322 ANNUAL EEPOET SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1915. 



themselves at the edge of the hyacinth beds — all these and a hun- 

 dred other charms lure him deeper and deeper into the marsh or 

 into the lush reeds and papyrus beds that form some of their mar- 

 gins. I shall not soon forget an hour spent in retrieving an ever- 

 glade -kite in the great marsh at Calamar. Here the one pervasive 

 sound "svas the constant, irritating hum of the myriads of ravenous 

 mosquitoes. Things were not helped by the discovery that I was 

 soon on a false bottom, made only of the suspended roots of the 

 vegetation that rose 10 feet above me, so that I went through and 

 had to go the rest of the way on my knees, up to my armpits in 

 tepid water. As I had a gun and a glass to keep dry, this was no 

 joke, and I think that was the most miserable hour I ever went 

 through. At the end I was absolutely spent and could only crawl 

 out and lie down — easy meat for the mosquitoes — for another hour. 

 But it had its recompenses. Into the willow-like shrubber}^ over me 

 came the beautiful little yellow-headed blackbird of the Tropics 

 and sang his orchard-oriole song. Nearby great-tailed grackles 

 squealed, piped, and pointed their bills aloft in their nuptial atti- 

 tudinizing. The red-breasted meadowlark, Leistes, also came to 

 close quarters, though it did not sing, and I watched the lovely and 

 delicate little black and white marsh flycatchers almost at arm's 

 length. 



There is a creature in the South American forests which, though 

 not a bird, ranks easilj'^ first as a maker of weird noises. I have 

 read many descriptions of his performance, but was not in the least 

 prepared for the reality when I actually heard it, nor did I even 

 recognize it. This is the roaring of the so-called howling monkey. 

 To my mind hoAvling is a sort of eerie, rising and falling noise, far 

 different from the deep-voiced, businesslike, bellowing roar that is 

 the predominant feature of this little animal's performance. It is 

 at least a hundred times more thunderous and terrible than would 

 seem possible from a creature somewhat larger than a big tomcat. 

 I had heard them in the distance a number of times, but it was at 

 Rio Frio, on the Cauca River, where our little sternwheeler was 

 taking wood, that I first got close to them in " action." As I left the 

 boat for a short walk in the virgin bottom-forest I heard howlers 

 a little distance in. I knew they were small animals (our biggest male 

 weighed 17 pounds) and could do me no harm. Yet hei3 I confess 

 to a greater triumph of mind over matter than I have elsewhere 

 ever been called on to effect in order to overcome the fierce desire to 

 be somewhere else. In sjDite of the intellectual certainty that it was 

 perfectly safe, it took all my nerve that first time to move up under 

 the tree whence came that courage-killing, menacing bellow. There 

 were only four of them — an old male, a female, and two half -grown 



