubbing the sides of its head in a coaxing way against their cheeks or shoulders. At night it went to roost in a sleeping-room—beside the hammock of one of the little girls, to whom it seemed to be greatly attached, following her wherever she went about the grounds. These birds, however, do not breed in captivity, and are therefore only kept by the Indians as pets; though possibly they might be induced, by proper management, to do so, when they would prove a valuable addition to the poultry-yard in England.

In its wild state it seldom descends from the lofty trees.

Macaws.

On observing the curious, powerful beak of a macaw, we at once see that it must be an inhabitant of a region producing hard fruits, which require the application of considerable strength to break them. At morning and evening flocks of this large and richly-plumaged bird may be observed flying across the streams in all directions—their loud, harsh screams echoing among the forests through the calm air—wheeling and turning before they alight on the tops of the palms to feed. They belong to the Psittacidae, or parrot tribe, and are known at once by the great length of their tails, and by having their cheeks destitute of feathers.

There are several species which frequent the trees growing on wet and swampy ground. The red and blue macaw, the largest and handsomest of the family, is well described by Waterton. Rare in size and beauty among all the parrots of South America, the macrocercus macao will force you to take your eyes from the rest of animated nature and gaze at him. His commanding strength, the flaming scarlet of his body, a lovely variety of scarlet, yellow, blue, and green in his wings, the extraordinary length of his scarlet and blue tail, seem all to join and demand for him the title of Emperor of all the Parrots.

When the coucourite palm-trees have ripe fruit on them, they are covered with this magnificent parrot. He is not shy or wary. You may take your blow-pipe and a quiver of poisoned arrows, and kill more than you will be able to carry to your hut. They are very vociferous; and, like the common parrots, rise up in bodies towards sunset, and fly, two and two, to their places of rest. It is a grand sight to see thousands of aras flying over your head, low enough to let you have a full view of their flaming mantles. The Indians find the flesh very good, and the feathers serve for ornaments in their head-dresses.

Bates saw a flock feeding on the fruits of a Bacana palm, and looking like a cluster of flaunting banners beneath its dark green crown.

They build their nests in the hollows of decayed trees, and lay twice in the year—generally two eggs at a time, the male and female alternately watching over them. They are said to increase the size of the hole with their powerful beaks, should it not be sufficiently large for their purpose. They fly to a distance of several miles to feed, but—like rooks in England—return to their homes in the evening.

This macaw frequently measures, from the tip of the bill to the extremity of the tail, forty inches and more.

There are, besides, several other species of the red and yellow, blue, and blue and yellow, which equal the scarlet and blue in size,—their habits being very similar. They are easily tamed, and can be taught to repeat words, and sometimes even phrases. They are remarkable for their longevity, some having been known to live to one hundred years.

The magnificent great green macaw is noted for his depredations on the maize-fields; but, being a sagacious bird, he always places a sentinel to give the alarm to his marauding associates when danger approaches.

Parrots.

Parrots much inferior in size and less richly decked fly amid the foliage in vast numbers. The two most common species are the Amazon green parrot and the festive green parrot.

Of the former (Psittacus Amazonius) there are several varieties. They have their homes in the midst of the impenetrable forests. The female lays four white eggs in the hollow of a tree. The usual length is about fourteen inches. The bills vary in colour; the plumage is of a bright green, with the feathers marked by dusky or blackish margins. On the top or edges of the shoulders there is a brilliant scarlet patch, bounded by shades of blue, green, and yellow. A bright blue band reaches from eye to eye, beyond which the feathers of the crown, cheeks, and throat are of a rich yellow.

The Brazilian green parrot is a large and beautiful bird, of a fine grass-green, rather paler beneath the feathers, edged with purplish-brown. The front and round the base of the bill is bright red, the cheeks rather deep blue, and the top of the head yellow. The edge of the wings, at some distance from the shoulders, is red. The tail is especially handsome, the outside feathers being deep blue, tipped with yellow; the next red, with a similar yellow tip; and all the remaining ones green, with yellow tips. The bill is of a light colour, and the legs and feet dark. It is the species most ordinarily brought to England, and is valued on account of its powers of imitation—individuals having been taught not only words, but whole sentences.

Anaca Parrot.

One among the most rare of the beautiful parrot family is the anaca (Derotypus coronatus). It is of a green colour, and at the back of its head rises a hood of red feathers bordered with blue, which it can elevate or depress at pleasure. It is the only American parrot which resembles the cockatoo of Australia. It is of a solemn, morose, and irritable disposition. The natives often keep the bird in the house for the purpose of seeing the irascible creature expand its beautiful feathers, which it readily does when excited. The crest is something like that of a harpy eagle. It is known also as the hawk-headed parrot.

Marianna Parrot.

There is also a beautiful black-headed species—the macÁi of the Indians—known as the marianna. It has a white breast, orange neck and thighs. It is a remarkably lively little bird, and when tamed, shows its playful and inquisitive disposition.

Wallace describes one which he had on board his canoe, which used to climb into every crack and cranny, diving into all the baskets, pans, and pots it could discover, and tasting everything they contained. It was a most omnivorous feeder, eating rice, farina, every kind of flesh, fish, and vegetables; and drinking coffee too. As soon as it saw him, basin in hand, it would climb up to the edge, and not be quiet without having a share; which it would lick up with the greatest satisfaction, stopping now and then to look knowingly round,—as much as to say, “This coffee is very good,”—and then sipping again with increased gusto.

It has a pretty, clear whistle, which the Indians imitate, making it reply, and stare about in a vain search for its companions.

Trogons.

Among the smaller birds in these forests, the trogons—a genus of scansorial birds—are the most beautiful, surpassing their relatives found in other parts of the world. There are numerous varieties, differing in size—from the trogon viridis, scarcely larger than a sparrow, to the beautiful trogon, with its handsome tail, the size of a rook. Often they are to be seen in the depths of the forest, sitting motionless for hours together, simply moving their heads, watching apparently for insects, or sometimes scanning the neighbouring trees for fruit. Having selected a ripe one, they dart off now and then at long intervals to secure it, returning always to the same perch.

Their wings are feeble, and they are of a dull, inactive temperament. They have long spreading tails, and a dense plumage, which makes them appear larger than they are in reality. They are solitary birds, and may be seen sitting singly, or in pairs—some species on the taller trees, and others but a few feet above the ground—occasionally uttering a mournful note, which sounds like curucua,—the name which the Indians give to them. “This would betray them to the hunter,” says Edwards; “but they are great ventriloquists, and it is often impossible to discover them, though close above one’s head.”

Their feathers are fixed in a very loose manner, so that in falling, when shot, numbers fall off.

The Resplendent Trogon.

The resplendent trogon—the largest of the species—is one of the handsomest of birds, on account of the richness and brilliancy of its colour, the beautiful blending of tints, the flowing grace of its plumage, and the elegance of its colour. On its forehead is a curiously-shaped tuft, of slight and elastic feathers which curl over something like those of the umbrella-bird. This ornament—as also the head, throat, back, wings, and upper tail-coverts—is of the very richest green, with a gloss of gold, which glows, when moved by the breeze, with a changeable sheen. The upper tail-coverts are exceedingly long, projecting considerably beyond the tail, and flowing gracefully over the stiffer feathers beneath them. The lower part of the body is of a rich carmine.

Another species, called by the natives the curucua grande, has a soft, golden green plumage, a red breast, and an orange-coloured beak.

In the Gapo territory a yellow-bellied trogon, with a back of a brilliant metallic green colour, and a breast of steel-blue, is found.

The trogon melanurus is remarkable for the beauty of its plumage, having a glossy green back and rose-coloured breast. Bates found one seated alone on a branch, at no great elevation, uttering at intervals, in a complaining tone, its usual cry of “quaqua.” It appeared to be a dull, inactive bird, and even when approached seemed very unwilling to take flight.

Jacamars.

Among the characteristic members of the feathered tribe in these forests are the jacamars, as they are found in no other part of the world. They have straight, long, pointed bills, with a keel on the upper mandible. Some species have only three toes, while others possess the usual number of four. They live on insects, but in many respects resemble the trogon; being even still less disposed to fly than they are. “Their stupidity, indeed, in remaining at their posts, seated on low branches in the shady parts of the forest, is somewhat remarkable in a country where all other birds are exceedingly wary,” observes Bates.

The green jacamar (galbula viridis) is a beautiful bird, about the size of a lark; the upper parts of the body being generally of an exceedingly brilliant, changeable green, glossed with copper-gold. The beak is two inches long, black, slightly incurved, and sharp-pointed. The legs are short and weak, of a greenish-yellow, and the claws black. It is a very solitary bird, and delights to take refuge in the thickest parts of the forest, where insects abound, and is seldom seen in company with others. It has a short, quick flight, and a sweeter voice than most of its feathered companions.

The paradise jacamar (galbula paradisea) frequents the more open parts of the forest, and is generally found in pairs. It is a larger bird than the former, being nearly a foot long. The prevailing plumage is green, but the throat, front of the neck, and under wing-coverts are white.

It seizes its food in the same way that the trogons do. It will sit silent and motionless on a branch, moving its head slightly, and when an insect passes by, within a short distance, it will fly off and seize it with its long beak, and return again to its perch.

Most jacamars are clothed with a plumage of the most beautiful golden, bronze, and steel colours. They bear a strong outward resemblance to kingfishers, but are not further united to that group of birds. They appear to have the same peculiar attachment to particular branches as many humming-birds possess; and the spot can generally be discovered by the number of legs and wings and hard cases of the insects they have caught, and which they have plucked off before eating their victims.

The little three-toed jacamar possesses a few of the brilliant hues which adorn his brethren.

The great or broad-billed jacamar is very like a kingfisher. The beak is very broad, while the dilated ridge on the upper mandible is distinctly curved. It feeds very much like the kingfisher,—darting down from a branch to secure, with its bill, the active insects as they fly by. It feeds exclusively on them, however, never attempting to obtain food from the waters.

The Jacana.

The light-bodied jacana, supported by its spider-like, widely extended feet, treads over the floating pan-like leaves of the Victoria Regia, and other aquatic plants, without sinking them in any perceptible degree below the surface of the calm pools in which they float. They take up their dwelling on the borders of the remote lakes and igarapes of the Amazonian Valley.

They are called by the natives oven-birds, because frequently seen on the pan-shaped leaves of the before-mentioned magnificent lily.

The common jacana has a black plumage, with a greenish gloss. The legs are very long and slight,—as are the toes and claws, especially that of the hind-toe, which is nearly straight. The body is about ten inches long; and the beak upwards of an inch, and of an orange colour.

The jacana feeds on aquatic insects and vegetable matter. While feeding it utters a low-sounding cluck, cluck, at short intervals. When flying it throws out its long legs horizontally to their full length, generally skimming above the surface, out of danger.

Its body is of a peculiarly light construction, so that, large as it appears, it weighs but little when pressing the floating leaves, on which it delights to walk in search of its prey.

Frigate-Bird Pelicans.

Even to the distance of fifteen hundred miles and more from the mouth of the Amazon, large flocks of the high-flying frigate-birds are descried hovering at an immense height above the stream, preparing to plunge down and seize their finny prey.

They measure seven feet from wing to wing, and appear almost to live in the air. The neck is partly bare, and very extensible; the bill long, and hooked at the end; the feet small, and webbed. The body of the male is entirely black, while the hen has the head and neck white.

It is probably a different species from the frigate-bird, or sea-hawk, of the Eastern tropical seas.

The Horned Screamer.

On the shores of a sand-bank, flocks of wild gulls may be seen flying overhead uttering their well-known cries, sandpipers coursing along the edge of the water, here and there lonely wading birds stalking about, and among them the curious Palamedea cornuta—the anhima of the Brazilians, or the horned screamer of Cuvier—called also the kamichi. Startled by the approach of the canoe, up it flies, its harsh screams resembling the bray of a jackass—but shriller and louder, if possible—greatly disturbing the calm solitude of the place.

It is the size of a swan, but more nearly resembles a crane. On its head it wears a long, pointed horn, surrounded with small black and white feathers. It has a tail about eight inches long; its wings, when folded, reaching to more than half the length of the tail. They are armed with sharp spines, with which it can inflict a wound on its foes, and which assist it in repelling the attacks of snakes and guarding its young from their rapacity. Unless when attacked, however, it seldom uses its weapon of defence. It walks boldly along, as if conscious of its power; and when on the wing, has a strong and easy flight.

The head and neck are of a greenish-brown colour, and covered with soft feathers. The back is black, except the upper part, which is brown, with yellow spots; the whole lower part, with the thighs, of a silvery white.

It feeds on grain and aquatic plants, in search of which it wades through the reptile-haunted morasses.

Vultures.

Monarch of the feathered tribes of the forest, the king vulture fears no rival throughout his wild domain. While the condor has its home on the mountain-tops, the sovereign of the vultures confines himself exclusively to the thickly-wooded regions along the banks of the rivers or lagoons, where he can more readily obtain the carcasses on which he feeds.

He is a magnificent bird, of about two feet and a half in length, and upwards of five feet across the expanded wings. The neck is brilliantly coloured of a fine lemon tint; both sides of the neck, from the ears downwards, are of a rich scarlet. The crown of the head is scarlet, and between the lower mandible and the eye, and close to the eye, there is a part which has a fine blue appearance; the skin which juts out behind the neck, like a carbuncle, is partly blue and partly orange. The bill is orange and black. Round the bottom of the neck is a broad ruff of soft, downy, ash-grey feathers, and the back and tail-coverts are of a bright lawn. The middle wing-coverts and tail-feathers are glossy black.

These superb birds may sometimes be seen seated in pairs on the topmost boughs of trees, but occasionally in large flocks. The great expanse and power of his wings enables the king vulture to soar to a prodigious height, whence he can survey with his piercing sight a wide extent of his domain; possibly also his exquisite sense of smell enables him to detect the odour of the putrefying carcass which rises through the pure air.

He is somewhat of a tyrant among his subjects; for not only will he allow no other vultures or carrion-feeding birds to approach the carcass he has selected, but on his appearance the other species, who may already have discovered it, fly to a distance, and stand meekly looking on while their sovereign gorges himself.

The king vulture makes his nest in the hollow of a tree, where his queen lays two eggs.

The Black Vulture.

The gallinaso, or black vulture (Cathartes atratus), acts the part of a scavenger, and as such is of great use throughout the whole centre of South America, as also in the northern continent. Disgusting as are its habits and appearance, it is carefully protected, on account of the service it renders to mankind.

It may easily be distinguished from the turkey-buzzard, which it greatly resembles, by the shape of the feathers round its neck, which descend from the back of the head towards the throat in a sloping direction; whereas those of the turkey-buzzard form a ring round the throat. Its general colour is a dull black. The head and part of the neck are destitute of feathers, wrinkled, and sprinkled with a few black hairs. The throat is of a yellowish tint.

It flies high, sweeping through the air with a beautifully easy motion, and is generally found in the neighbourhood of fresh-water.

The black vultures are gregarious, brought together apparently by the pleasure they seem to have in society rather than by the attraction of a common prey. Darwin describes seeing flocks of them on a fine day at a great height, each bird wheeling round and round without closing its wings, and performing the most graceful evolutions.

The Turkey-Buzzard.

The turkey-buzzard (Cathartes ora) is similar in its habits to the black vulture, and is frequently mistaken for it. It is seldom found southward of latitude 41 degrees. Of late years, however, they have become numerous in the Valley of the Colorado, three hundred miles further south. It is not found on the desert and arid plains of Northern Patagonia, except near some stream; and it is supposed not to have passed into Chili, although in Peru it exists in great numbers, where it is preserved to act the part of a scavenger.

It is a solitary bird, and goes in pairs; and may at once be recognised at a distance, from its lofty soaring and most elegant flight. It ranges from North America to Cape Horn.

Such are some of the more notable members of the feathered tribes inhabiting the Valley of the Amazon. There are numberless others,—both land and water birds,—a description of which would occupy too much space, some of them also being common to other parts of the world. Several, likewise, are seen more frequently either in Venezuela and Guiana, or in the La Plata region, and will be noticed when we visit those countries.

From the Birds, then, we will pass on to the Reptiles and Insects of South America; in which, as to number and the variety of their forms and habits, it equals, if it does not surpass, any portion of similar size of the Old World, in the same latitude.

Part 3—Chapter XV.

Wonders of Insect Life.

Termites, or White Ants.

The great ant-eater, dozing during the hot hours of the day within the shady coverts of the forest, sallies forth in the cool of the evening to search for its insect prey on the open Campos. The surface of the ground is there, in many districts, raised into conical hillocks, some five feet in height, and streaked by lines which differ in colour from the surrounding earth, and lead in all directions, over decayed timber and the roots of herbage, from one hillock to the other. These hillocks are the habitations of those curious small pale-coloured and soft-bodied insects called termites, or white ants. They differ very greatly from the true ants in their mode of growth, or metamorphosis, though similar to them in their habits.

The true ant, when emerging from the egg, is a footless grub, and remains in the pupa, or quiescent stage, inclosed in a membrane, till its limbs are developed. The termites at once possess the form they are to bear through life, except that the sexual individuals, during the latter stages of their growth, gradually acquire eyes and wings. They belong, indeed, to two very dissimilar orders of insects. The ant-bear, however, never troubles himself about this matter; but, scraping away with his powerful claws, soon breaks open the citadel which the industrious insects have formed during days of unremitting toil.

The mounds of the termites differ in composition. Some, consisting of earth, are worked into a substance as hard as stone. The coloured lines on the ground mark the covered ways which lead from the places where the insects obtain their food, or the materials for their habitations. The mounds exhibit no openings for egress or ingress. They are often formed by several distinct species of termites, each of which keeps to its own portion of the mounds, and uses different materials. Within the fortress exist a vast number of chambers, with galleries connecting them, composed sometimes of particles of earth, and at others of vegetable matter, cemented by the saliva of the insects. As they live on dry food, and in regions where no water is found, it is supposed that they may possess the power of combining, by vital force, the oxygen and hydrogen of their vegetable food, and thus form water. This supposition, if correct, accounts for the large amount of liquid which they employ in the construction of their cells. The inhabitants of these structures consist of differently formed insects, employed in various distinct occupations. The most numerous are the labourers, who have to toil for the benefit of the community. They are sexless and blind; yet, without the power of sight, they are ceaselessly employed in the construction of these curious mounds, or in taking care of the young, and in collecting and bringing in food for the support of the population. Then come the soldiers, who defend the fortress, or, as more frequently happens, sacrifice themselves for the protection of the rest. The two most important personages of the community are the king and queen, who are the parents of future colonies. These are always found in every perfect termitarium. There are also a large number of winged termites, male and female, who, at a certain period of the year—generally at the commencement of the rainy season—issue forth from the hive into the world. Although a large number are destroyed, a few escape, and, pairing, become the parents of fresh colonies. The formation of a new citadel or colony takes place somewhat in the following manner:—On a mound becoming overstocked, a party of workers, guarded by a body of soldiers, issue forth, and commence a fresh edifice at a distance from the old one. Here they form a large cell in the centre, surrounded by numerous galleries leading to smaller cells. From thence they run their covered ways, in suitable directions, towards spots whence they can obtain their necessary supplies of food and building materials. This being accomplished, they go in search of a royal pair; whom, when they have found, under a leaf or clod of earth, they conduct into the interior cell, where they are installed in due state. The newly-married couple, who have by this time got rid of their wings, are considerably larger than the rest of the population, but are helpless individuals, having neither the power of working nor fighting. The king soon dies; but his consort, instead of pining for his loss, sets herself to work for the benefit of posterity, by laying a countless number of eggs. As soon as these are deposited the workers carry them off, and place them in the cells, where they watch over them with the most vigilant care, supplying the larvae with food as soon as they are hatched; and when the nursery becomes full, carrying some off in their mouths to another cell. While some are thus employed, others increase the size of their abode by running fresh corridors round the edifice, and forming new cells; while other parties, protected by soldiers, are foraging far and wide for food for the ever-increasing population.

