348 FOLLOW THE WHALE 



of Paradise. The "going away" of the noise of the engine, though 

 itself a worthy little brute, had somehow taken with it all the cares 

 of our clanking modern world of struggle and frustration, while we 

 seemed to have drifted over some unseen threshold into a dream 

 world of infinite beauty and peace. 



The great equatorial rivers that wind for thousands of miles 

 through virgin tropical forests as yet untouched by mechanically- 

 minded man, and for the most part still unmarred even by the passing 

 of primitive people, certainly come closer to man's idea of Heaven 

 than any other places to be found upon this earth. There is no disease 

 there unless you despoil it with your own parasitical hordes. There 

 is food and water in abundance, and the moths do not corrupt; 

 rather do they cleanse — along with the molds, fungi, and bacteria — 

 by reducing all dead things, that might otherwise be nasty, to a 

 beautiful, soft, brown fluffiness as sterile as the earth upon which it 

 lies. This river was such a place, and, besides, the air was just below 

 body temperature and fresh with the freshness of growing things, 

 while the brilliant sunshine burnished the surface of the river until 

 it looked like a black mirror. 



One of my companions finally pulled himself together with a deep 

 sigh and suggested that we go exploring in the smallest canoe to find 

 a way through the vegetation to the bank so that Guinape might 

 cut a channel, pull the launch in, and start unloading the gear to make 

 a camp. There was general agreement with this suggestion, so we 

 clambered very carefully into the tiny dugout which was but seven 

 feet long. It sank to within four inches of the water while we ar- 

 ranged ourselves fore and aft in its bottom and tied our machetes 

 to its thwarts, a precaution we had learned in order to save these 

 most valuable tools when capsizing or swamping, which was not 

 infrequent in this rugged little cockle. Finally, we took up short 

 paddles, backed out into the river, and then stroked upstream, search- 

 ing for any dark tunnel under the bushes through which we might 

 pull ourselves to the bank. This we confidently believed was hidden 

 only a few feet beyond. 



It was near the end of the rainy season, and the river was so high 

 that the bushes bordering its banks were half submerged. The tower- 

 ing canopy of the forest reached many feet out over the bank, so 

 that it cast a deep shadow about fifty feet over the waters. Only 