In process of time—always within twelve months—the numberless progeny of the queen become full-grown. Some become developed into labourers, with smooth, rounded heads, and mouths adapted for carrying loads and working up the materials for the construction of their abodes; others—the fighting class—have heads of large size, provided with pointed weapons of defence of various shapes, resembling, in different species, horns, pikes, rams; while others are furnished with powerful jaws, resembling either sabres, swords, or sickles. A third class appear with eyes, and long, delicate wings—gay, happy creatures, far better formed, it would seem, to enjoy existence than their hard-working brethren. These are the males and females of the community. When they are prepared to issue forth from their birth-place, the labourers busily set to work to clear a passage to allow of their speedy egress. This takes place generally on a damp, close evening or cloudy morning. Countless numbers issue forth at intervals, till the whole progeny of males and females have emerged from their pupa state. They make a loud rustling noise as they fly through the air in all directions; but they are immediately set upon by numberless enemies,—goatsuckers, lizards, spiders, and ants,—who greedily eat them up. On reaching the ground they immediately divest themselves of their wings; and the few pairs which escape from their foes seek safety in some hollow beneath a leaf or lump of earth, where they await the arrival of the faithful labourers, who now come forth in search of them, and conduct them, as has before been said, to the newly-formed abode prepared for their reception. And thus the wonderful process goes forward year after year.

So utterly helpless are these males and females, that, were it not for the assistance of other individuals, the race would speedily become extinct. The warrior termites are utterly regardless of personal safety. When their castle is attacked, they appear in vast numbers at the breach, to cover the retreat of the labourers. As the long tongue of the ant-eater is projected among them, they throw themselves on it; and no sooner is one regiment swallowed up than another rushes out to take its place—thus, by the sacrifice of themselves, enabling the rest of the community to seek safety in flight.

Sauba Ants.

Of the numerous true ants which exist in all parts of Tropical America, the sauba is one of the most remarkable. In all parts of the country—as well near the abodes of man as in the distant wilds—large mounds are seen, two feet in length, and often upwards of forty yards in circumference, and distinguished from the surrounding soil by the difference of colour. Yet these mounds are merely the domes or upper works of the vast subterranean galleries which run for enormous distances and to great depths below the surface. Unlike the termites, the armies go forth in open daylight in vast hordes, to obtain food or materials for the construction of their wonderful habitations. Sometimes, many hundred yards away from these mounds, the whole ground seems covered with animated leaves, each of the size of a sixpence, moving at a steady pace over the ground. Each leaf is held vertically in the mandibles of an ant, which is conveying it for the purpose of thatching the domes which cover the entrance to its subterranean abode; the roof thus formed protecting the cells beneath, rilled with young, from the heavy rains. Going in the direction whence the army is seen coming, we may find a tree covered by innumerable multitudes employed in cutting off leaves. Here the labourers are protected by the warrior class, who appear also to perform the duties of overlookers, and keep them to their tasks. Each ant, on gaining a leaf, commences with its scissor-like jaws to make a semicircular incision on the upper side. It then takes it into its jaws, and detaches it by a sharp jerk. Having done this, it descends to the ground, and joining its comrades, who have been similarly employed, they return with their loads to the colony. Frequently, however, while an ant is up the tree, the piece of leaf falls to the ground, when it sets to work to cut off another; while fresh labourers appear, to carry away the pieces which have thus accumulated.

The sauba ants are greatly dreaded by the inhabitants, as they frequently attack their coffee and orange-trees, and utterly destroy them. Sometimes, indeed, plantations have to be abandoned in consequence of the inroads of these persevering insects.

The body of the sauba ant is of a pale reddish-brown colour, and of a solid consistency. The head is armed with a pair of sharp spines, while the thorax has three pairs of the same character.

There appear to be three orders of workers among them, greatly differing in size. One order has an enormously large head; the head of another is very highly polished; while that of a third is opaque—to enable it, apparently, to perform the duties of a subterranean labourer. The earth of which the domes of the sauba ants are composed is brought up from a considerable depth below. There are numerous entrances leading to the galleries, but, under ordinary circumstances, they are kept closed. The smaller galleries lead, at a depth of several feet, to a broad, elaborately-worked tunnel of four or five inches in diameter, which conducts downwards to the centre chamber; the abode of the royal pair, on whom devolves—as is the case with the termites—the duty of propagating the species. Here they are guarded much in the same way by the labourers, who deposit the eggs in the cells, and finally assist in the exit of the winged males and females—which fly forth to be destroyed in vast numbers, the few who remain becoming the parents of other families.

The female winged ants are of considerable size, measuring fully two and a quarter inches across the wings. The male is very much smaller.

The royal chamber is curiously constructed. As soon as the newly-wedded pair are conducted within, the workers, who are themselves much smaller, so diminish the size of the entrance that it is impossible for the king and queen to escape. Round it are numerous exits and entrances, through which the workers convey the eggs when laid. The queen, after the death of her consort, lives for two or three years, employed during the whole of the time in laying eggs, at the rate of fifty in a minute. This will give some idea of the rapid increase of the population.

The workers vary somewhat in size and appearance. While a large number are employed in bringing in leaves and granules of earth for thatching their domes, as well as various sorts of provision, others are engaged in tending the royal chamber—carrying the eggs to the cells, and watching over the young. There is another class, whose heads are covered with hairs, and who appear to be employed entirely below ground, probably as excavators or tunnellers.

Like the Cyclops, they have in the centre of their forehead a single eye, very different in structure to the compound eyes on the sides of their head. The other workers do not possess this peculiar frontal eye, nor is it found in any other species of ant.

It is wonderful what extensive tunnels these ants will form. Near Rio de Janeiro a tunnel was discovered, excavated by the creatures under the River Parahiba, as broad as the Thames at London Bridge. Near Para they, on one occasion, pierced the embankment of a large reservoir to such an extent as to allow the escape of a vast body of water before the damage could be repaired. In the same neighbourhood an attempt was made to destroy their colonies, by blowing fumes of sulphur down the galleries by means of bellows. Mr Bates relates, that he saw smoke issuing from a vast number of outlets, one of which was seventy yards distant from the place where the bellows were used.

They wander to a great distance in search of plunder, and enter houses for the purpose of carrying off the farina or mandioca meal. The same naturalist relates that he was one night awoke by his servant telling him that rats were robbing the farina baskets. On listening, he was certain that the noise was unlike that made by rats. On going to the storeroom he there found a broad column of sauba ants, consisting of thousands of individuals, passing to and fro between the door and his baskets of meal. Most of those passing outwards were loaded each with a grain of farina, larger and many times heavier than the bodies of the carriers. The baskets, which were on a high table, were entirely covered with ants, many hundreds of whom were employed in snipping the dry leaves which served as a lining; and this had produced the rustling sound which had disturbed him. He and his servant in vain attempted to exterminate them by killing them with their wooden clogs. Fresh hosts came on to take the place of the slain. The next night they returned, when he attempted to get rid of them by laying trains of gunpowder along their line to blow them up. Not, however, till he had repeated this operation several times, did the survivors of the daring depredators retreat.

The Amphisbaena.

A curious snake, with something the character of the English slow-worm, the amphisbaena—called by the natives Mai das Saubas, or the mother of the saubas—is frequently found in these mounds. The natives believe that the ants treat it with great affection, and will, if the snake is removed, leave the spot. It is probable, however, that the amphisbaena takes up its abode in the nest for the convenience of devouring the inhabitants, whenever unable to procure other food.

Some of the American ants are of great size. One species (the Dinoponera grandis) is an inch and a quarter in length, and proportionally stout. It is seen marching in single file through the forest; but though of considerable size, its sting is not severe, while there is nothing particularly interesting about its habits.

Ecitons.

There are, however, several species of foraging ants, called ecitons, which move in vast bodies through the forest in search of prey. They are carnivorous, and attack not only insects and grubs of all sorts, but even other ants,—assaulting their citadels and carrying off the slaughtered inhabitants. The natives, when they meet them in the forest, hurry out of their way, to avoid their fierce attacks. Their communities appear to be composed, besides males and females, of two classes of workers, one with head and jaws very much larger than the others.

One species of these foraging ants is known as the Eciton rapax, the larger workers among which are half an inch in length.

The two common species of ecitons are, Eciton hamata and Eciton drepanophora, which are very similar in their habits and appearance.

They are of the most pugnacious character, and a person incautiously getting in their midst finds himself furiously attacked. They climb up his legs, and, holding on by their pincer-like jaws, double in their tails, and sting with all their might. The natives, on seeing them, cry out, “Tauoca”—the name which they give to the ecitons—and scamper off to a distance. The only way of getting rid of them is to pluck them out one by one; but so securely do they fasten themselves to the skin, that their head and jaws are left sticking to it.

As they advance through the forest, the creatures on which they prey endeavour to get out of their way; but vast numbers of maggots, caterpillars, larvae, and ants of other species fall victims to their ferocity. They advance in a long column live or six deep, while thinner columns forage on either flank, till they arrive at a mass of rotten wood abounding in insect larvae, when they surround it, and do not again move forward till every particle of food has been carried off!

When they discover a wasp’s nest, they attack the papery covering to get at the larvae pupae and newly-hatched wasps. In spite of the rage of the parents, who vainly keep flying about them, they carry off their spoil in fragments; the carriers having their loads apportioned to their size—the dwarfs taking the smaller pieces, and the stronger fellows the heavier portions. Sometimes two ants join in carrying one piece.

Robber Ecitons.

Another species (the Eciton legionis) has been known to attack other ants’ nests for the sake of plunder. Mr Bates saw an army of them employed on the face of an inclined bank of earth. They were excavating mines to get at the nest of a larger species of ant of the genus Formica. Some were rushing into the passages, others were seen assisting their comrades to lift out the bodies of the formicae, while others were tearing them in pieces—their weight being too great for that of a single eciton. A number of carriers then seized each a fragment and carried it down the slope. When the naturalist dug into the earth with a small trowel, the eager freebooters rushed in as fast as he excavated, and carried off the ants, so rapidly tearing them in pieces that he had great difficulty in rescuing a few entire specimens.

The little ecitons seemed to be divided into parties, some excavating, others carrying away the grains of earth. When the shafts became rather deep, the mining parties had to climb up the sides each time they wished to cast out a pellet of earth; but their work was lightened by their comrades, who stationed themselves at the mouth of the shaft and relieved them of their burdens, carrying the particles to a sufficient distance from the edge of the hole to prevent them rolling in again. All the work seemed thus to be performed by intelligent co-operation among the host of eager little creatures. Still, there was not a rigid division of labour; for some of them, whose proceedings he watched, acted at one time as carriers of pellets, and at another as miners, and all shortly afterwards assumed the office of conveyers of the spoil. In about two hours, all the nests of the formicae were rifled.

He frequently saw these little creatures engaged apparently in play, in the neighbourhood of their homes. Some were walking slowly about, others were brushing their antennae with their fore-feet; but the drollest sight was to see them cleaning one another. Here and there an ant was seen stretching forth first one leg, then another, to be brushed or washed by one or more of its comrades; who performed the task by passing the limb between the jaw and the tongue, finishing by giving the antennae a friendly wipe.

There are two species of blind ecitons—which, however, go on foraging expeditions, and even attack the nests of other stinging species; but, avoiding the light, they move always under leaves and fallen branches: when the columns have to pass a cleared space, the ants form covered ways with granules of earth, arched over and holding together mechanically.

Blind Ants.

Two other species—Eciton vastator, and Eciton erratica—both of which are blind, move entirely under covered ways in search of promising hunting-grounds. Their arcades are sometimes two hundred yards in length, the grains of earth being taken from the soil over which the column is passing, and fitted together without cement. In this they are distinguished from the covered ways made by the termites, who use a glutinous saliva for cementing their edifices. These blind ecitons build up the side of their convex arcade, and in a wonderful manner contrive so to fit in the key-stones, without allowing the loose uncemented structure to fall to pieces. Whenever a breach is made in any of their covered ways, the workers remain behind to repair the damage, while the soldiers issue forth in a menacing manner, rearing their heads, and snapping their jaws with an expression of fiercest rage and defiance.

The above account will give some idea of the vast numbers and varieties of the termites and ants of this region, and of the wonderful way in which Providence has furnished them with the means of sustaining existence, and taking their part in the economy of nature. Science is deeply indebted to Mr Bates, for his persevering efforts and acute observation in making known the varieties and habits of these curious insects.

Centipeds—Cockroaches—Fire-Ants.

Although the rest of the animal creation is small compared with the creatures of the Eastern world, insects and reptiles attain a size which will vie with those of any portion of the globe. Here we have a centiped nearly a foot in length, with innumerable legs, and two horns or feelers, which it protrudes with the most venomous expression. These animals are not only hideous to look on, but their bite is very painful, though not dangerous.

Cockroaches swarm everywhere; but the fire-ant is, for its size, probably the most terrible of created beings. Its bite produces the most acute pain; and where they swarm, on the dry sandy shores of the streams, they frequently compel the natives to desert their villages. Mrs Agassiz mentions having on one occasion hung some towels to dry on the cord of her hammock, and was about to remove them, when suddenly her hand and arm seemed plunged into fire. She dropped the towels as if they were hot coals, which for the moment they literally seemed to be. She then saw that her arm was covered with little brown ants. A native brushed them off in all haste; and an army of them was found passing over the hammock, and out of the window, near which it hung. He said they were on their way somewhere, and if left undisturbed would be gone in an hour or so.

Insects—Fire-Flies.

Of those diamonds of the night, the fire-flies and fire-beetles, there are numerous species. One of the most abundant—and of much larger dimensions than the rest of the elaters or beetles—pyrophorus noctilucus, called by the natives cocuja, displays both red and green light. On the upper surface of the thorax there are two oval tubercles, hard and transparent, like bull’s-eye lights let into a ship’s deck. These are windows out of which shine a vivid green luminousness, which appears to fill the interior of the chest. Then on the under surface of the body, at the base of the abdomen, there is a transverse orifice in the shelly skin, covered with a delicate membrane, which glows with a strong ruddy light; visible, however, only when the wing-cases are expanded. It is about an inch and a half long, of a brown colour, and has a strong spine situated beneath the thorax, which fits at pleasure into a small cavity on the upper part of the abdomen. By means of this machine it can, when placed on its back, spring up a couple of inches, and regain its feet. When preparing to do this it moves its head and thorax backwards, so that the pectoral spine is drawn out and rests on the edge of the sheath. The same backward movement being continued, the spine, by the full action of the muscles, is bent like a spring, and the insect at this moment rests on the extremity of its head and wing cases. The effort being suddenly relaxed, the head and thorax fly up, and in consequence the base of the wing-cases strike the supporting surface with such force that the insect by the reaction is jerked upward, while the projecting points of the thorax and the sheath of the spine serve to steady the whole body.

So brilliant is the light of these creatures, that even one moved over the print of a book wall enable a person to read by it, while eight or ten placed in a clear glass bottle serve the purpose of a lamp. The Brazilian ladies ornament their dresses with these fire-beetles, by securing them so as not to injure the creatures; while they frequently wear several in the braids of their dark hair, which, when they walk abroad in the evening, has a curious and beautiful effect. (Gosse and Darwin.)

Prescott relates that when the Spaniards first invaded America, on seeing the air filled with cocujas during the darkness of night, their excited imaginations converted them into an army with matchlocks, and they waited, expecting to be attacked by an overwhelming force. A similar story is told of the British, when first landing in the West Indies, being induced to hastily re-embark on seeing at night innumerable lights moving about, which they supposed were Spaniards approaching to defend the shore.

Suspended Cocoons.

The forests of Brazil exhibit numerous beautiful examples of insect workmanship. Among others is the work of a caterpillar—a cocoon about the size of a sparrow’s egg, woven in broad meshes of either buff or rose-coloured silk, and seen suspended from the tip of an outstanding leaf by a strong thread, five or six inches in length. It forms a conspicuous object hung thus in mid-air. The glossy threads with which it is knitted are stout, and the structure is not likely therefore to be torn by the beaks of insectivorous birds; while its pendulous position makes it doubly secure against their attacks, as the apparatus gives way when they peck at it. There is a small orifice at each end of the egg-shaped bag, to admit of the escape of the moth when it changes from the little chrysalis which sleeps tranquilly in its airy cage.

Other caterpillars form cases with fragments of wood or leaves, in which they live secure from their enemies, whilst they are feeding and growing. Some of these, composed of small bits of stick, are knitted together with fine silken threads, and others make tubes very like the cadis-worms of English ponds. Others choose leaves, with which they form an elongated bag, open at both ends, having the insides lined with thick webs. As the weight of one of these dwellings would be greater than the caterpillar inside could sustain, it attaches the case by one or more threads to the leaves or twigs near which it is feeding.

Lantern-Fly.

There is a large and beautiful insect, with an enormous transparent prolongation of the forehead, which is supposed to have a resemblance to a lantern: it is called the lantern-fly (Fulgora laternaria). Though often described as possessing luminous properties, it is now known to be destitute of any phosphorescence whatever.

The Tanana.

(Chlorocelus tanana.)

Often through the woods a loud, sharp, resonant stridulation is heard, sounding like the syllables “Ta, na, na,” succeeding each other with little intermission. It is produced by a species of wood cricket, called by the natives after the sound it produces. The total length of the body is two inches and a quarter when the wings are closed. The insect has an inflated bladder-like shape, owing to the great convexity of the thin, firm, parchmenty wing-cases; the little creature being of a pale green colour. The instrument by which it produces its music is contrived out of the ordinary nervures of the wing-case. In each wing-case the under edge of the wing itself has a horny lobe. On one wing this lobe has a sharp raised margin, on the other the strong membrane which traverses it on the under side is crossed by a number of fine and sharp furrows like those of a file. When the insect rapidly moves its wings, the file of the one lobe is scraped sharply across the horny margin of the other, thus producing the sounds; the parchmenty wing-cases and the hollow drum-like space they enclose assisting to give resonance to the tones. These notes are the call notes of the males, inviting a mate to his burrow. (Bates.)

Wood Beetles.

Enormous as are the trees of the Amazonian forests, and able to withstand the fiercest storms, they have frequently to succumb to the attacks of minute insects. Many a monarch of the woods has been brought low by the efforts of the persevering termites; but they have other enemies. The palm-trees are assailed by a group of beetles (the Histeridae) which take possession of the moist interior of their stems. One of these is an enormous fellow—the hister maximus. Another group have their bodies as thin as wafers, to enable them to live in the narrow crevices of the bark. One set of species, however (the trypanaeus), are totally different, being cylindrical in shape. They drill holes in the solid wood, and look like tiny animated gimlets when seen at work; their pointed heads being fixed in the wood, while their smooth glossy bodies work rapidly round so as to create little streams of sawdust from the holes.

The caribi, which in Europe perform the important duty of scavengers, and live on the ground, are in South America nearly always found on trees. Some are of enormous size.

The Hercules beetle, which lives on the mamma Americana, attains a length of five and sometimes six inches. It is known by the singular horn-shaped proboscis rising from the head and thorax, which gives it so formidable an appearance. Its duty is probably to eat up the rotten wood.

Other members of the family,—known as the elephant, Neptune, and typhon,—excavate burrows in the earth, living on the decomposed trunks of trees during the day, and flying about at night with a loud humming noise—apparently to enjoy the air, of which they are deprived in the daytime.

The megasominae is of an enormous size, as is also the beautiful Inca beetle.

Among the most beautiful beetles in the Brazils is the diamond beetle (Entrinus nobilis), of a lustrous azure green, and with golden wings. With it, and other species, the ladies form necklaces, and ornament their dresses.

In Venezuela, the cactus plants, which grow so abundantly, serve to nourish the valuable though odd-looking little coccus cacti. The male and female differ greatly. The female resembles a Lilliputian tortoise, and is of a dark brown colour, with two light spots on the back covered with white powder. The male, possessed of a pair of wings, is much smaller, and roves about at will from plant to plant. The female, a short time after she has become full-grown, secures herself to a leaf, where she remains immovable. She now grows to such a size, that she more resembles a seed belonging to a plant than an insect, all her limbs being completely concealed by her wide-expanded body. In process of time, before the young insects are born, the cochineal-gatherers detach the insect by means of a knife dipped in boiling water, which kills them. They are then dried in the sun, and appear like small dry berries of a deep mulberry colour.

Spiders.

Fear-inspiring is the appearance of the great crab-spider—the Mygale avicularia, one genus of the formidable Arachnida family—with a body two inches in length, and, when the legs are expanded, seven inches across, covered entirely with coarse grey, reddish hairs. It lives among the rocks in the drier regions; some dwell under stones, others form artistic tunnels under the earth, and some build their dens in the thatch of houses. Bates one day saw some Indian children with one of these monsters secured by a cord round its waist, by which they were leading it about the house as they would a dog. The hairs with which it is covered come off when touched, and cause a peculiar and almost maddening irritation. This is, however, probably owing to their being short and hard, and thus getting into the fine creases of the skin, and not to any poisonous quality residing in the hairs. These monstrous spiders prey on lizards, small birds, and other diminutive vertebrates. Their muscular power is very great. When the creature is about to seize its prey, it fixes its hind-feet firmly in the ground, and lifting up the front ones, darts them forward, and fastens them with the double hooks which terminate its feet between the cranium and the first vertebra, thus preventing the possibility of their escaping. Nothing will then tear it from its prey. When pressed by hunger, it climbs at night the trees and shrubs in which humming-birds and other small birds are perched, or have built their nests, and springing on them, grasps them with its powerful claws. It seizes the anolis, a kind of water-lizard, in the same way. The fact of its seizing on birds, so long doubted, though asserted by Madame Marian, the French naturalist, has been corroborated by Monsieur Jonnes, her countryman. He states that it spins no web to serve it as a dwelling, but burrows and lies in ambush in the cliffs and hollow ravines. It often travels to a considerable distance, and conceals itself under leaves, thence to dart out on its prey; or it climbs along the branches of trees to surprise the humming-birds and other small tree-creepers. Bates still further settles the point.

With regard to the habits of another species which does spin a web, he says that, catching sight of one of these spiders, he was attracted by its movements. It was in the crevices of a tree, across which was stretched a dense web. The lower portion of the web was broken, and two small birds,—finches,—were entangled in the pieces. They were the size of the English linnet, and probably male and female. One was quite dead, the other lay dying under the body of the spider, and was smeared with the filthy liquor or saliva exuded by the monster.

The mygale carries its eggs enclosed in a cocoon of white silk of a very close tissue, formed of two round pieces uniting at their borders. It supports this cocoon under its corselet by means of its antennulae, and transports it along with itself. When hard-pressed by its enemies, it abandons it for a time, but returns to take it up as soon as the combat is concluded. Nearly two thousand eggs are contained in these cocoons.

The young ones when they appear are entirely white, gradually assuming the colour of the adult.

The falces, or reaping-hook claws, of the great crab-spider are of enormous size, and ai-e sometimes set in gold and used as toothpicks, from the idea that they possess some medicinal virtue to cure the toothache.

The different species vary very much in their habits. One big fellow—the Mygale Blondii—forms a broad slanting gallery about two feet in length, the sides of which he lines beautifully with silk. Just before sunset he may be seen keeping watch near the mouth of his tunnel, disappearing suddenly when he hears a heavy foot-tread near his hiding-place.

Many are of the most showy colours. Some double themselves up at the base of leaf-stalks, so as to resemble a flower, and thus deceive the insects on which they prey. One of the most extraordinary in appearance—the Arosoma arcuatum—has two curved, bronze-coloured spines, an inch and a half in length, proceeding from its abdomen. It spins a large web, those huge spikes apparently being no impediment to its work.

Bees and Wasps.

Bees and wasps of a countless number of species abound in every region of the continent. Some build their habitations, composed of a papery substance, attached to the under side of the broad leaves of the tucuma and other palms. Others, again, form them in hollow trees, or among their roots in the earth. Many build in houses, or pierce their mud walls till they look as if riddled with shot. Others make holes in the ground, especially in sandy places. Others, again, construct their habitations of clay, and fasten them to the boughs of trees or to buildings. There are, indeed, mason bees, carpenter bees, and miner bees and wasps.

Watch the little, pale green bombex, or sand-wasp, at work, throwing out with its fore-feet jets of sand from the hole it is forming in the sloping bank. In a wonderfully short time the female miner has formed a gallery two or three inches in length. Out she backs, making a few turns round the entrance to admire her work—or, probably, to take note of the locality—and then away she flies. She may be absent for a few minutes, or perhaps for an hour, according to her success in hunting. At length back she comes with a big fly in her grasp, benumbed by her sting. She carries it in, lays an egg in the body, which will serve as food for the soft footless grub soon to be hatched, and then closing the entrance, sets to work to form a new nursery like the first, which she will furnish in the same careful manner. It is curious how she can find her way back, for often she has to go half a mile before she can find a fly to suit her purpose.

Another species,—the Monedula signata,—as large as a hornet, is particularly useful in carrying off the teasing flies, the bloodthirsty motucas, which buzz round the voyager on the Amazon when at anchor near a sand-bank. Bates was rather startled by seeing one fly directly at his face, on which it had espied a motuca, and which it carried off, holding it tightly to its breast.

The pelopaeus wasp builds a nest of clay, shaped like a pouch, two inches in length, and attaches it to a branch. It forms the clay in little round pellets, kneading it with its mandibles into a convenient shape, and humming cheerfully while engaged in its work. On arriving with the ball of moist clay it lays it on the edge of the cell, and then spreads it out round the circular rim by means of the lower lip, guided by the mandibles—sitting astride while at work. On finishing each addition it takes a turn round, patting the sides with its feet inside and out, before flying off for a fresh pellet. It feeds on small spiders, which it reduces to a half dead state by its sting, thus to serve as food for its progeny.

One bee,—the Trypoxylon aurifrons,—builds a nest of clay like a squat round bottle or carafe; generally in rows, one beside the other, on a branch, or in the corners of a building.

The melipona bees are the most numerous of the honey-producing insects, their colonies being composed of vast numbers of individuals. They are smaller than the English hive-bee, and have no sting. The workers collect pollen as do other bees, but a great number are employed in gathering clay for forming walls as an outer protection to their nests. They first scrape the clay with their fore-mandibles, passing it on to the second pair of feet, and then to the large foliated expansions of the hind-shanks, patting it in the process, till the little hodsmen have as much as they can carry, when they fly off with their loads to their nests. One species builds a tubular gallery of clay of a trumpet shape at the mouth. Here a number of the pigmy bees are stationed to act the part of sentinels.

Thus the melipona bees are masons as well as workers in wax and pollen gatherers. Although they have no sting, they defend their habitations, and bite furiously when disturbed. Bates found forty-five species of these bees in different parts of the country, and one hundred and forty of other species. Several of them were attended by drones, which deposit their ova in the cells of the working bees, some of them having the dress and general appearance of their victims.

Butterflies.

This is a region of magnificent butterflies. In the neighbourhood of Para alone seven hundred species have been found. Many seldom leave the shady paths which pierce the forests; others, however, occasionally come forth into the broad sunlight and more open glades. See the slender Morpho menelaus, with splendid metallic blue wings seven inches in expanse, flapping them as does a bird as it flies along.

Far surpassing it, however, is the Morpho rhetenor; which, conscious of its beauty, revels in the sunlight, but seldom ventures nearer than twenty feet from the ground. So dazzling a lustre have the upper wings of this butterfly, that when it flaps them occasionally, and the blue surface flashes in the sunlight, it may be seen a quarter of a mile off.

Another species of the same genus has a satiny white hue; but, infinite as they are in number, so most diversified are they in their habits, mode of flight, colours, and markings. Some are yellow, others bright red, green, purple, and blue. Many are bordered or spangled with metallic lines and spots of a silvery or golden lustre. Some have wings transparent as glass.

One of these (the Hetaira esmeralda) is especially beautiful, having an opaque spot on its wings, of a violet and rose hue; and as this is the only part visible when the insect is flying low over the dead leaves of the darker recesses of the forest—where it is alone found—it looks like the wandering petal of a flower.

Of moths, too, there are great numbers,—among them, the Erebus strix, the largest of its family, sometimes measuring nearly a foot in expanse of wing. In the open sunny spots the bright air is often alive with superb dragonflies. Upwards of one hundred species are found near Para. Some live only in the gloom of the forest. Often, however, they are the most beautiful, being more brightly coloured and delicate in construction than the others. Many delight to flit over the igarapes and calm pools.

Among these, the Chalcopteryx rutilans has four wings, each transparent,—while the hind-wings, of a dark colour, glitter with a violet and golden effulgence. They all wage unceasing war against the day-flying insects. When one is captured, the dragon-fly retires to a tree, and there, seated on a branch, devours the body at its leisure. It is wonderful the number of flies which these beautiful insects destroy. When evening comes on they eagerly fly off to the chase, amid the swamps and around the tree-tops, or wherever their victims congregate.

Part 3—Chapter XVII.

The Wonders of the Waters.

The Manatee, or Cow-Fish.

To maintain the claim of its ocean character, the Amazon possesses that huge, whale-like creature the manatee, or cow-fish, called by the Brazilians peixe boi, or vacca marina. It is generally about seven or eight feet long, though it attains a length of ten feet or more, and nine feet and upwards in girth. On the upper part the body is perfectly smooth, and of a lead colour. It tapers off towards the tail, which is flat, horizontal, and semicircular, without any appearance of hind-limbs. The head is in reality small, and the neck undistinguishable; though it has an enormous mouth, with fleshy lips like those of a huge cow, with an ugly countenance. On the lips are stiff bristles, while a few hairs only are scattered over the body. Just behind the head are two powerful oval fins, beneath which, in the female, are the breasts. The ears are very minute holes, and the eyes are extremely small. The skin of the back is fully an inch thick; and beneath it is a layer of fat, also an inch or more in thickness. The fins of the fore-limbs consist of bones exactly corresponding to those of the human arm, with five fingers at the extremity—every joint distinct, although completely encased in its thick inflexible skin.

The manatee ranges from the mouth of the Amazon to the upper waters. It feeds on the grass growing on the borders of the lakes and rivers. It swims at a rapid rate, moved by the tail and paddles. The creature is hunted and killed by the natives with harpoons, the flesh being much sought after. The taste is somewhat between that of pork and beef. The natives dress it by cutting the meat into small pieces and sticking them on skewers, which they place in a slanting position over the flames to roast.

The female produces one, though sometimes two at a birth, which she holds in her paddles while giving suck. From twenty to twenty-five gallons of oil are obtained from each sea-cow. The poor manatee, little able to defend itself, has other enemies besides man. The jaguar lies in wait for it on the trunk of a tree overhanging the placid pool, and seizing it with his powerful claws as it swims by, holds it in a vice-like grasp, from which in spite of its strength it in vain endeavours to escape.

Those who have voyaged on the ocean, know the solemn feeling and the idea of vastness which is conveyed during a calm at night, when monsters of the deep are heard far and near as they come to the surface to inhale the air, or “blow,” as it is called. The same feeling is experienced by the traveller up the Amazon when on board his montaria at anchor, when he hears the splashing and snorting sounds of its numerous inhabitants, as they rise through the mirror-like plain, in which countless thousands of bright stars are reflected. Here fresh-water dolphins roam in great numbers. In the Lower Amazon are two species; one of which,—the tucuxi,—when it comes to the surface to breathe, rises horizontally, showing first the back of its fin, and then, drawing an inspiration, generally diving down head-foremost; and another, called the bonto by the natives. When it rises, it first shows the top of the head, and then floating onwards, immediately afterwards dips its head downwards, its back curving over—exposing successively the whole dorsal ridge without showing the tail-fin; the well-known mode in which the sea-porpoise swims, which makes it appear to pitch head over heels. The natives regard the bonto or largest species with especial awe, and will never kill one voluntarily. Though their fat yields an excellent oil for lamps, they believe that blindness would result from its use.

The bonto is supposed to possess the characteristic of the malign water-nymphs of the Old World. They have a legend that a bonto was in the custom of assuming the shape of a beautiful woman, with hair hanging loose down to her heels; who, going on shore, endeavoured to entice young men to the river. When any unhappy youth, smitten with her charms, was induced to follow her to the water’s edge, she would grasp her victim round the waist, and plunging beneath the waves with a triumphant shriek, disappeared with him for ever.

Piranha.

There are several kinds of piranha, many of which abound in the waters of the Tapajos. The piranha, called also the caribe, is a kind of salmon (Tetragonopterus). They are caught with any kind of bait, their taste being indiscriminate, and their appetite most ravenous. They frequently attack the legs of bathers near the shore, inflicting severe wounds with their strong triangular teeth.

The Diodon.

The smaller inhabitants of the ocean are also represented in these fresh-waters. The little mamayacÚ, a species of diodon, which in the ocean attains a foot in length, is found in the Amazon three or four inches long, of a pretty green colour, banded with black. On being caught—which it easily is—it becomes in the hand as round as a ball. The natives, when a person gets corpulent, tell him that he has grown as fat as a mamayacÚ.

The ocean species, from having the skin about the abdomen looser than that above, floats, when it becomes distended with air, with its back downwards. It can thus move about as rapidly as in its usual position, by aid of its pectoral fins. By the movement of its jaws it makes a curious noise, and can give with its sharp teeth a severe bite. The skin is also covered with small spikes, which, when thus inflated, become erect and pointed.

It thus, though at first sight looking as helpless as can be, is well able to defend itself.

The diodon has been known to be swallowed alive by a shark, in whose stomach it was found floating, probably supported by the air with which it had become inflated. It is asserted that it also frequently eats its way, not only through the coats of the shark’s stomach, but through the sides of the monster, which is thus killed. Probably the little diodon of the Amazon has a similar means of revenging itself on the voracious monsters to whom it falls a prey; and though it might not be able to liberate itself through the scaly back of an alligator, it would inevitably kill the monster, or cause him such pain as to make him repent having swallowed so indigestible a morsel.

The magnificent pirarucÚ or anatto, of vast size, with its ornamental coat of mail, and broad large scales margined with bright red, peoples the waters in immense numbers. It is most frequently caught by the native fishermen; and when salted, forms the staple food of all classes on the banks of the Lower Amazon. It swims at great speed, and attains the length of eight feet when full-grown, and five feet in girth. The Indian name of pirarucÚ is given to it from the native words pira, fish, and urucÚ, red; in allusion, says Mr Bates, to the red colour of the borders of its scales.

Among the other fish most frequently caught are the surubim and piraepiÉua (species of Pimelodus); very handsome fishes, four feet in length, with flat spoon-shaped heads, and prettily spotted and striped skins—two long feelers hanging from each side of their jaws like trailing moustaches.

The Acara.

The larger animals which inhabit the mighty river and the network of streams and pools which surround it on both sides, have been described; but numerous smaller creatures dwell within it, equally curious, and many totally unlike those to be found in other parts of the world. It has generally been supposed that, of all creatures, fish are the most destitute of parental feelings, and that from the moment the eggs have been deposited in the sand or mud, they are allowed to struggle into existence as best they can, to do battle with their foes, and the numerous dangers to which they are exposed. In the acara, however, we have an example of parental care and watchfulness unrivalled by any terrestrial animal.

The male of this curious fish has a conspicuous protuberance on the forehead, wholly awanting in the female and the young. Somehow or other, the eggs of the female are conveyed into the mouth of the male, the bottom of which is lined by them, between the inner appendages of the branchial arches, and especially into a pouch formed by the upper pharyngeals, which they completely fill. They are there hatched; and the little ones, freed from the egg, are developed until they are in a condition to provide for their own existence. In their head there is a special lobe of the brain, similar to those of the triglas, which sends large nerves to that part of the gills protecting the young, thus connecting the care of the offspring with the organ of intelligence. In this curious cavity of the father’s head the young fish are found in all stages of development,—the more advanced, a quarter of an inch long, and able to swim about, full of life and activity. These appear to exist outside the gills, within the cavity formed by the gill-coverts and the wide branchiostigal membrane. The eggs remain in the back part of the gills.

The parent’s care does not appear to cease even when the young are fully developed, but he allows them to swim in and out, and try their powers, if not to search for food; and when danger appears, opens his mouth, when they all swim back again in a shoal, for safety. The natives assert that some species, at all events, are not actually developed in the parent’s head, but are laid and hatched in the sand, the male and female watching carefully over them; and that the father only takes charge of them when they are hatched, and receives them within his mouth to protect them from danger. From the observations of Professor Agassiz, however, there is no doubt that in some species, at least, the whole process of development is begun and completed in the gill cavity.

The species which lay their eggs in the sand belong to the genera Hydrogonus and Choetobranchus. They build a kind of flat nest in the sand or mud, in which they deposit their eggs, hovering over them until the young are hatched.

Curious also is the little bill-fish—the lymnobellus—with its long beak.

Another fish (the anojas), common in the Amazon, takes shelter—for it cannot be said to build a nest—in a hollow log. It belongs to the genus Auchenipterus. Numbers of this fish are found crowded in dead logs at the bottom of the river. One examined by the Professor, was filled with fish of all sizes, from those several inches long to the tiniest young. The fish were so dexterously packed into the log from one end to the other, that it was impossible to get them out without splitting it open, when they were all found alive and in a perfectly good condition. They could not have been jammed artificially into the hollow wood in that way without injuring them.

Anableps.

We have heard of blind fish, but here is one—called by the Indians tralhote, and known to naturalists as the Anableps tetraophthalmus, signifying “four-eyed”—possessing four eyes. A membraneous fold, enclosing the bulb of the eye, stretches across the pupil, dividing the visual apparatus into the upper and lower half; a curious formation, suited to the peculiar habits of the anableps. These fishes gather in shoals on the surface of the water, their heads resting partly above and partly below the surface, and they move by a leaping motion somewhat like that of frogs on land. Thus, half in and half out of the water, they require eyes adapted for seeing in both elements, and the arrangement described just meets this want.

The Parrot-Fish.

The birds of the air have, in this region, their representatives in the water. Among them is the curious and handsome pirarara, or parrot-fish. It is a heavy, broad-headed creature, with a bony shield over the whole head. Its general colour is jet-black, its bright yellow sides deepening into orange here and there. The yellow fat of this fish has a curious property. The Indians assert that when parrots are fed upon it they become tinged with yellow, and they often use it to render their papagaios more variegated.

The Gymnotus.

On the Amazonian waters is found the carapus, called by the Brazilians sarapo, belonging to the genus Gymnotus; though far smaller than the electric gymnotus. They are very numerous, and the most lively of the whole group. Their motions are winding and rapid, like those of the eel; but yet different, inasmuch as they do not glide quickly forward, but turn frequent somersaults, and constantly change their direction.

Localisation of Fish.

The researches of Professor Agassiz prove that the localisation of species of fish in these waters is peculiarly distinct and permanent, their migrations being very limited—consisting chiefly in removing from shallow to deeper waters, and from these to shallow again, at those seasons when the range of the shore in the same water-basin is affected by the rise and fall of the river. Thus, the fishes found at the bottom of a lake covering, perhaps, a square mile in extent when the waters are lowest, will appear near the shores of the same lake when, at the season of high-water, it extends over a much wider area. In the same way, fishes which gather near the mouth of a rivulet at the time of low-water, will be found as high as its origin at the period of high-water; and those which inhabit the larger igarapes on the sides of the Amazon, when they are swollen by the rise of the river, may be found in the Amazon itself when the stream is low. There is not a single fish known to ascend from the sea to the higher courses of the Amazon at certain seasons, and to return regularly to the ocean.

The striking limitation of species within different areas does not, however, exclude the presence of certain kinds of fish simultaneously throughout the whole Amazonian basin. The piraracu, for instance, is found everywhere from Peru to Para; and so are a few other species more or less extensively distributed over what may be considered distinct ichthyological fauna. But these wide-spread species are not migratory. They have normally and permanently a wide range—just as some terrestrial animals have an almost cosmopolitan character—while others are circumscribed within comparatively narrow limits.

Surprising indeed is the variety of species of fishes contained in the Amazonian basin. Professor Agassiz, during his expedition, collected nearly two thousand, “for the most part,” as he observes—and which is still more surprising—“circumscribed within different limits, from Tabalinga to Para, where the waters differ neither in temperature, nor in the nature of their bed, nor in the vegetation along their borders. There are met with, from distance to distance, assemblages of fishes completely distinct from each other.”

Still more curious, perhaps, is the intensity with which life is manifested in these waters. All the rivers in Europe, from the Tagus to the Volga, do not nourish a hundred and fifty species of fresh-water fishes; and yet in a little lake near Manaos, called Lago Hyanuary, the surface of which hardly covers four or five hundred square yards, more than two hundred distinct species were discovered, the greater part of which have not been observed elsewhere.

Gymnotus, or Electric Eel.

In the forest pools, as well as in the marshy ponds and slow-flowing rivers of the Llanos, numbers of huge serpentlike heads may be seen bobbing above the surface; or a huge, thick-bodied, yellow, snake-like creature may be caught sight of gliding through the water. It is the gymnotus electricus, or electric eel,—one of the many curious inhabitants of this region,—from two to five, and even eight feet in length. Though really a fish, it resembles the eel, but is stouter in its proportions. It is nearly equal in thickness throughout. It has a rude, depressed, and obtuse head, and a compressed tail. So great is the electric power it possesses, that when in full vigour it is able to kill the largest animal, when it can unload its electric organs in a favourable direction. All other fish, knowing by instinct the deadly effects of its stroke, fly from the formidable gymnotus. When fish are struck, or any animals which enter the pools inhabited by gymnoti—to drink, or cool their bodies, heated by the burning sun of the Llanos—they become stupified, and thus easily fall a prey to the electrical tyrant.

The natives of Venezuela employ a cruel mode of catching the creatures, which, notwithstanding their nature, they use as food. Placing but little value on mules and horses, they collect a number of these animals, and, armed with harpoons and long slender rods, drive them with shouts towards a pool inhabited by gymnoti. The noise of the horses’ hoofs and the men’s shrieks make the fish issue from the mud, when the huge, hideous creatures swim on the surface of the water, and crowd under the bellies of the horses and mules. Some of the Indians climb the trees; others stand round the margin, urging forward the unfortunate animals, and preventing them from making their escape. The fish defend themselves by frequent discharges of their electric batteries. At first they seem likely to prove victorious. Some of the quadrupeds sink beneath the violence of the invisible strokes which they receive from all sides, and, stunned by the force and frequency of the shocks, disappear under water; others, with their manes erect and eye-balls wild with pain, strive to escape the electric storm which they have aroused, but are driven back by the shouts and long whips of the excited Indians. The livid, yellow eels, like great water-snakes, swim near the surface and pursue their enemy. After the conflict has lasted a quarter of an hour or so, the mules and horses appear less alarmed. They no longer erect their manes, and their eyes express less pain and terror. The eel-like creatures, instead of advancing as at first, swim to the shore, when the Indians attack them with their harpoons, and by means of a long cord attached to it, jerk the fish out of the water, without receiving any shock, as long as the cord remains dry.

Such is the description given by Humboldt, a witness of the extraordinary scene. The employment of their electric powers is evidently spontaneous, and exhausts the nervous energy. Like voluntary muscular effort, it needs repose, and the creatures require an abundance of nourishment and rest before a fresh accumulation of electricity is produced.

In the dry season they form deep circular holes for themselves in the mud of water-courses, and marshes which remain filled with moisture, and they are thus able to support existence in their usual localities, while alligators and turtles have to retire to the larger pools or rivers. In the shallow ponds of the forest they are easily driven out with long poles.

Bates amused his native companions, who had thus caught some of the creatures, by showing them how the electric shock could pass from one person to another. They joined hands in a line, while he touched the biggest and freshest of the animals on the head with the point of his hunting-knife. He found, however, that the experiment did not succeed more than three times with the same eel when out of the water, for the fourth time the shock was scarcely perceptible.

The limbs even of the strongest man are benumbed, and he is struck down helpless, by a discharge from the battery of the gymnotus. The organs which produce this curious electrical effect are placed along the under side of the tail. They may be compared to a series of columns inclosed in a thin membrane packed closely together, which, consisting of a series of fiat discs, may be imitated by placing a number of coins with their discs parallel to each other, and with a bladder between each, separated by a gelatinous substance. These columns are technically called septa; and La CepÈde calculates that two hundred and forty transverse membranes are packed in each inch, thereby giving to an electric eel eight feet in length an organ cavity of two hundred and forty-six square feet—an enormous extent, as may be supposed, of electricity producing surface. The whole apparatus is supplied with nerves which run through the entire length of the body.

Sting-Rays.

A fresh-water species of sting-ray is an inhabitant of the creeks and lagoons of stagnant water; and so infested are some of them with the creatures, that it is almost certain destruction to venture into them. The sting-ray is circular and flat, with a tail above a foot in length, very thick at the base, and tapering towards the end. Near the middle, on the upper part, it is armed with a long and sharp-pointed sting, finely serrated on two sides, which the fish can raise or depress at will. When disturbed, by a quick movement of the tail out darts its sting towards the object, which it seldom fails to reach. The wound thus inflicted is so severe that the whole nervous system is convulsed, the person becoming rigid and benumbed in a few moments. Long after the most violent effects of the wound have subsided, the part affected retains a sluggish ulceration, which has often baffled the skill of the best surgeons.

They frequent the shallow banks of muddy pools, where they may be constantly seen watching for their prey, and, as if conscious of their powers, scarcely deign to move off when approached. They have their enemies in vultures and other birds of prey; and as they are considered fit for food, war with spear and talon is constantly waged upon them.

Serrosalmus Piraya.

In the Orinoco another dangerous creature exists, called by the natives piraya, with a head shaped somewhat like a sabre. The lower jaw is furnished with a formidable pair of fangs, not unlike those of the rattlesnake. With these it inflicts a gash as smooth as if cut with a razor.

The Caribe.

Every feature of the savage caribe denotes the ferocity and sanguinary nature of its tastes. The piercing eye, surrounded by a bloody-looking ring, is expressive of its cruel and bloodthirsty disposition. Its under jaw, lined with a thick cartilaginous membrane, adds greatly to its strength, protruding considerably beyond the upper, and increasing the ferocious expression of its countenance. Large spots of a brilliant orange hue cover a great portion of its body. Towards the back it is of a bluish ash colour, with a slight tint of olive-green; the intermediate spaces being of pearly white, while the gill-coverts are tinged with red.

So sharp are its triangular teeth, arranged like those of the shark, that neither twine, copper, nor steel can withstand them. At the sight of any red substance, blood especially, they swim forward to the attack; and as they usually move in swarms, it is extremely dangerous for man or beast to enter the water with even a scratch upon their bodies. Horses wounded by the spur are particularly exposed to their attacks when fording a stream; and so rapid is the work of destruction, that unless immediate assistance is rendered, the fish soon penetrate the abdomen of the animal and destroy it: hence the name given to them by the Spaniards means “tripe-eater.” When a net is drawn on shore, numbers of these little pests are seen jumping in the crowd, their jaws wide open, tearing whatever comes in their way, and especially the meshes of the nets, which they soon render useless.

Some tribes of natives place their dead in the water, when these creatures speedily eat the flesh off the bones, which are then preserved in baskets.

Even human beings, when bathing, or fording rivers, are attacked by these terrible little cannibals;—for cannibals they are, as, whenever any of their own race are killed, they instantly attack and devour them.

There are other species of this fish,—among them the black caribe of the Orinoco. There is also a small species—a harmless, pretty little fish, of a bright green colour on the back, and a white belly streaked with pink. The teeth are used by the Macoushi Indians for sharpening the points of their poisoned arrows. This they do by drawing them rapidly between two of the teeth, in the way that knives are sharpened by two circular steel files, now in common use.

Adaptation of Animals to their destined Mode of Existence.

Strange and unfitted for existence as are many of the animals formed by the Almighty to the short-seeing eye of mortals, on a further acquaintance with them all will be discovered admirably suited to the life they are destined to enjoy. Following Waterton, we may take five as an example. The sloth, which has four feet, is unable to use them to support his body on the earth. They are destitute of soles, and the muscles requisite for progress in a perpendicular position; yet no creature is more thoroughly at home when clinging to the trees on which it has been created to exist. The ant-bear, without a tooth in his head, roves fearlessly in the forests inhabited by the jaguar and boa-constrictor. The sharp claws of his fore-feet enable him to confront the former, and his powerful muscular body and thick hair set even the boa at defiance. The vampire is unable to use his feet for walking, but he possesses a membrane, stretched by means of his legs, which enables him to mount up into an element where no other quadruped can follow. The armadillo, without fur or wool or bristles, has in their stead a movable shell placed on his back, so formed that he can roll himself up in a ball, while with his sharp claws he can dig rapidly into the earth to escape his foes. The tortoise is compelled to accommodate itself to the shell, which is hard and inflexible, and in no way obedient to the will of its bearer; yet that very shell, although so apparently inconvenient, serves as its protection. The turtle is protected in the same way; but its delicious flesh brings numerous enemies to attack it, from whom it has a hard task to escape. The egg of the tortoise, it may be remarked, has a very hard shell; while that of the turtle is quite soft.

Part 3—Chapter XIX.

Indian Weapons and Modes of Killing Game.

The Blow-Pipe.

The Indian, destitute of firearms, ranges through the forest in chase of the fiercest and largest animals which haunt its shade, armed with a slender tube, and a quiver full of needle-like arrows. The tube, ten or eleven feet long, is the celebrated gravatana, or blow-pipe; called also the zarabatana by the Spaniards. Slight as are the arrows which are blown through this weapon, they will penetrate the thickest hide; and being tipped with a deadly poison, carry death through the veins of the wounded animal in the course of a few minutes.

Blowpipes are formed in various ways,—for one, the stems of a small palm, the triatea setigera, are used. Outside they appear pointed, from the scars of the fallen leaves, but within they have a soft pith, which soon rots in water, and is easily extracted, leaving a smooth, polished bore. They vary from the thickness of a finger to two inches in diameter. Each of these stems is slender, the one of a size which may be pushed inside the larger. This is done that any curve in the one may counteract that in the other. A conical wooden mouthpiece is fitted on the one end, and the whole is spirally bound with the smooth black bark of a creeper. Two teeth, fastened about a couple of feet apart from the mouth end, serve as sights to enable the sportsman to take better aim. The end applied to the mouth is bound round with a small silk-grass cord to prevent it splitting; while the other is strengthened by having the seed of a nut, with a hole cut through it, secured round it.

The arrows, from nine to ten inches long, are made from the leaves of a species of palm, or from the spinous processes of the patawÁ, pointed as sharp as a needle. The other end is burned hard, and round it is wound a little conical tuft of tree-cotton, the silky covering of the bomba, so as exactly to fill up the bore of the tube. They are carried in a quiver, which holds some hundreds. It is in shape somewhat like a backgammon dice-box, formed of basketwork, and covered with a piece of the skin of the tapir. To it is attached a bunch of silk-grass, a small piece of bone for scratching the point of the arrows, and a basket for holding wild honey secured round the blunt end. The points of the arrows are tipped with the deadly wourali or urali poison.

Another kind of gravatana is made of two separate pieces of wood, each scooped out so as to form one half of the tube. The two halves are then secured together, by binding round them spirally long fiat strips of the jacitira, or wood of the climbing palm-tree, the whole being afterwards smeared over with the black wax of the melipona bee. The tube tapers towards the muzzle, and a cup-shaped mouthpiece is fitted in the broad end. It is so heavy that only a strong man, accustomed to its use, can employ it.

The boys learn to shoot with a smaller and lighter instrument. The tools used are made of the incisor teeth of the paca and cavy. A light arrow is put in at the inner end, and when the ball of silk-cotton secured to the shafts fits tightly, it can be propelled with such force by the breath that it makes a noise almost as loud as a pop-gun when flying from the muzzle. An expert Indian can propel arrows so as to kill at a distance of fifty or sixty yards. It is more useful in the forest than a gun, for the report of firearms alarms the birds or monkeys, while the silent poisoned dart brings them down one by one, until the sportsman has a heap of slain by his side.

Wourali Poison.

The wourali poison is made chiefly by the natives of the northern part of the Amazonian valley. It is looked upon as an important and somewhat mysterious operation. Waterton and Schombergh describe it. The Indian, when preparing to concoct this deadly compound, goes into the wilds where grows a vine—the strychnos toxifera. After this he collects a number of bundles, and then takes up a root with an especially bitter taste. After this he searches for two bulbous plants, which contain a green and glutinous juice; and lastly, collects two species of ants—one very large and black, and so venomous that its sting produces fever, and another little red ant which stings like a nettle. Having scraped the wourali vine and bitter root into thin shavings, he puts them into a sieve made of leaves, which he holds over the earthen pot, pouring water on them. A thick liquor comes through, having the appearance of coffee. He then produces the bulbous stalks, and squeezes a portion of the juice into the pot. He now adds the pounded fangs of the labarri and counacouchi snakes,—which he generally has in store, as well as the ants. The ingredients are next boiled over a slow fire, and the scum being taken off, the liquid remains till it becomes reduced to a thick syrup of a deep brown colour. It is now fit for use. The arrows are then dipped into it, and if it is found of sufficient strength, it is poured into small pots, which are covered over with leaves and a piece of deer-skin. It is then kept in a dry place, or suspended occasionally over a fire, to counteract the effects of damp.

The poison must be fresh to kill speedily. A bird dies in a minute or so, and the largest animals only survive a few minutes after being struck. Salt is almost a certain antidote to the poison. The Indians, when they wish to preserve an animal alive, scrape off part of the poison, and, as soon as the animal falls, put salt into its mouth, when it speedily recovers. Monkeys are frequently captured in this way. Europeans accustomed to eat salt seldom suffer from the effects of the poison; though it is said to produce its usual deadly effects on the natives, when wounded by it, as they rarely or never consume salt.

The flesh of the animals killed is in no way injured by the poison, nor does it appear to corrupt sooner than that killed by the gun or knife.

Bows, with arrows four or five feet long, are used to kill the larger animals. The arrows are made of a yellow reed without joint or knot. A piece of hard wood is inserted into the end, and in this a square hole is made, tightly bound round with cotton to keep it from splitting. Into this square hole a spike is fitted, and dipped in the poison, while at the butt-end a couple of feathers are fastened to steady it in its flight. The hunter carries a number of these poisoned spikes. As the spike easily breaks off, or slips out when the animal is wounded, he recovers his shaft, into which he can easily refit another spike. The spikes are cut half through, to facilitate their breaking off.

TimbÓ.

The Indian has also discovered the means of poisoning the fish of the lakes and pools, as well as the birds of the air. He extracts the poison from a certain liana—the paullinia pinnata—which he calls timbÓ. To do so, he collects a few pieces, about a yard long, and mashes and soaks them in water, which soon becomes discoloured with the milky poisonous juice of the plant. This he carries in a calabash, and pours out on the water. In about half an hour, all the smaller fish, over a wider space than that which he has sprinkled with the juice, rise to the surface, floating on their sides, with their gills wide open. So powerful is its nature, that but a slight quantity appeal’s sufficient to stupify them. Some time afterwards the larger fish appear; and even for twenty-four hours afterwards a number rise floating dead on the surface. The fish are evidently suffocated by the poison.

Mode of Shooting and Netting Turtle.

Both fish and turtle are shot by the natives with arrows. The Indian takes his post on a little stage made of poles and cross-pieces of wood, secured with lianas, on the margin of the pools frequented by the turtles, armed with his bow and arrows. The arrow used for killing the latter has a strong lancet-shaped steel point fitted into a peg which enters the tip of the shaft. The peg is secured to the shaft by twine made of the fibres of pineapple leaves. The line, some thirty or forty yards long, is neatly wound round the body of the arrow. When the muzzle enters the shell the peg drops out, and the pierced animal descends with it towards the bottom, leaving the shaft floating on the surface. The sportsman, hastening to the spot in his canoe, sends another arrow into the turtle, and then humouring it by means of the two cords, quickly gets it on board. It is extraordinary, the skill the Indians will display on these occasions. They do not even wait for the turtle coming to the surface, but watch for the tracks which it makes in the water when swimming beneath it, and shoot with unerring aim.—At certain seasons turtle in vast shoals wend their way up the Orinoco, when, as they come to the surface to breathe, the Indians—who are on the watch—shoot them with heavy arrows, which, falling perpendicularly, pierce their thick coats; and they drift on shore, or are picked up by the canoes kept in readiness for that purpose. Nets also are employed: the depth is about equal to that of the water; while the floats, buoyed up on the surface, thus form a complete track. One party takes either end of the net, while the rest beat the water with poles, in order to drive the turtles towards the middle. As the beaters advance, numbers of little snouts suddenly popping above the water show that all is going on well. The beaters continue shouting and striking the water with great vigour. The ends of the nets are then seized by numerous strong hands and dragged quickly forward, forming a circle to inclose all the body. The canoes being brought up, the turtles are thrown into them. Mr Bates describes having seen fully eighty turtles secured thus in about twenty minutes.

Another Mode of Catching Fish.

The natives on the banks of the northern rivers also employ a poisonous root for catching fish. It resembles a turnip, with a small plant rising from it, and is called by them cima. A decoction of it being made, it is mixed with boiled maize ground into paste. The Indian and his family go forth to the pool with a number of baskets to carry home their prey. Besides the poison-paste, he supplies himself with some pellets of paste free from it. On arriving at the pool or stream, he throws a quantity of the latter into the water, which attracts a variety of small fish from all quarters. He then begins to throw in the poisoned bait, which is no sooner swallowed than the fish begin to leap out of the water, and tumble about in all sorts of ways, when they are easily caught by the children, and thrown into their baskets, which in a short time are filled.

The Indians of the Orinoco also entrap fish in other ways. When the waters begin to ebb at the end of the rainy season, they form strong stockades across the outlet of the great lagoons in which a number of the larger fish, as well as turtles of enormous size, have taken refuse. The stakes of these stockades are driven into the bed of the channel, close enough to allow of the exit of the water and the smaller fish only. It is further secured by cross-beams thrown across the channel. Sometimes, however, so numerous are the fish, and so enormous their size, that they break through the stockade in spite of all the precautions taken.

Poisoning Birds.

In the neighbourhood of the Apoure, in Venezuela, a poisonous shrub abounds—the deadly guachamaca—belonging to the family of Apocinese, or dog-bane. The natives make a strong decoction from it, into which they dip a number of small fish, and spread them about in the neighbourhood of lagoons frequented by cranes, herons, and other aquatic birds, hiding themselves near at hand. Before the bird has fairly swallowed the fish it drops dead, when the hunter, cutting off the head and neck, carries off the body as his prize. It is said that when meat has been roasted on spits made of this wood, it has absorbed sufficient poison to destroy all who ate it.

The Long-Bow.

Some tribes, using a powerful long-bow, shoot birds in the air at a great distance. The hunter, throwing himself on his back, with his quiver by his side, places his feet against the bow, raised to the required elevation, and thus, stretching out his legs, draws the arrow to his head on the ground. By this means he is enabled to kill wild fowl and other game at an enormous distance. An amusing writer on Venezuela mentions an Indian who used to place a piece of money on the top of a lemon, close to the point of the big toe on his left foot, and then, leaning backwards, bend his bow with the help of his right one, and shoot into the air at an angle of 85 degrees,—the arrow never failing when it turned round to come down and strike the coin. Another would shoot a bird soaring above his head, without looking at the bird,—guided only by the shadow cast upon the ground about mid-day.

Stalking Game.

In the same legion, the Indians form a sort of trumpet out of bamboo, covering one end with a thick membrane. On blowing through the other, a sound is produced resembling the bleating of a young fawn. Hiding himself behind a tree, the hunter decoys the doe towards his place of concealment, when he easily shoots her with his poisoned arrow.

The following is another device for approaching the deer in the open plains. These animals seem to have a peculiar fondness for the tall crane of the Llanos—a large white bird, with long, slender legs, and at least five feet in height. It has a pouch of a bright scarlet, and a bill nearly a foot long, and wide at the base, which enables it to swallow a large fish at a mouthful. The hunter forms a mask to resemble the head of the crane, and, clothing his own dark body in white, holding his weapon low down, goes off in the direction of the deer, taking care to approach it to leeward. He then imitates the movements of the crane. When the deer stops to look at him, he bends down his head as if feeding. As soon as the deer again begins to browse, the hunter carefully approaches it till he gets within range, and can shoot his deadly dart with certain aim.

Mode of Killing Alligators.

The Indian bravely attacks the huge alligator, fearless of its enormous jaws, sometimes shooting it with arrows from his bow. The arrows are fitted in the same way as those used for killing turtle—the head remaining in the body of the animal, while the shaft, secured to it by a line, floats on the surface; which showing the direction taken by the saurian, it is chased and transfixed by either lances or arrows till it dies from exhaustion. On these occasions it is often attacked, it is said, by the caribes, and partially devoured, before it can be dragged on shore.

The creatures are also caught by another device. A piece of hard wood, pointed at both ends, is covered up with a large fish or lump of meat, and then thrown into the water, with a strong rope attached to the middle. The instant it is seized, the hunters, who have hold of the other end, drag the creature on shore, and despatch it with clubs or darts.

A story is told of a Llanero, who, accustomed to desperate encounters with savage bulls and fierce jaguars, determined on one occasion, when compelled to cross the river, to brave the risk of an attack from an alligator known to infest it. Plunging into the stream, with his saddle on his shoulders to prevent its being wetted, and his sharp dagger in his teeth, he swam on his horse’s back. As those who saw him expected, the crocodile soon appeared. Boldly facing the creature, he approached its jaws, and, throwing his saddle at it, the alligator jumped partly out of the water to catch it. At that instant the daring Llanero plunged his dagger up to the very hilt into the arm-pit—the most vital part of the monster—when, with a tremendous splash, it instantly sank beneath the waves.

The tenacity of life exhibited by these monsters is often marvellous. Sir Robert Schombergh gives an account of shooting one when ascending the River Berbice. The snout was taken off by one ball, and another entered the hinder part of the skull, when the Indians, attacking it with their clubs, appeared completely to have knocked out every spark of life. It was at last hauled up and placed on the bow of the corial. While the corial was being drawn across the rapids, two of the Indians took up the cayman in order to lay it in a more convenient position. Scarcely had they done so, when at one bound it jumped into the river and disappeared. They could never afterwards be persuaded to touch a cayman.

Turtle-Catching and Collecting Eggs.

Both the Amazon and the Orinoco, with their tributaries, are frequented by several species of turtles. The mode employed for capturing the animals, as well as collecting the eggs, applies equally to both rivers.

There are several species of fresh-water turtles. The largest in the upper waters grow to a great size, measuring nearly three feet long, by two in breadth; so that one is a load for the strongest man. The Brazilian Government make regulations for protecting the turtles whilst laying, so that all the inhabitants on the banks may have an equal chance of procuring a supply of eggs. The natives collect from all quarters for this object. The turtles select the highest and driest banks composed of the finest sand, which will be a sufficient time above water to allow of the eggs being hatched by the heat of the sun. Some of these banks are of great extent—many miles long, and often one or more broad. They are the haunts and breeding-places of many different kinds of animals, and are covered by tracks of alligators and turtles. Not only do these here make their nests, but birds lay in them their eggs during the dry season; and different kinds of fish use them for the same purpose when covered with water. Here, too, the wonderful little acara are found, with their young in their heads; and there are also rounded shallow depressions in the mud, which the fishermen say are the sleeping-places of the skates. They are certainly about the size and form of a skate, and it can easily be believed that these singular impressions in the soft surface have been made in this way. The creatures, however, only frequent certain praias out of the number existing. When the waters overflow the land, the young turtles move into the interior, where they remain during their infant days in the numberless lakes and pools in the forest. As the dry season approaches, the full-grown turtles descend from the interior pools while the outlets are still open (between July and August), and seek in countless swarms their favourite banks. Sentinels are then posted on high lookout places, situated at the ends of the banks, where they may watch the proceedings of the creatures, and mark the spots they have chosen. They also warn off any fishermen who may approach, as the sight of a man or a fire on the sand-bank would prevent the turtles from leaving the water that night to lay their eggs; and, if frequently alarmed, they would forsake the praia for some other place.

The turtles lay their eggs by night—crawling in vast crowds to the central and highest part of the praia—and are occupied till dawn in the operation. They excavate with their broad-webbed paws deep holes in the fine sand. The first which arrives makes a pit about three feet deep, and lays its eggs—about one hundred in number—covering them with sand. The next makes its deposit at the top of the former; and so on till every pit is full. They are so careful in covering up the eggs, that, when they quit the spot, the only marks distinguishable are those which they make when returning to the water—as they go round and round the nest several times in succession to obliterate all traces. The sand, however, remains so loose, that it gives way under foot, and thus the Indian easily discovers the spot.

A body of turtles occupy several days in the operation; one party succeeding the other, night after night, till all have deposited their eggs. As the season advances, however, those who have arrived late, in their hurry to lay, appear to take fewer precautions. So powerful is the effect of the sun on these sand-banks, that a few days only are required to hatch the young turtles.

It has been so arranged by the Creator, that they always come forth at night, as the heat of the sun would kill them, and they would be devoured by birds of prey and other animals on the watch to seize the dainty morsels. Although the hole from which they emerge may be half a mile or more from the river, instinct teaches them to go in a direct line to the water. A number, however, are caught by their enemies; while enormous quantities of eggs are taken,—both to be used as food, and for the sake of the oil they contain.

A curious sight is witnessed from the top of the sentinel’s stage at daybreak. The sand appears blackened with the multitudes of turtles—which, after depositing their eggs, are waddling towards the river; and often, where the margin of the praia is steep, tumbling down the declivity into the water.

Oil from Turtles’ Eggs.

As soon as the eggs have been laid, the Indians, arriving in their canoes from all directions, with their families, build reed huts on the banks—some merely driving poles into the sand, from which to swing their hammocks. The canoes are then drawn up on the beach and thoroughly washed out, while the whole praia is covered with natives with the baskets on their backs in which they collect the eggs. The eggs are then cleansed from the grains of sand adhering to them, and emptied into the canoes, when they are trodden on by the children, much in the same way as grapes are mashed for wine-making. The canoes, when full, are left exposed to the sun’s rays, and in a short time a fine clear oil rises to the surface. It is then skimmed off with shells and put into large pots, when it is boiled over the fire and becomes purified. It is next transferred to jars, and is ready for use. It is finer and clearer than that produced from olives.

Meantime, any stray turtles which have delayed their departure, as frequently happens, are turned over on their backs. Holes are dug in the sand near the water, in which the young turtles are kept till required for eating. When not actually employed in picking up eggs or catching turtles, the whole population are engaged in feasting off them—an enormous quantity being thus consumed. The flesh of the animals is cut up and dressed in the shells, which serve as pots, without the danger of burning; and it is washed down with copious draughts of chica.

The female turtles contain an enormous number of eggs, apparently ready to be laid during a succession of years—from the large ones covered with a white membrane, down to a confused mass resembling mustard-seeds. As it requires five thousand to fill a jar of oil, and as many thousands of jars are collected, it may be conceived what an enormous number of eggs are deposited every year. Were it not that many turtles lay in solitary places, which the Indians have not discovered, the rivers would soon be depopulated. The Indian children watch for the creatures as soon as they are hatched, and collect great numbers.

Humboldt calculates that nearly a million turtles annually deposit their eggs on the banks of the Lower Orinoco. In the Amazon, already the turtles have greatly decreased in numbers; and Bates states that, where formerly he could buy one for ninepence, he could with difficulty procure them latterly for eight or nine shillings each. Every house on the banks has a little pond, called a corral, or pen, in the back-yard, to hold a stock of large turtle during the wet months, till a fresh supply can be procured in the dry season.

The tracaja, or smaller kind, which lays its eggs a month earlier than the larger species, seldom lives, in captivity, beyond a few days.

The natives cook the turtles in various ways. The entrails make a delicious soup, called sarapatel; while the flesh of the breast is mixed with farina, and roasted in the breast shell over the fire. Steaks, cooked with fat, make another dish; and large sausages, composed of the thick-coated stomach, filled with mince-meat, and boiled, are considered great delicacies. Bates, however, found, that though the flesh is very tender, palatable, and wholesome, it becomes cloying after a person has lived on it for some time; and he at length could not bear the smell, even though suffering from hunger.

Fishing-Nets and Baskets.

The tribes on the River Uape’s use several kinds of bows, some from five to six feet long,—the arrows being still longer. The shaft is made of the flower-stalk of the arrow-grass. The head is composed of hard wood pointed, and sometimes armed with a serrated spine of the ray-fish, covered thickly with poison, and notched, so as easily to break off—a most deadly weapon. Their arrows for shooting fish are armed with iron heads, while smaller arrows are used for shooting small game. These alone have feathers at the base, generally from the wings of the macaw. They are secured spirally, forming thus a little screw on the base of the arrow, causing it to revolve rapidly, and assisting to keep it in a direct course.

They employ also several sorts of hand-nets for catching fish: one is very similar to the folding nets of entomologists, and another is like a landing net. Rods and lines are generally used by them. They also catch fish by means of a small conical-shaped wicker basket. The larger end is completely open. Into this, which is placed in a current, the fish enter, and swimming rapidly on, jam themselves into the narrow end, where, unable to turn, they are completely secured. They also use large cylindrical baskets, with reversed cones in the mouth like those of lobster-pots, but of much greater size.

Fish are also caught by means of weirs. These are well built, supported by strong posts. They are formed when the water is low. As the water rises, the fish, keeping by the sides of the stream, are guided by the side wings of the weir into its narrow opening, out of which they cannot make their way. Not only fish, but turtles find their way into these weirs, and sometimes electric eels—as also those dreaded fish, the piranhas. The Indian gets the fish out by diving into the weir armed with a small hand-net, and sometimes with a knife. He first endeavours, however, to learn whether any of his foes are within, and gets them out first. Another kind of weir is formed on a still larger scale, generally beneath cataracts or waterfalls. It is similar to the eel-traps sometimes used at mills. As the water pours into it, the fish are often caught in great numbers. These traps, however, require a considerable amount of ingenuity and a great exertion of strength for their construction, as large timbers must be used, to withstand the strength of the current.

Canoes.

Most of the tribes make their canoes out of single trees, which they hollow and expand by means of a fire placed beneath them, gradually inserting wedges and cross-pieces. It is first reared on trestles, with a slit downwards over the fire—which is kept up for seven or eight hours. The process requires great and constant attention, to avoid cracks, and make the canoe bend with the proper dip at the two ends. Additional planks are often secured to the sides, while the stem and stern are formed of semicircular boards pegged on to the ends of the trunk. The seams are then caulked with gum. The paddles have oval blades, and are about three feet in length, cut out of single pieces.

Musical Instruments.

A somewhat complicated musical instrument, consisting of twelve pipes or trumpets, made of bamboos fastened together, with trumpet-shaped mouthpieces of bark, is used by one tribe of Indians. The sounds are not disagreeable, resembling somewhat clarionets and bassoons. No woman, however, is allowed to see them; and as soon as they are brought out, all the females hurry off to hide themselves. Should any one attempt to observe the mysterious instrument, she is immediately put to death,—generally by poison. A father or a husband would not hesitate on such an occasion to sacrifice his daughter or wife.

The Indians of the Uapes manufacture with great neatness a variety of articles, such as fine hammocks, baskets, and gourds—which they paint with elegant devices; also earthenware water-pitchers and pans for cooking, and clay ovens. They also show skill in making several musical instruments—like fifes and whistles, as also drums—and all sorts of ornaments for the person. Their feather dresses are remarkable for their elegance and the labour bestowed on them.

The Purupurus, one of the most savage tribes, have an instrument—employed by no others—called the palheta. It is a piece of wood with a projection at the end, in which the base of the arrow is secured. The arrow is held with the handle of the palheta in the hand, and thus thrown as a stone from a sling. The natives exhibit wonderful dexterity in the use of this weapon, and with the greatest facility kill birds, fish, and game of all sorts with it.

Part 4—Chapter I.

Northern Regions of South America.

Venezuela.

New Granada is almost entirely a mountain region, occupied by the northern end of the Andes, except where it slopes down towards the Isthmus of Panama and the Caribbean Sea. Venezuela, however, contains three distinct zones or characters of country—mountains, forests, and open plains. The mountain regions, which are also three in number, are separated by wide plains. On the west, the mountains belong to the Andes—being spurs of that range—a large portion consisting of table-lands, called paramos, from 10,000 to 14,000 feet above the sea-level. Among them lies the Lake of Maracaibo, ninety-two miles in length, and eighty-two in width—the largest in South America. On the north-east is the Sierra de Bergantin, and in the south-east the Sierra de Parima. The forests extend from the Orinoco southward, joining that of the Amazon—a vast tract, but seldom penetrated by the traveller.

The natives call the three zones into which they divide their country the Tierras Calidas, or hot countries—rising not more that 2000 feet above the sea, and in which only tropical plants and fruits flourish; the Tierras Templadas, or temperate country—from 2000 to 7000 feet above the sea, where the agricultural productions of Europe succeed best; and the Tierras Frias, or cold countries—which rise above the former, to the height of 15,000 feet, the summits of the mountains reaching 148 feet above the snow-line.

Two seasons exist in the tropics, into which the year is divided—the wet and the dry. Though the heat is greatest in the former, it is called winter, as the sun then passes twice over the zenith; while during the dry season, which is called summer, the sun is in the southern hemisphere. During the whole year the north-east trade-wind blows across the country, but modified in direction and force by these seasons.

In consequence of the very different elevations of the land, the productions of nearly all parts of the world can here be cultivated successfully. In the hot districts, chiefly bordered by the sea, cotton, indigo, cacao, coffee, sugar, tobacco, and cocoa-nuts come to perfection. The cocoa-palm, enjoying the advantage of the sea-breeze, here grows to a height of seven hundred feet above the ocean. No tobacco surpasses that of the well-known Varina. Barley and millet, as well as wheat, are produced on the more elevated tracts; while maize is cultivated all over the country.

The wide-extending marshes and pools are frequented by pelicans, herons, and wild geese, ducks, and flamingoes; while other birds—chiefly belonging to the Falconidae, Ardeidae, Strigidae, and Psittacidae—are numerous. The savage alligator and fearful anaconda abound in all the rivers and lakes; while the jaguar, puma, ounce, tiger-cat, monkey, tapir, capybara, porcupine, wild hog, sloth, and ant-eater range through its forests and savannahs.

Numerous tribes of the aborigines, driven back by the whites, exist in the remoter districts. They are generally of a dark copper colour, while some are of a lighter hue; and though building huts, most of them go almost naked. They exist on plantains, yucca, batatas, and the sugar-cane—which they rudely cultivate; and the fish, as well as the manatees and alligators, which swarm in their waters.

The neighbourhood of the Caraccas is described as a terrestrial paradise, where spring perpetually reigns. In this favoured region, all the fruits of the tropics come to the greatest perfection. The delicious chirimoya takes the first place. It is likened to lumps of flavoured cream, ready to be frozen, suspended from the branches of some fairy tree, amidst an overpowering perfume of flowers—for it is in bearing all the year round. “He who has not tasted the chirimoya fruit, has yet to learn what fruit is,” says Markham.

Here, too, the grandilla, in shape like a water-melon, hangs from its delicate tendrils. When cut open, it is found filled with a juice-like nectar, having the flavour of the strawberry and peach. A species, of cactus—the nopal—produces the tuna or Indian fig.

It is on the fleshy, downy stems of the cactus that the cochineal insect is reared, producing the valuable crimson dyes which outshine the vaunted productions of Tyre; and from the same family of plants rises the magnificent pitahaya,—“those flowers known for size and effulgence, which begin to open as the sun declines, and bloom during the night, shedding a delicious fragrance, and offering their brimful goblets, filled with nectareous juice, to thousands of moths and other crepuscular and nocturnal insects,” as Gosse describes it.

The splendid mammey apple-tree (Mammea Americana), which bears numbers of round and heavy fruits, brown outside, and of a golden yellow within, valued for the marmalades and other delicacies formed from them.

Of the same family as the chirimoya is the guanabana (Anona muricata), or sour sop, an unattractive name for so delicious a fruit. From it a cooling drink is made, and ices of fine flavour.

A near relative is the custard apple, filled with a ruddy compounded substance, which no cook can surpass. As also the riÑon (Anona squamosa), a kidney-like fruit in form, with a custard-like interior.

The superb alligator-pear, more properly called percia gratissima; its first name given probably from its being indigenous to a country abounding in saurian reptiles, otherwise it is difficult to account for its inappropriate designation. It resembles in shape a large pear; but the interior of its rind is lined with a marrow-like substance of a yellowish colour, somewhat like butter, and used at the breakfast-table.

Among other products is the tamarind, unrivalled either as regards beauty of foliage, brilliancy of blossoms, or the delicacy of its acidulous pulpy pods. In blossom the tree is a lovely object. Amid its feathery dark green foliage issue, in vast numbers, golden yellow branches with delicate flowers dazzling to the eye; while its fruits in a green state form a candied sweetmeat, or when ripe, and made into a decoction, a refreshing drink for fever-stricken patients.

The inaja-palm, of various species, produces pellucid pods, from one to two feet in length, containing a row of beans—enveloped in white cottony pulp—grateful to the taste.

The cocoa-palm, though at a distance from the coast, here flourishes in great perfection, adding to the splendour of the vegetation, with its glorious crown of monster leaves; while the plantain and banana are widely cultivated, a few plants of which are sufficient to supply a family with bread, vegetables, fruit, and preserves of various kinds. Humboldt observes that an area planted with plantains produces nearly twenty times as much food as the same space sown with corn.

Humming-Birds.

Amid this rich and varied vegetation, swarms of tiny and brilliant humming-birds flutter round the masses of highly-scented blossoms that perfume the air, and which might be mistaken by the stranger at first sight for some of the metallic-coloured beetles which dispute with them the nectar of the fragrant flowers, so brilliant is the lustre shed by both. As Gosse well remarks: “For that peculiar charm which resides in flashing light, combined with the most brilliant colours, the lustre of precious stones, there are no birds, no creatures, that can compare with the humming-birds, confined exclusively to America.” These lovely little winged gems were to the Mexican and Peruvian Indians the very quintessence of beauty; and were called by various names, signifying “the rays of the sun,” and the like. Fully four hundred distinct species of these winged gems are supposed to exist on the continent.

Trees.

Of the trees which have a wide range over the country, especially near the sea-coast, the lignum vitae is of great value. As from its hard nature it turns the edge of the best-tempered tools, it serves for the construction of wharves, as well as for the keels of ships,—the attacks of the teredo, or sea-worm, being futile upon the iron network of its fibres. It can remain under water for an indefinite period without rotting, and eventually becomes petrified.

Here the guayacan, or guayacum of the arts, is found in great abundance.

The alcornoque, a beautiful tree, scarcely inferior to it, here raises its graceful head above the rest, affording the cattle a permanent shade during the dry season; while in the Llanos it is used in the construction of houses and fences.

The Brazileto-wood tree grows in abundance, producing a beautiful dye.

Among others is the tree which yields the precious balsam of copaiba,—extracted by making incisions in the trunk, when the resinous fluid pours forth.

The natives form their piroques or canoes from the last which we will mention, the tacamahaca (the Elaphrium tornentosium), which here attains great dimensions. The bark is of the nature of the birch-bark of North America, and is stripped off the trees in a similar manner, the huge sheets being joined at the extremities by means of slender vines, while the interstices are filled with resin to keep out the water—the whole being then bound with stronger vines, and several sticks being fixed between the borders to prevent the bark from collapsing. The resin of this tree, an opaque lemon-coloured substance, resembles wax; and when mixed with algoroba, it forms a torch which burns with great brilliancy, and emits a delicious odour.

The vast Llanos, already mentioned, in the north cover a surface of about 110,600 square miles. Over a large portion of this wide-extending region, even the wild Indian, there unable to find subsistence, but seldom roamed; and thus for ages it remained a howling wilderness, inhabited, and that only at certain seasons, by the jaguar, the peccary, the agouti, and the timid deer. Here, when the summer sun sends down its burning rays day after day from a cloudless sky, the grass withered and shrivelled by its heat, the plain presents the appearance of a desert waste. No cooling breeze passes across it, no shelter is found from the scorching heat. The pools are dried-up, the surface of the swamps becomes cracked and dry—the brown stalks of the tall reeds alone marking the nature of the ground. Here, occasionally, when the blast sweeps across the plain, columns of dust are set in motion, like those of the African Sahara, overwhelming and stifling the incautious traveller, who is hurled senseless to the ground.

Here, too, as in other desert regions, the mirage mocks him as he journeys across it parched with thirst—often assuming a semblance of the ocean, slowly moving in wave-like undulations.

The few trees and shrubs which here and there rise from the plain assume a greyish-yellow tint, showing that the sap which has hitherto nourished their leaves has ceased to flow,—stopped by the burning heat, which has dried-up every particle of moisture from which they are wont to obtain nourishment. At this season even the animals take their departure; here and there the alligator and anaconda alone remain, in a torpid state, buried in the clay of the dried-up swamps.

The traveller who ventures across this arid region has not only to encounter the breath of the simoom, the sufferings of burning thirst, the attacks of wild beasts, the bite of the matacabello—which may kill his steed and leave him helpless—and many other dangers, but, more fearful than all, flames caused by some camp-fire incautiously left burning, seizing the parched vegetation, traverse the plain with inconceivable rapidity. He and his Indian guides, without whom he could not venture across it, discover far-away on the horizon columns of smoke ascending to the skies. The Indians, standing up in their stirrups, gaze at it anxiously for a moment to watch its direction, and then pressing their steeds to their utmost speed, urge him to fly for life. At first he can scarcely believe that yon distant line of smoke is menacing them with danger; but soon onwards it comes, the burning torrent rolling rapidly towards them. Now and then they turn their heads to watch its progress. In vain they look out in every direction for a darker patch in the plain, which may indicate a water pool, and amid which they may seek refuge. None appears. On they rush, urging their horses by whip and spur—their steeds seeming to know their danger. Already they see the bright glare of the flames below the dark mass of smoke. Already the bursting and crackling of the leaves, as the threatening column rushes on, reaches their ears. A fearful death is following them. At length the sharp eyes of one of the guides discover a slight eminence; towards this, though almost despairing of safety, they direct their course. They reach its base. It is but thinly covered with vegetation. Scarcely have they urged up their panting horses to the summit than the flames overtake them. And now the sea of fire rolls its devouring billows around, and the suffocating smoke, striking in their faces, compels them to fall on the ground, in the hope of obtaining sufficient air for breathing, till the flames have passed by. The fire mounts the hill, but happily, finding little nourishment, is speedily extinguished. And now the waving mass, rolling onwards, recedes further and further from their gaze.

Whole swarms of voracious vultures follow in circling flight the smoky column, like so many hungry jackals, and pounce upon the snakes and lizards which the blaze has stifled and half calcined in its murderous embrace. Then, with the rapidity of lightning, they dart on their prey and disappear in the clouds of smoke, as if they were voluntarily devoting themselves to a fiery death. Soon the deafening noise of the conflagration ceases, and the dense black clouds in the distance are the only signs that the flames are still proceeding on their devastating path over the wide waste of the savannah.

The travellers thus happily saved may now proceed on their course, provided they have a supply of water for themselves, and have certain information of the existence of some deep pool at which their steeds may quench their thirst. Let them be cautious, however, how they approach the pool; for beneath its surface the alligator and anaconda lie hid, or the electric eel—which with its powerful galvanic battery may strike the steed which ventures within its reach.

Even in this arid region the bountiful Creator has not left his creatures without the means of sustaining life. Here, on the driest soil, the globular melon-cactus, measuring a foot in diameter, flourishes; its tough and prickly skin surrounding a rich and juicy pulp. It is, however, covered with long, sharp thorns, which must be broken off before the refreshing juice can be obtained. It is curious that the wild horse and ox—strangers, as it were, to the region—are not possessed of the sagacity to do this; while the mule, when it discovers the melon, sets to work at once with its fore-feet, and then cautiously sips the refreshing liquid.

Day after day the sun, with a lurid glare spread far and wide over the cloudless sky, rises above the arid plains, drawing up every particle of moisture, and withering with the intense heat of his rays every blade of grass and green leaf, till it seems as if the whole region were doomed to eternal desolation. At length, however, a wonderful change takes place over the hitherto arid waste. A thick veil of mist is drawn across the blue sky. A low bank of clouds appears on the horizon. Gradually it rises, assuming the form of distant mountain-chains above the plain. Onwards it advances, increasing in density, while vivid flashes of lightning dart forth; the thunder is heard rolling in the distance, and now loud crashing peals burst from the clouds, which rapidly spreading across the vault of heaven, plenteous showers rush downwards on the parched earth, filling up the dry cracks in the marshes, replenishing the pools, and swelling the streams. The grass springs up on every long-dry spot, the leaves burst forth, while thousands of flowers of every tint and hue enamel the plain; and, as if by magic, the whole face of nature is in a few hours changed. In a short time the thorny bushes of the delicate and feathery-foliaged mimosas are loaded with masses of canary-coloured blossoms, from their summits down to the lowest branches, sending forth an almost overpowering perfume; while the fronds of the beautiful mauritias—the palm of the Llanos—rising to the height of one hundred feet above the plain, sprout forth in rich luxuriance.

Animal life, too, wakes up. The savage alligator and the huge anaconda crawl forth from the bed of clay in which they have passed their summer sleep, in search of prey; ibises, cranes, flamingoes, and numberless water-fowl, swarm on the newly-formed pools; the cattle of the Llaneros luxuriate in the abundant grasses which everywhere appear; while multitudes of insects crawl forth, seeking refuge from the flood in the higher grounds. The swollen rivers now inundate the plains, and the spots where the cattle wandered in vain to quench their thirst can now be passed for miles together by boats; and alligators lie in wait to seize in their savage jaws the horses and oxen compelled to swim across the flooded land in search of pasture.

The Llaneros.

Sterile as the Llanos appear during the dry season, numerous cattle-farms exist, scattered widely over large portions. The Llaneros, as the inhabitants are called—descendants of the white settlers, with an admixture of Indians and blacks—are a hardy, bold race, living almost entirely on horseback, engaged in watching over their herds, and in battling with the spotted jaguar, the savage cayman, the huge boa and anaconda, and occasionally the fierce natives of the surrounding deserts. Often, too, they have to struggle for their lives against the sudden inroads of the vast inundations which sweep off their herds and frail habitations. Armed with their unerring lasso and garrocha, or sharp lance, blunderbuss and sword, they fear no foes. These lances, formed of the tough stem of a small palm, are weapons of no slight importance to them. They are sharpened to a point at one end, and hardened in the fire, or sometimes have an iron head. Round the point a number of loose metal rings are secured, which when shaken produce a loud rattling sound.

See a band of these hardy horsemen in chase of the wild cattle which roam at large over the plains. In bands of six or ten, they form a circle of fifteen miles or so in circumference—bivouacking during the previous night at their respective stations. At early dawn they mount their horses; and now, shouting and shrieking, with their lasso coiled before them on their saddle, and their garrocha in their hand, whirled round and round, they advance, closing in towards the centre of the circle, and driving before them all the animals they meet. The animals, terrified by the cries and whirling spears, dash madly forward,—some endeavouring to break away from the circle, when they are speedily turned back by the sharp goads of the horsemen. Not only the cattle, but wild boars, deer, and other quadrupeds, starting up from the ground where they have been resting, dash on amid the confused herd. And now perhaps several thousand head of cattle are collected within the circle formed by a hundred or more horsemen. If a fierce bull, turning round, ventures to encounter them, they shake their rattling spears in his ears, and quickly again turn him.

When a bull is overtaken, the Llanero thrusts the point of his spear into the animal’s shoulder, and, leaning forward with the whole weight of his body upon the shaft, overthrows the savage creature, who rolls headlong on the plain, where he is quickly secured. Sometimes a fiercer bull than ordinary charges the horsemen, who fly on either side; but wheeling round speedily, with their lassos whirling round their heads, the noose is thrown over the animal’s horns, and the well-trained steeds assisting their riders, he is speedily brought to the ground. A hole being then pierced in the thick cartilage of the nostrils, a thong is passed through it, the other end being fastened to the horse’s tail. A jerk quickly brings the bull to his feet, and he is led off a captive.

A still bolder manoeuvre is accomplished by the expert horseman. Galloping after the bull, the rider seizes the animal’s tail, giving it a turn round his own wrist, and then again urges forward his horse till both are at full speed, when, suddenly turning in an oblique direction, by a powerful jerk—from the impetuosity imparted by their rapid speed—the bull is brought to the ground. Here, too, the horse, knowing what is about to be done, starts forward at the proper moment, and assists in accomplishing the work. Sometimes the daring Llanero will throw himself from his seat, still holding on to the tail of the bull, and seldom fails ultimately to overthrow it.

The whole scene is one of the wildest confusion. Clouds of dust rise from the dry plain, trampled on by the hoofs of numberless animals. The bulls, driven to fury, tear up the earth, and with deep, savage bellowings rush at their fellows as well as at their foes, unable to distinguish one from the other—often piercing the former with their sharp horns. The uproar is increased by the yells and shouts of the Llaneros galloping in all directions over the ground, rattling their garrochas, waving their ponchos, and whirling their lassos. Yet further to increase the turmoil and uproar, flocks of cranes and herons, startled by the hoofs of the horses and shouts of the riders as they rush onward, rise from the stunted frees of a neighbouring marsh, with loud cries and clashing of wings, into the air, hovering above the heads of the actors in such numbers as almost to darken the sky as they circle round and round.

The object of the hunt is to separate the cattle of the different owners, and to drive them into their respective corrals or majadas. Tame cattle are employed to assist in the operation, and are stationed at various places round the circle. The horsemen, dashing in among the mass of excited animals, fearless of the points of their sharp horns, drive out with their lances those they recognise as their own property—known by the notches on their ears—goading them with their lances. The animals, now separated with wonderful skill, are, with their calves, urged towards the groups of their well-trained kindred, who lead them on towards the destined corral. Often, however, suspecting treachery, they turn round and attempt to escape, rushing with mad fury towards the horsemen—many of whose steeds are thus pierced by their horns, and the riders, overthrown, with difficulty escaping.

Thus they at length reach the entrance of the corral, which is in the shape of a funnel, composed of stout posts strengthened by thick rafters. Here the most desperate struggle often ensues; but the bulls are met by an array of the rattling garrochas; and though some may escape at the last, the great mass are, by the skill of the Llaneros, at length secured within the corral,—many of the cattle receiving desperate wounds.

These farms of the Llanos, built in the roughest and most primitive style, are surrounded by fences, intended not only to resist the rush of a herd of cattle, but the attack of human foes. The inclosures are formed of huge trunks of trees, driven close together into the ground. It would seem difficult to account for the way in which they are brought across the plain. This is done, however, during the inundation of the savannahs, when they are transported to the spot on rafts made of lighter wood,—the timbers themselves being composed of a species of acacia of extreme hardness, and from their nature capable of resisting the effects of alternation of climate for many years. Many of these corrals are sufficiently spacious to contain three thousand head of cattle.

When the animal is to be caught for slaughter, the horsemen go in chase, the one securing it by his lasso over its head and dragging it along, while the other urges it on with his garrocha till it reaches the slaughter-post. The first then secures the animal by a few turns of the lasso round it, while a matador strikes his dagger into the vertebras at the back of the head, when the animal drops as if struck by an electric spark.

These wild horsemen, when crossing a river, hesitate not to plunge in, in spite of the alligators which may be swarming on every side. While their clothes are carried across in a hide-formed canoe, put together at the moment, they dash into the stream without clothes or saddles, and then slipping from the backs of their horses, support themselves on the animals’ haunches with one hand, while they guide them by means of the halter with the other—their companions on the shore shouting, yelling, and shaking their ponchos, to drive the rest of the herd into the water. The caymans, alarmed by the uproar, keep at a distance; but the savage little caribes frequently attack them, and many thus fall.

Besides cattle, horses, and mules, vast numbers of hogs range over the plain,—the descendants of those introduced by the early settlers, and which are now, from their ferocity, and the formidable size of their tusks, considered foes worthy of the lances of the bold horsemen. These lances, generally used in hunting, have played no insignificant part in the hands of the Llaneros, as well as in those of some of the fierce tribes of the desert, during the civil wars which so long disturbed the country.

A profusion of fruits in a state of nature grow in the woods and plains. Among them are several species of wild guavas. Some are of exquisite flavour and aroma. One sort bears in rich profusion a number of brilliant scarlet, highly perfumed, and acidulous fruits. There are various kinds of custard apples, the inside a sweet and highly aromatic pulp filled with small seeds. Also the madroÑa, which resembles the lemon in shape and colour, and filled with a pulp enveloping several large nuts, the flavour not unlike strawberries. The tree which produces these fruits attains a height of sixty feet, and has a dense foliage of a brilliant green.

On a vine grows the monkey cacao bean, which these animals eagerly devour.

There are many leguminous trees, some bearing pods ten inches long, filled with rows of black beans enveloped in a snow-white and agreeably sweet pulp. Here also is the algarobo, or locust-tree of the New World; bearing pods filled with beans surrounded by a sweet farinaceous substance, of a highly nutritious quality.

Indeed, Venezuela is behind no other region of the world in the variety and quality of its natural productions.

Part 5—Chapter I.

Southern Regions of South America.

Geography and Native Tribes.

The vast territory south of the Brazils is watered by a wide-extending branch-work of mighty streams, having as their main trunk the Rio de la Plata at their southern end. To the east is the River Uruguay, running almost parallel with the Atlantic coast. Close to its mouth the far more important Parana, rising in the mountains of the Brazils, near the sources of the Tocantins, falls into the La Plata. While the Tocantins flows north till it reaches the Amazon, the Parana takes a more or less southerly course for many hundreds of miles, till it turns due west for nearly two hundred, and then once more runs south and east till it enters the main trunk. At its extreme western point it is joined by the River Paraguay, which, from its source in the diamond district of the Brazils, has an almost southerly course, receiving on its way numerous large tributaries. One of the most important of these is the Vermejo, which, rising in the Andes, near the source of the Amazon, affords a water communication between Bolivia across the whole continent to the Atlantic. These rivers form the boundaries of several states.

Directly south of the Brazils, between Parana on the east and Paraguay on the west, is the republic of Paraguay, lately ruled over by the two savage dictators, Francia and Lopez. It is a thickly-wooded region, with numerous streams running through it, and a lofty range—the Cordillera de CaÁguazu—at the northern end. The inhabitants are mostly a mixed race of Spaniards and Indians. To the west of the Paraguay river is a wide-extended level region, bounded on the north by Bolivia, and interspersed with lakes and marshes known as the Gran Chaco, and inhabited by tribes of still savage Indians.

The southern boundary of Paraguay is the River Parana, where it runs east and west. To the south of it is the state of Corrientes, a woody but level region between the two rivers, Uruguay and Parana. Further south is the state of Entre Rios; while, to the west, are a collection of confederated towns and villages scattered widely over the Pampas, known as part of the Argentine Confederation; to which the two last-mentioned, as well as Buenos Ayres, to the south of the La Plata, belong.

East of the Uruguay, between it and the Atlantic, is the republic of Uruguay. Through the southern portion of the Argentine Republic flow the rivers Colorado, Negro, and Chupat. On the banks of the latter a Welsh colony has been established; while in various parts of the republic numerous other settlements have been formed by Europeans. The level Pampas—inhabited by those bold and daring riders, the Gauchos, and still wilder tribes of Indians—extending to the base of the Andes, from its peculiar and interesting character demands a separate description.

The Pampero.

The pampero, dreaded on shore as well as at sea, blows with tremendous force across this region.

There is not a cloud in the sky. The night may be perfectly calm. Mosquitoes in vast numbers are busy with their sharp stings. Suddenly a rustling in the woods may be heard afar off. The noise increases into a dull roar. Clouds appear above the horizon. Still all is calm. The mosquitoes vanish. The dogs are howling in anticipation of danger. As if by magic, dark masses of clouds cover the heavens like a curtain. They are rent asunder, thunder roars, lightning flashes, and the wind, like an army of wild beasts, rushes on. Down comes the rain in torrents, beating furiously against the hapless traveller exposed to its fury, or on the deck of the ship. Flash succeeds flash; the lightning in forked streaks darting through the air. In an hour, perhaps, the heaviest part of the storm may be over, but still the wind blows furiously; till at length it ceases, the clouds disappear, and the air becomes delightfully fresh and cool.

The craft on the rivers are, however, often caught in these pamperos, and driven into the bush, or upset, when the swift current carries down the best of swimmers to a watery grave.

Houses, also, are frequently unroofed, orange groves stripped of their golden fruit, and trees uprooted and hurled to the ground.

Natives of La Plata and its Tributaries—The Pampas and Patagonia.

When the Spaniards first arrived in that sea-like river, with shallow shores—the mighty Parana, to which Sebastian Cabot afterwards gave the name of La Plata—they encountered a fierce tribe (the Charranas) inhabiting its shores. The natives endeavoured to repel the invaders by a system of warfare which the latter, though they describe it as of the most treacherous character, were not slow to imitate. Step by step, however, the Spaniards fought their way; though sometimes defeated and compelled to retreat, they again returned, establishing forts and towns on the banks of the river, till they finally obtained a firm footing in the land. They hesitated at no act, however atrocious, to secure their conquests by the destruction of their foes.

On one occasion being warned that a tribe—the Guaycaruses—with whom they had formed a treaty of peace, had laid a plot to cut them off, they formed a counterplot, far surpassing in treachery that of the savages. The Spanish Lieutenant-Governor, pretending that he had been smitten with the charms of the daughter of their principal cacique, offered her his hand in marriage. The proposal was accepted by the delighted Indians, who, with their chiefs and a large number of people, were invited into the town to attend the ceremony. Meantime soldiers were concealed in the houses to which the chiefs were conducted, and orders were given to supply them amply with intoxicating liquors. While they were thus deprived of their senses, soldiers were sent across the river to destroy the remainder of the tribe who had not come to the wedding. At a given signal the native village was attacked, and every inhabitant slaughtered; while the hosts of those in the town killed more than three hundred of their helpless guests.

The invaders were creating a fearful heritage for their descendants by intermarrying with the native women. From these marriages have sprung the race which now occupies, in vast numbers, a large portion of that magnificent territory, and who, by their low moral condition, their ignorance, and instability of character, have been the chief cause of the melancholy wars which have so long saturated its plains with blood. The Jesuits, by the missions they formed in various parts of the country, introduced a superficial civilisation among some of the tribes; but their system failing, as it ever has done, to raise the moral character of the people, and fit them for independent thought and self-government, has left them as ignorant and superstitious, and scarcely less savage, than before. Thus they have become the facile tools of every leader who, by greater audacity, craft, or determination, has risen to authority among them.

The Guaranis and their Descendants.

The Guaranis were the principal nation dwelling on the eastern portion of South America. They were probably the same race as the Quichuas, who inhabited the western shores, and a large portion of the Andes, under the rule of the Incas. The two languages are still spoken in various parts of the country. The Guaranis were superior in civilisation to numerous other intervening and more isolated tribes, who had sunk by degrees into greater barbarism. Like the Quichuas, they were agriculturalists—cultivating mandioca, maize, calabashes, and potatoes. They fed on honey and wild fruit; and hunted birds, monkeys, and other animals, and caught fish with their bows and arrows. They had also canoes; and had a better established system of government than their neighbours. Yet they were among the first to bow their necks to the yoke of their invaders; while other tribes, who, though less numerous, fiercely opposed the Spaniards, were swept away from the face of the earth.

The descendants of the Guaranis exist—some in a semi-civilised condition, others as barbarous as of yore—in several parts of the continent; but a large portion became amalgamated with the invaders, and their language is still spoken throughout Paraguay and the neighbouring provinces by the mixed race who have descended from them. The Charruas—the first tribe with whom the Spaniards came in contact—were barbarous in the extreme. Their arms were lances and arrows, and they were noted for their expertness in tracking their enemies. They could bear an almost incredible amount of fatigue, and could subsist for several days without food or water. They wore their hair long,—the women allowing theirs to flow down the back, while the young men gathered up their locks in bunches, and ornamented them with white feathers. They ate every description of food, even to snakes and insects, and were especially fond of the parasites of the human body. They tattooed their faces and limbs; and soon after a boy was born a hole was made in his lower lip, when a piece of wood was introduced like a nail, the head being in his mouth, while another stick was fastened to it outside.

They lived in tree-formed huts, which they entered on all-fours; and wore no clothes, except in cold weather, when they covered the chest with a piece of skin. They never washed, huddling together in their dirty toldas or huts. They subsisted entirely on the produce of the chase; polygamy was general; their children were not taught to obey their parents, while they appear to have been destitute of all family affection. Their beverage, called chicha—a name common throughout South America—was prepared from honey and water. Although, during lifetime, relations exhibited no affection towards each other, at the death of one of them the survivors underwent many cruel funeral ceremonies. They ultimately assisted the Spaniards in the extermination of several of the neighbouring tribes, but were eventually either destroyed, or brought completely under subjection.

The Querandis or Pehuelches.

The Querandis or Pehuelches—the principal tribe of the Pampas Indians—were, from the first, the chief opponents of the Spaniards in Buenos Ayres. They stole their cattle, made captives of their wives and children, and cut off the soldiers and estancieros, or cattle-farmers, on numerous occasions. They were vain, haughty, and daring. Unlike the Charruas, they paid great attention to their dress and appearance, neither painting nor cutting their hair. The men wore their locks turned up and secured at the top of the head; while the women divided theirs in the centre, wearing them on each side in a large clump, fastened by a ribbon, the ends falling down over each ear nearly to the waist. They wore combs, and were in every respect cleanly. The women also wore necklaces, with hanging ornaments. Their costume was a poncho on festive occasions, highly ornamented; while they wore leather boots. Although, when galloping across the Pampas, they went totally naked, they carried their clothes with them—either to put on during cold weather, or to appear in state when meeting Europeans. Their weapons of war were lances and the formidable bolas,—by means of which, used as slings, they could send stones to a great distance,—and combustible materials, with which they set fire to the Spanish houses. Their huts were composed of upright poles, four or five feet in height, and as many apart, on which skins of large animals—such as the huanacus or ostrich—were fastened, on the side from whence the cold winds blew. These huts formed long streets; but were used only during cold or rainy weather, as in fine weather they slept on the uncovered ground.

No sooner did the horses introduced by the Spaniards, escaping into the wilds, increase and multiply, than the Indians learned to bestride them, and soon exhibited an uncommon aptitude in their management. Armed with their long lances, they would charge the Spanish troops,—each man lying down at his horse’s side, though going at full gallop, and jumping up, turning round, or dropping down again, with wonderful rapidity. Though even the Gauchos give their horses some preliminary training, the Pampas Indian catches the animal with the lasso, throws it down, forces a wooden bit, covered with a piece of hide, into its mouth, from which bit there is a leathern cord to bind round its lower lip, and gallops off.

They are divided into many tribes, who, even a few years ago, made frequent incursions into the provinces of Buenos Ayres, Cordova, and others, and carried off large flocks of cattle—and many Argentines, as captives. They were pursued to the River Colorado, however, when part of the stolen cattle was recovered, and several captives liberated. They are under the belief that when death does not occur, in consequence of violence, it is owing to sorcery.

The Payaguas.

Another tribe or nation must be mentioned—the Payaguas, who inhabited the territory of Paraguay, and from whom the district has taken its name. They used canoes, and many of their warlike expeditions were carried on down the river by water. The women had to perform all the hard work, and were never allowed to eat meat. The boys and girls wore no clothes, but the young men painted their bodies in a variety of patterns.

The Tupis, another large tribe, appear either to have extended to the Amazon, or to have been driven there from the south, as their language is now spoken by the tribes on its banks.

The Toromonos were the chief tribe inhabiting the territory of Bolivia to the north of the Gran Chaco. They lived in houses, each man building one for himself. The men wore no clothes, but ornamented their heads with a crown formed of feathers; whilst the women wore a small cotton garment, only partially covering the person. They painted their faces, and wore rings in their noses and lips. Many of their customs were cruel and barbarous in the extreme, though they appear to have cultivated the ground, and used ploughs and wooden implements of agriculture. They employed bows and arrows in battle, as also for fishing and killing game. They also showed skill in building canoes.

Indians of Bolivia—Native Apothecaries.

Even at the present day, as was the case in the time of the Incas, the people of one of the tribes were distinguished for their medical knowledge, and sent out travelling apothecaries, who collected herbs,—traversing the whole of the continent. Markham describes meeting with a party of them emerging from the forest,—cadaverous, miserable-looking men, almost worn to death by fatigue and hardship. They wore their long hair plaited and secured behind in the form of a queue. They came from the district of Yungas, and are called Yunguenos, or Cherrihuanos. Formerly they went on foot, but they now ride asses, on which they carry the herbs and nuts, reputed efficacious for the cure of sickness; as well as bundles of chinchona, coca leaf, incense, and other articles.

The Bolivian Indians were subdued only in 1843. Each village or toldera of these tribes is governed by a cacique, generally possessing hereditary rank; though, as in other cases, much depends upon his physical powers and wealth. A number of wild tribes still roam over the country between the western Argentine states and the Andes. There they live free and independent, though barbarous. When they venture into the neighbourhood of large towns, they soon degenerate into thieves and drunkards. Here they come to carry on a trade in furs and panther skins, or to collect meat at the saladeros, which they dry and carry off with them. They make money by selling Indian ornaments, and foraging for the settlers’ cattle; or by thieving, which they look upon as an orthodox mode of gaining a livelihood.

Tribes of the Gran Chaco.

Several tribes inhabited the Gran Chaco. The principal one—the least sunk in barbarism—were the Guanas. They lived in towns arranged in some symmetrical order, composed of palm-trees. Each house formed an enclosed square composed of posts and arches. To these were fixed horizontal beams, the whole covered with mud and straw. There was but one door, and the structure was sufficiently large to contain a dozen families. They had bed-places on square frames, covered over with boards and straw and skins, while their houses were kept scrupulously clean.

They were noted for their hospitality, and subsisted chiefly by agriculture. They cut off the hair in the middle of the forehead; some shaved sometimes the front half of the head, and others half-moons over the ears. Though the marriage ceremony was simple in the extreme, a contract as to various points was invariably entered into. The men greatly exceeded the women in number, in consequence of the unnatural custom prevailing among them of putting to death the female children. Old women acted the part of doctors.

Their dead were buried outside the doors of their houses, and a considerable time was spent in bewailing their loss. Though they fought bravely with bows and arrows, as well as with spears or clubs, they were of a peaceable disposition, and never made war except in self-defence.

The great ambition of a Chaco Indian is to possess a horse, saddle, and gun. Once mounted, he soon becomes a bold rider.

Their mode of crossing a river is curious. As their canoes cannot carry their animals over, they first drive the horse into the river up to his shoulders in the water, then launch the canoe—after tying the animal’s head to the top of the gunwale—with the children and luggage on board. As the horse’s feet are off the ground, he cannot injure the canoe. When travelling, however, without canoes, they form small rafts, into which they put their children; and lance in hand, and with bow and quiver at their backs, they bestride their steeds and tow them across, a curious spectacle to witness.

The children go perfectly naked; indeed, so do the people generally, except those who come into the settled districts. The women wear their masses of black hair almost covering their heads and shoulders. They dress in a short skirt, with a scarf over the shoulders. “The old women,” observed Captain Kennedy, “are terrible to behold, they having all the hard work to do. They even paddle the canoes, while the men and young women sit looking on.”

Their villages consist of rows of wretched hovels. They appear to have no superstitious ideas, but they believe in an evil spirit, against whom they try to guard by charms and incantations. They are under a chief cacique; and after the other chiefs in conclave have determined on war, or rather, on a plundering expedition, and it is concluded, they separate into their original tribes, each taking opposite directions with their share of the plunder, to escape the risk of being captured. A considerable portion of the almost unexplored district—the Gran Chaco—which they inhabit is a dreary waste of lagoons and marshes, traversed by rapid, muddy, and tortuous rivers.

Jesuit Missions.

The missions established by the Jesuits show the impotence of their system for the civilisation of the wild man. The territory where they carried on their chief labours exists on the eastern bank of the Parana, to the north of Uruguay and Corrientes, bordering on the Brazilian territory. After three hundred years of labour, they left these savages utterly incapable of self-government.

“The Indian mind, indeed,” observes Captain Page—an American—“laying aside its atrocities, has never emerged from the intellectual development of childhood. These savages showed the imitative faculties of the animal. When taught, they delved and ploughed, planted cotton and sugar-cane, and executed work in carpentry and wove fabrics, and performed other manual operations; yet their reason and intelligence has not advanced, even pari passu in any degree with the progress of European civilisation; nor have the natures of their female population become modified with the slightest trait of the humanities and tendernesses which are the brightest attributes of the women of the present century.”

“Among the Jesuit missions in the Gran Chaco,” observes another writer, “are found no remaining evidence of better knowledge, than that the Indians now prefer horse-flesh to any other kind of meat.”

The same writer gives us the derivation of the names of several of the rivers:—Parana, resembling the sea; Paraguay, from the Payaguas, a tribe of Indians who were met with by the discoverers navigating the river; and Uruguay, from a bird—the uru—which is found on the banks of that stream.

Language.

With regard to the two prevailing Indian languages spoken in the southern part of the continent, it is remarkable that the Quichua, the language of the Peruvians, is still used by the natives found on the banks of the River Salado, in the province of Santiago del Estero, though far-distant from the Andes, in the centre of the Argentine territory; while it is not in use in the intermediate provinces. This proves, either the distance to which the Incas extended their conquests, or perhaps the fact that the natives of Santiago are descendants of a Peruvian colony. The Guarani language is still spoken in Entre Rios and Corrientes, while in the Republic of Paraguay it is more generally used than the Spanish; indeed, paragraphs printed in it appear in one of the papers published in that province. The Jesuits compiled a number of grammatical and other works in the Guarani, for the purpose of teaching the novitiates in their establishments at Paraguay.

The Guarani nation occupied the whole sea-coast, from Uruguay northwards through Brazil, Cayenne, and even into Venezuela.

Part 5—Chapter II.

Paraguay.

The Parana.

After entering the Parana, the voyager sails for hundreds of miles up the mighty stream between lofty clay-banks of a red colour; sometimes absolutely perpendicular, and at others consisting of broken masses covered with cacti and mimosa-trees. Here and there may be seen, projecting from the cliffs, huge skeletons of the toxodon, megatherium, mylodon, and other monsters which once in countless numbers inhabited the plains of South America. Now the river expands into lake-like proportions, its surface dotted with numerous low and wooded islands. At intervals, towns, villages, or forts may be seen on the summits of the cliffs, sixty feet above the water. Generally the country on the western side is a level, treeless plain; but as the river is ascended woods appear, which gradually become thicker, presenting, as further progress is made, more and more a tropical character.

As Paraguay is approached, low flat banks appear, which for many a long league are marshy and impassable. It is the district of the Esteros, as these flooded lands are called. Beyond them, in the wet season, immense shallow lakes are formed; but when they are dried-up in the hot weather, a grey dusty soil, full of cracks, and covered with wiry grass and low shrubs, is left. Nothing can be more dreary than the appearance of the country when the river is high; the water extending far and wide beyond its crumbling banks, with rows of melancholy palms standing as landmarks above the flood. These districts are, however, valuable for grazing purposes; and before the war were covered by vast herds of cattle, now swept away. Above the Tebiquari the country is higher and more diversified. Vast woods, increasing in breadth and density, appear, with ranges of distant hills beyond them.

Natives.

It is remarkable that the Guarani language, among the peasantry, has almost superseded that of their Spanish invaders.

The natives, with their Indian blood, have inherited small hands and feet, and coarse black hair. The women when young, with their long tresses of jetty blackness, are often pretty; and some, probably descended from Biscayans, are noted for their remarkable fairness. Rubias, they are termed, with blue eyes and auburn hair. The men wear dresses similar to that of the Gauchos. That of the women is picturesque: a long cotton chemise cut low at the neck, with a deep border of embroidery; loose lace sleeves; and a skirt of muslin, or silk, fastened round the waist by a broad sash. Very few wear shoes. Their hair is sometimes arranged in two long plaits, or formed in a wreath round the head, or rolled up at the back and fastened by a large comb. They also wear massive gold chains round the neck, large ear-rings, and numerous rings. Their great amusement, next to smoking, is sipping the yerba or native tea.

“Yerba,” says Masterman, “is the dried and powdered leaf Ilex Paraguayensis,—a tree in size and foliage resembling the orange, with small white, clustered flowers. It belongs to the holly family, but contains a bitter principle similar to, if not identical with, theine, or the alkaloid found in tea and coffee.”

It is taken in a somewhat singular way. The matÉ, a gourd stained black, holding three or four ounces of water, is nearly filled with the coarsely-powdered yerba. The bombilla, a silver tube with a bulbous end pierced full of fine holes, is then inserted. The gourd is filled with boiling water, and the infusion is immediately sucked through the tube, scalding hot.

The bombilla is for the purpose of straining the infusion—which is of a greenish-brown—as the powder would otherwise get into the mouth. Like tea, it is slightly stimulating and astringent.

The natives spin the indigenous cotton of the country, and weave it in a curious way, producing the most intricate lace and needlework. The thread they manufacture is remarkably fine and strong. Weavers travel about the country carrying their simple looms on their shoulders, and may be seen under an orange-tree by the roadside, the warp-roller suspended from a bough and balanced beneath by stones, the workman seated on a horse’s skull, and producing a fabric as beautiful as it is durable.

They also manufacture woollen ponchos and saddle-cloths, in patterns of black and white, or of a fine blue obtained from the native indigo. They manufacture cigars; and cultivate the sugar-cane in a rude manner, producing from its root a vile beverage called caÑa, most injurious to the health.

Mountain Scenery.

In the Cordillera, where Masterman describes the scenery as most beautiful, the cacti grow, bristling with spines, and loaded with delicate white flowers; as also the wild pineapple, which covers the ground,—its serrated leaves, of a bright scarlet in the centre, and barred, all straggling from the root. Its fibre is used by the natives for making fishing-nets and lines, and a coarse strong cloth. Paper also has been manufactured from it; and as it can be produced in great quantities, it may become of much commercial importance.

Game abounds throughout the territory. Herds of deer roam in the open glades; droves of pigs are found in the forest somewhat similar to those of England; and a bird, the yÑambÙ guazÙ, as large as a pheasant; while quails are seen in flocks in the esteros,—with snipe, wild pigeons, and other birds.

High up the River Parana is found the magnificent waterfall, El Salto de Guira, rivalling in splendour Niagara itself. Other fine waterfalls are found on different rivers.

Here, too, the ant-eater reaches an enormous size. The capybara is also found. It is obliged to triturate its food—grass, and herbaceous plants—for a long time, in consequence of the contracted size of the oesophagus, which will hardly admit a goose-quill, although the animal is sometimes so large that it weighs more than two hundred pounds. Its destiny seems to be to feed jaguars, for they live principally on the creatures.

The chinchilla, another rodent, is very common in the fields and esteros. There is a large heron, called in Guarani the tuyÙajÙ—that is, one which walks in the mud—nearly as tall as a man, with a bill more than a foot in length. The puma ranges throughout the country, as he does much further south; while the jaguar also appears amid the forests and plains.

Gregarious Spiders.

Among the insects, Masterman describes a gregarious spider which, when full-grown, has a black body half an inch in length—with a row of bright red spots on the side of the abdomen—four eyes, remarkably strong mandibles, and stout hairless legs an inch in length. They construct in concert huge webs, generally between two trees, ten or twelve feet from the ground. In a garden, among trees forty feet apart, these spiders had extended two long cables, as thick as pack-thread, to form the margin of each web, the lower being only four feet from the ground; and between them was a light, loose network perfectly divided into webs, each presenting about two square feet of surface. Each of these sub-webs was occupied by a spider from sunset to a little before sunrise. Six nets contained two thousand of the creatures. They often change their location; and a double stream was always passing along the cables, apparently strengthening them as they came and went.

Sometimes three or four would be lying in wait within a few inches of each other, the one crawling over or under the other’s body without hesitation. Soon after sunrise they left their webs, and, retreating to the shade, formed two or three large masses as big as a hat under the thick foliage of a jessamine-tree. There they remained motionless till sunset, when the black lump crumbled to pieces. The process was a curious sight to witness. Then, in a leisurely way, the spiders scattered themselves to their aerial fishing. The air swarmed with mosquitoes, which were caught in great numbers. Larger flies, and especially moths, were at once pounced upon and devoured; a dozen often feeding amicably on the body of the same insect, consuming not only the juices, but the abdomen. When a part of the web was broken, the nearest spider gathered up the loose threads, rolled them into a ball, and ate it. The great difficulty seemed to be how they could convey the first thread, often sixty or seventy feet long, from one tree to the other. This was done by a spider from a tree to windward forming a long line, which blew out and caught in the leaves of a neighbouring tree to leeward. This it tightened, and then crossed hastily backwards and forwards on the line, adding to its thickness on each journey, till it was strong enough to support a web. The spiders thus employed were apparently all young, for as they increased in age the ferocity of the race appeared. There was then a sanguinary battle,—the few survivors, probably females, devouring some of the slain to provide for a future brood, and then dying also.

The Chigo, or Sand-Flea.

Mr Masterman makes some interesting remarks on the chigo, or sand-flea (Pulex penetrans). It is very minute, not exceeding one twenty-fifth of an inch in length. It burrows between the cuticle and true skin, and there lays its eggs—producing a swelling containing a bluish white sac, about the tenth of an inch in diameter, filled with them. This sac is the developed abdomen of the flea. It preserves its vitality after the death of the rest of the parent; and when that event takes place, the eggs are mere germs, which would ordinarily perish at the same time.

Its cutting apparatus consists of two scimitar-shaped lancets, placed in a common sheath, with which it slices out a place beneath the skin, large enough to bury it entirely, anchors itself firmly with its hooked proboscis, and in a day or two dies. The abdominal section, however, still lives, absorbing nutritive material through its walls, and growing rapidly at the expense of the serum poured out by the irritated skin into which it is inserted. It increases in thickness as well as in diameter, and the eggs which now fill it grow also,—when mature, each being half as large as a perfect flea. Thus it is seen why the sand-flea cannot deposit its eggs as do the rest of the family. Probably it has no more food than it carries away within itself on quitting the egg, and therefore cannot provide the material for its greater development. Not only men and children, but dogs, suffer greatly from them—the latter almost tearing their feet to pieces in biting them out, and often getting them in their lips and outer nostrils, from which they cannot dislodge them.

Fish in the Parana.

Among the many fine fish in the river is the dorado,—something like a trout in colour, but deeper; in shape, more resembling the snapper. The natives catch it with unbaited hooks. The fisherman selects a point of rock jutting over the stream, and having secured three polished hooks, back to back, attached to a line, throws it as far from him as possible into the water, giving it several strong jerks to make it look like small fry darting about. The dorado makes a dash at them, and gets hooked—generally through the back.

Part 5—Chapter III.

The Pampas.

Westward of the Parana and the Province of Buenos Ayres stretches out the wide-extended and almost level plain of the Pampas, reaching to the base of the Andes. It is a wild, savage region, sprinkled over here and there with salt-lakes and marshes, in which a few streams, traversing it at considerable distances apart, lose themselves.

The tracks across it are marked by the whitened skeletons of the horses and bullocks which have succumbed to the fatigues of the journey, or the want of water, and have been picked clean by the carranchas, and others of the vulture tribe, or by the active teeth of the voracious little armadillos, which clear away the refuse of the feast left by their feathered companions. Here and there forts or post-houses are found, garrisoned by the wild Gauchos—their appearance in keeping with the scenery.

The huts are generally built of the stalks of huge thistles, and are sometimes mere enclosures, destitute of roofs. They are surrounded by stockades, in many instances formed of thick hedges of cacti, well calculated to resist an attack from the still savage Indians who roam throughout the region in search of plunder.

It is on these plains that the little bizcacha in vast numbers form their burrows; by the side of which, during the day, their small friends the owls of the Pampas take up their posts, and watch the passers-by. Vast herds of horses and cattle now roam in unrestrained freedom across them. Here the tall rhea, the American ostrich, with outstretched wings runs swiftly across the plain. Towards its southern boundaries the huanacu and the deer—Cervus campestris—in large herds range at large, while the pools and marshes are inhabited by enormous flocks of wild fowl of all descriptions. Here hundreds of beautiful flamingoes may be seen rising when alarmed, and forming a rosy cloud of plumage in the blue sky—the tints shading gradually from the delicate pink of their necks to the deep red of their long wings; while many others of the feathered tribes,—some with long legs, others with huge beaks,—fly across the placid pools, their strange cries and varied notes sounding through the air.

The eastern portion of this enormous district in winter presents a peculiarly rich aspect—herds of wild cattle grazing in full liberty on the luxuriant clover which then covers the ground. As spring advances, a totally different plant takes the place of the clover, and in three or four weeks an extraordinary change has occurred. The whole region then appears covered by a dense wood of enormous thistles, which have shot up to a height of nearly twelve feet, and are now in full bloom. So densely do they grow, that they present an impenetrable barrier to man and horse, or even to the strong-limbed cattle or wild beasts of the plain. The only passage through them is by those paths which have been kept open by the constant trampling of feet; while certain tracks, intricate as those of a labyrinth, which exist in some directions, are the abodes of bands of robbers, to whom alone they are known. From their recesses they sally forth to attack the solitary rancho, or to murder the traveller who may be passing through, knowing well that they can secure a safe retreat, without the risk of being pursued.

Beyond this region of thistles is a second wide district, which produces long grass, changing only, according to the season, from green to brown; while beyond it, again, is a third region, reaching to the base of the Cordilleras, and mostly covered with thick groves of low trees and evergreen shrubs, with here and there streams passing amid them.

Descending from the Andes, the first view of the Pampas resembles somewhat the wide-spreading ocean seen from afar; but as the sun rises, irregularities can be distinguished in the northern portion,—while the streams which run through it from the mountainsides glitter like silver threads, till lost in the immensity of the distance.

But to return to the previous region. For several months the tall thistles hold possession of the plain, but at length the heats of summer tell upon them. They lose their sap and verdure, their heads droop, the leaves shrink and fade, the stems become black and dead, though still they stand rattling one against the other with the breeze. Then dark clouds are seen in the west; the fierce pampero bursts forth with irresistible force; they bend before it, and in a few seconds the whole forest is levelled with the ground. Here, under the influence of the heat and moisture, they rapidly decompose and disappear, fertilising the soil. Once more the clover rushes up, and the plain again smiles with a verdant hue, and welcomes back the cattle, who have been driven to distant pastures.

Gauchos of the Pampas.

See the inhabitant of this region,—the bold Gaucho, whether owner of thousands of heads of cattle, or the humble peon or chasqui, servant or courier,—mounted on his fiery steed. What command he has over it! How admirably he and the animal seem adapted to each other! If a proprietor or chief manager, he will probably be habited in a white shirt, with wide trousers richly embroidered with deep lace; the chiripa—a piece of cloth covering the body and passing round his legs—being tied with a band; a poncho over his shoulders; boots of polished leather, or, it may be, of simple skin; his heels adorned with a pair of enormous spurs, of silver or less valuable metal, with rowels of prodigious circumference; with his rebenque, or horse-whip, in hand, made of cow-hide, and set off by a handle of massive silver. All classes residing on the Pampas, whether in Uruguay or the Far West, are called Gauchos.

Such in early life was General Urquiza, for some time governor of his native province of Entre Rios. The term is, however, applied generally to the lower orders.

Hardy, and sparely built, like the Arabs of the desert the Gaucho lives on horseback. For most nights the ground is his bed and his saddle his pillow, a piece of hide or a poncho his only covering. He will gallop thirty leagues a day without fatigue.

From his infancy he has been taught the use of the lasso and bolas; and in his boyhood learned to catch the fowls, goats, and sheep about his father’s rancho, or to capture partridges in a similar way. Yet he is but little fitted for the ordinary hard work of life. In consequence of his over-exertion and irregular life, his long abstinence from food, and neglect of a due proportion of vegetable aliment, his body appears to be dried-up, his vital energies fail, and his term of existence is shortened.

Impatient of rebuke, he will not brook a hasty word, and will conclude a connection with a master at a moment’s notice, by demanding to have his account made up. Horse-racing and gambling are his weaknesses. His knife is ready at hand, and though fatal results seldom follow being engaged in a quarrel, he attempts to inflict a cut on the face of his antagonist, and there to leave his mark. His food he cooks on a stick—the asadevo—fixed in the ground before the fire; and eats it without bread or any kind of vegetable, washing it down with copious draughts of yerba.

He will gamble on all occasions, either with cards, dominoes, or coin—a pitch-and-toss style of game. His horse-racing is more for the sake of obtaining the bets staked on the match. He also delights to bet on the strength of his horse. This is tried by fastening a pair of horses tail to tail, but at some distance, so that each end of a short lasso is tied to the saddle or girth of either animal. They are then mounted, and urged by whip and spur in opposite directions, until the stronger draws the weaker over the goal—a line marked on the ground. In spite of his gambling propensities, he is often intrusted with hundreds of doubloons for the purchase of cattle by his master.

His mode of catching partridges is curious. Armed with a loop attached to the end of a thin stick, he will ride on till he sees a covey of birds on the ground; and then commences circling round them,—the birds, curiously enough, not attempting to fly, but trying to run away instead. The horseman keeps on narrowing his circle, till he at last gets near enough to drop the loop over a bird’s head, when he whips it up, a captive, though in no way injured—so that birds can thus be caught alive.

Breaking-in Colts.

Witness the operation of breaking-in a wild colt from amidst a herd of a hundred or more. A Gaucho called the dormador makes his appearance, dressed in a thin cotton shirt secured by a scarf round the waist, and a coloured handkerchief bound to his head, while his legs are guarded by a huge pair of boots, armed with enormous spurs. There he stands, with his lasso coiled up and thrown carelessly over his arm. He advances towards the herd, followed by two mounted Gauchos dressed in full costume. As the colts gallop round the corral, into which they have been driven, with wild eyes and waving manes, he selects one of them; and whirling his lasso lightly round, casts it over the animal’s head, sinking down at the same time on his left knee, and holding it with both hands. No sooner does the colt feel the lasso than it bounds into the air, and dashes off, the dormador sliding and crouching along the ground, playing him, as a fisherman does a large salmon, till he has separated him from the rest of the herd. He then brings him into the centre of the corral, plunging and rearing, with his tether much shortened. Another Gaucho throws his lasso on the ground under the colt’s fore-feet, and by an upward jerk tightens it round his legs. At the same time the dormador lets his lasso out freely; the horse dashes out till it is brought to the ground by the other lasso, with a shock sufficient, it would seem, to break every bone in his body. There he lies motionless, while his fore and hind-feet are secured.

At length restored to consciousness, after some convulsive plunges he again gets on his feet, and is led by a further relay of Gauchos to a post, where he is saddled and bridled in spite of his struggles. Regaining his strength, he plunges, kicks, and bites in all directions, the Gauchos nimbly getting out of his way. The dormador, watching his opportunity, now leaps into the saddle, and signs to his companions to cast off the leg-lasso. Immediately the colt, finding his legs free, jumps straight off the ground, and then commences to back, plunge, and dash furiously out. The dormador, however, sticks on; and another Gaucho, coming behind, administers a lash with his long cutting whip, which makes the poor animal start off at full speed, with a snort like a scream. A mounted Gaucho rides on either side of him, to keep him straight. Off he goes over the level country for miles, occasionally stopping to back and kick; but each time his efforts grow fainter, till at length he is ridden back, with eyes bloodshot, covered with foam and blood, and perfectly bewildered, when he is unsaddled and tied to the post. “Poor beast!” observes Captain Kennedy, who describes such a scene, “he looks as much broken down as broken in.” Few of the Gauchos, however, can overcome a horse after the manner of the one whose feat he witnessed.

Patagonians.

The chief tribe of Patagonians who inhabit the region as far south as the Strait of Magellan, go under the name of Pehuenches—men of tall and muscular stature, with thick black hair, high foreheads, and broad faces, but in no way approaching to what would be called the gigantic. Their features express passive contentment, but are utterly destitute of vivacity and intelligence. Their feet are remarkably small. They have their eyebrows and moustaches plucked so as to contain only a single line of hairs. The women are of low size, and unattractive—using a sort of pigment on their bodies, composed of animal blood and soot.

The sole covering of both sexes is a mantle made of huanacu skins—worn with the hairy side in—which can be thrown off in a moment. Their habitations are huts of skin, supported on poles sloping to the ground, towards the direction from whence blows the strong wind or snow from Cape Horn. They sleep, however, in fine weather,—like other tribes further to the north,—on the uncovered ground.

Their great delight is smoking—from a pipe made of stone, fashioned into the shape of a small bowl, in which a long tube is fixed. Each man takes a pull at the pipe and sends it round, gulping in a huge quantity of vapour, all the muscles of the body seeming in a fierce convulsion of straining; and while his neighbour is apparently employed in an effort to gulp down the whole apparatus, there issues from the nose and mouth of the first smoker a cloud which quickly renders his face and all around him invisible.

Like other tribes of the Pampas, they have become expert horsemen, and with bolas capture huanacus and ostriches.

Deer of the Pampas.

Besides the huanacus, a deer of considerable size ranges in small herds throughout the Pampas and northern Patagonia, and is very abundant. It possesses an overpoweringly strong and offensive odour at some periods of the year, which is perceptible at a great distance. Should the Gauchos kill an animal when this is the case, they bury the flesh in the earth, by which means the taint is removed, and it becomes eatable. A person can easily approach a herd by crawling along the ground, when the deer, out of curiosity, apparently, approach to reconnoitre him. They, however, have learned to fear their enemy, man, when mounted on a horse and armed with bolas; and as soon as they see a horseman, they invariably take to flight.

Nata Cattle.

Darwin mentions a remarkable breed of cows called the nata or niata. The animal has a very short and broad forehead, with the nasal end turned up, and the upper lip much drawn back. Its lower jaw projects below the upper, and has a corresponding upward curve; hence its teeth are always exposed. Its nostrils are seated high up, and are very open; and the eyes are projecting. When walking, it carries its head low on a short neck; and its hind-legs are rather longer compared with the front ones than is usual.

The breed is supposed to have originated amongst the Indians southward of the La Plata. It is fiercer than common cattle; and the cow easily deserts her first calf if molested or visited too often. Now, it is a singular fact that an almost similar structure to the abnormal one of the niata breed characterises the great extinct ruminant of India—the sivatherium. The breed is very true, and the niata bull and cow invariably produce niata calves. “Can it be that this animal is an aboriginal of the continent, and existed ages before the European breeds were introduced?” asks Mr Darwin.

The Bizcacha.

The careless horseman on the Pampas soon becomes disagreeably acquainted with the existence of a little rodent—the bizcacha—into whose closely-set burrows should his horse step, he will to a certainty find himself pitched over his steed’s head. It closely resembles a rabbit, but with larger gnawing teeth and a longer tail. It has only three toes behind, like the agouti. The creatures are seen in great numbers during the evening seated on their haunches in front of their abodes,—from which they seldom wander far,—gravely contemplating the passer-by. When scampering out of danger, their elevated tails and short fore-legs give them the appearance of large rats.

They have a curious habit of dragging every hard object they find to the mouth of their burrows; round which bones of animals, stones, and hard lumps of earth, are found, collected in large irregular heaps. Although, no doubt, some good reason exists for this habit, it is difficult to account for it. A gentleman told Mr Darwin, that having dropped his watch one dark night, he was unable to find it; but returning the following morning, and searching the neighbourhood of every bizcacha burrow along the line of road, he at length discovered it among a heap of rubbish.

The Peruvian Bizcacha and Chinchilla.

Another little rodent, very similar to the bizcacha of the Pampas, lives high up on the mountain, often at an elevation of 12,000 feet. It resembles the rabbit, but its ears are shorter, and its tail is long and rough.

Nearly related to it, and inhabiting the same region, is the chinchilla—a pretty little creature, rather larger than a squirrel, with great brilliant eyes, an erect tail, strong bristles on the upper lip, and rounded, almost naked ears. Its beautifully soft fur is much valued by ladies in Europe. It covers in certain districts the slopes of the Andes with its burrows, which trip up many an unwary horseman—greatly to its surprise and alarm, as its only object in forming them is to have a quiet home of its own, where it can bring up its young, and enjoy the roots which it collects, and on which it feeds at its leisure.

The Tucutuco (Ctenomys Braziliensis).

The tucutuco—another small rodent, with burrowing habits something like those of a mole—gains its name from the short nasal groan which it repeats about four times in quick succession. It is very abundant, and may be heard at all times of the day uttering its strange sounds directly beneath the feet in its burrow. It throws up little hillocks of earth like those of a mole at the mouth of its abode. So completely are tracks of country undermined by these animals, that horses in passing over sink above their fetlocks.

They are gregarious and nocturnal in their habits. Their chief food consists of the roots of plants, to obtain which they make their extensive and superficial burrows. From the formation of their hind-legs, they are unable to jump even the smallest vertical height.

It is a curious circumstance connected with them, that large numbers become blind,—though apparently the animal suffers but little inconvenience in consequence, as it exists almost entirely beneath the surface of the ground.

The Rhea.

Across the wide Pampas, from the plains of La Plata to the south of Patagonia, the large rhea, vying almost in size with the African ostrich, stalks along, generally in pairs, but sometimes in large flocks of thirty or more. It differs from the real ostrich,—having three toes instead of two, is smaller, and of a uniform grey colour, except on the back, which has a brown tint. Like the ostrich, the back and rump are furnished with long feathers, but of a less rich description than the former species.

When running, it moves at great speed, alternately raising, outstretching, and then depressing its wings.

The cock bird emits a singularly deep-toned, hissing note; and he can be distinguished by being larger, darker coloured, and having a bigger head than the hen. The cry is so deep and loud, that it resembles that of a wild beast.

His hens lay their eggs at random round a hole which he digs for the nest. He then employs himself in rolling them along into it, by inserting his beak between the egg and the ground, as a boy would roll a hockey ball along with a stick. He then sits to hatch them, while the hens feed round at liberty. He lies so close on these occasions, that he is easily ridden over. He is at this time very fierce, and even dangerous, and has been known to attack a man on horseback, trying to kick and leap up at him. Frequently twenty-two eggs, and even more, are found in each nest.

The rhea, when pursued, readily takes to the water; and sometimes even of its own accord, when not frightened, will swim across a river. One has been seen crossing a stream four hundred yards in width.

When swimming, very little of their bodies appear above water, and their necks are extended a little forward,—their progress being slow.

The rhea is hunted by the Gauchos and Indians on horseback. The huntsmen form a semicircle, gradually closing in on the bird, which does not know in which way to escape. It generally runs off against the wind; at the same time, when it first starts, it expands its wings, and, like a vessel, makes sail. As the huntsman gets close to it he throws his lasso over its neck; or if he is using the bolas, he casts them so as to entangle the bird’s-legs, and thus bring it to the ground.

The rhea is easily tamed, and is constantly seen about the huts of the Patagonians.

In the southern part of Patagonia another species, much smaller, exists,—the Avestris petise, now called Struthio Darwinii, in compliment to the naturalist who has described it. He states that not more than fifteen eggs are found in the nest of the petise, deposited by two or more females. This bird does not expand its wings when first starting at full speed, after the manner of the northern kind. It is a smaller and more graceful bird: its white feathers are tipped with black at the extremities, and the black ones in like manner are tipped with white.

A third species, the large-billed rhea (Rhea macrorhyncha), has been discovered. These birds in vast numbers inhabit the wide-extended plains, and afford a welcome addition to the food of their roving inhabitants.

Caracara Polyborus.

The largest caracara—Polyborus Braziliensis—ranges the grassy savannahs of La Plata. Across the desert, between the rivers Negro and Colorado, numbers constantly attend the line of road, to devour the carcasses of the exhausted animals which chance to perish from fatigue and thirst. It also attends the estancias and slaughtering-houses, accompanied by its smaller relative, the chimango. “When an animal dies on the plain the gallinaso commences the feast, and then the two species of polyborus pick the bones clean,” says Darwin. These birds, although thus commonly feeding together, are far from being friends. When the caracara is quietly seated on the branch of a tree or on the ground, the chimango often continues for a long time flying backwards and forwards, up and down, in a semicircle, trying each time at the bottom of the curve to strike its larger relative. The caracara takes little notice, except by bobbing its head. The caracaras are crafty, and steal numbers of eggs; they also attempt, together with the chimango, to pick off the scabs from the sore backs of horses and mules. These false eagles rarely kill any living bird or animal; and their vulture-like, necrophagous habits are very evident to any one who has fallen asleep on the desolate plains; for, when he awakes, he will see on each surrounding hillock one of these birds patiently watching him with an evil eye. If a party of men go out hunting with dogs and horses, they will be accompanied during the day by several of these attendants.

The flight of the caracara is heavy and slow, and it is generally an inactive, tame, and cowardly bird. It destroys young lambs, by tearing the umbilical cord; and it pursues the gallinaso till that bird is compelled to vomit up the carrion it may have recently gorged. It is said, also, that several caracaras will unite in chase of large birds, even such as herons.

The chimango is tame and fearless; and when an animal is killed a number soon collect, and patiently wait, standing on the ground on all sides. Darwin describes seeing one pounce on a dog which was lying asleep close to one of a party of sportsmen. They had difficulty in preventing their canine companion from being seized before their eyes.

It will frequently wait, as does the caracara, at the mouth of a rabbit-hole, and seize on the animal when it comes out. It is also very mischievous and inquisitive. It will pick up almost anything from the ground: a large black glazed hat was carried nearly a mile, as were a pair of heavy bolas. On another occasion a small Kater’s compass in a red morocco case was carried off, and never recovered. These birds are, moreover, quarrelsome and very passionate, tearing up the grass with their bills in their rage. They are noisy, too, uttering several harsh cries—one of them like that of the English rook.

Owls of the Pampas (Athene Cuniculaeia).

The traveller across the Pampas will see a number of little owls—generally seated in pairs, during the evening, on the hillocks near the burrows of the bizcacha, occasionally uttering their strange wild hoots to each other. If disturbed, they either run into the holes of their friends, in which they have their abode; or, uttering a shrill, harsh cry, they move with a remarkably undulatory flight to a short distance, and then turning round, steadily gaze at their pursuer.

The Pampas Cuckoo (Molothrus Niger).

Among the birds of numerous kinds which abound on the plains, there are several worthy of notice. One is remarkable from its habits.

It deposits its eggs, like the cuckoo, in the nests of other birds. Several of them may be seen standing together on the back of a cow or horse. They also perch on low boughs: and while pluming themselves in the sun, attempt to sing; but their voice is rather like a hiss, resembling that of bubbles of air passing rapidly from a small orifice under water, so as to produce an acute sound.

The Calandria (Mina Orpheus).

The best songster on the Pampas is a species of mocking-bird, called by the inhabitants calandria. Its song is powerful—similar to that of the hedge-warbler. It only sings, however, during the spring; at other times its cry is harsh and inharmonious. They frequent the neighbourhood of houses; and will boldly peck at the meat which is hung up on the posts or walls to dry. When any of the other small birds join the feast, the calandria soon chases them away.

Flamingoes.

The flamingo, in large flocks, visits the New World as well as the Old. On the shores of the great rivers, as also on the banks of lagoons and marshes, it may be seen feeding with other water-fowl—its beautiful red and white plumage shining brightly in the sun, and contrasting with the dark green of the river vegetation.

Oven-Birds.

Of the genus Furnarius there are several species. The best-known is the oven-bird of La Plata—the casara, or house-maker, of the Spaniards. It builds its nest in an exposed situation, on the top of a vast bare rock or cactus. It is composed of mud and bits of straw, and has strong, thick walls—its shape being precisely that of an oven, or depressed bee-hive. The opening is large and arched, and directly in front. Within the nest there is a partition which reaches nearly to the roof, thus forming a passage or ante-chamber to the true nest.

The Little House-Builder.

There is another species of Furnarius, which the Spaniards call the casarita, or little house-builder. This species builds its nest at the bottom of a narrow cylindrical hole, which extends horizontally to nearly six feet under ground. It generally chooses the side of a low bank, but sometimes penetrates the mud walls round the houses, through which it works its way, frequently—very much to its disappointment—coming out unexpectedly on the opposite side.

The Scissor-Beak.

The scissor-beak (Rhynchops nigra) frequents the lakes and streams. It is about the size of a tern, with short legs, webbed feet, and extremely long, pointed wings. The beak is flattened laterally, and the lower mandible is an inch and a half longer than the upper. When flying along in small flocks, close to the surface of a lake, the birds keep their bills wide open, the lower mandible half buried in the water. In their flight they frequently twist about with extreme swiftness, managing, with their projecting lower mandible, to plough up small fish, which they retain in the lower half of their scissor-like bills. Each bird thus leaves its wake on the mirror-like surface. On quitting the water their flight is wild, irregular, and rapid. They then utter loud, harsh cries; their tails, as they fly, are much used in steering their irregular course.

During the day they may generally be seen resting in flocks on the grassy plains, at some distance from the water, as they usually take to fishing at night.

Parrots.

A small green parrot, with a grey breast, frequents the banks of the Parana. It builds on the higher branches of the taller trees.

These birds fly in large flocks, and commit great ravages on the corn-fields.

The Boat-Bill Heron.

In the same localities the curious boat-bill heron is found,—its short thick neck and enormous beak giving it a clumsy, ungainly look alongside the elegant flamingo. The beak may be likened to two boats, laid one upon the other, gunwale to gunwale, the upper part of the mandible representing the keel. It feeds on the Crustacea which it picks up on the shore, as well as on fish—on which it pounces, as they swim by, from some branch overhanging the water.

It is about the size of a duck, its legs being shorter, in proportion to its body, than those of waders in general. On the top of its head the male has a full, long plume of black feathers drooping over the back. The neck and breast are of a greyish-white. The back also is grey, with a wash of rusty-red; while there is a patch of a deeper tint of the same colour upon the middle of the under part of the body. The sides are black, and the tail white.

Although many other creatures besides those which have been described are to be found in the vast regions we have rambled over, none of the larger or more curious have been omitted. We have, however, been able to take only a very cursory glance at the human inhabitants or the wonders of the vegetable kingdom; but it is hoped that the reader will have gained a general and correct view of the various aspects which the wilder portions of the Western World present, as well as of the animals with which the Creator, in his infinite wisdom, has thought fit to people them.

Quitting America, we purpose,—in future volumes,—to wander over the Eastern portions of the globe, the islands of the Pacific, Australasia, and the Indian Archipelago, and to visit the Arctic and Antarctic regions,—where numberless objects are to be found, not less interesting and wonderful than those described in the preceding pages.