244 WANDERINGS IN SOUTH AMERICA 



hands for the last time before the battle. We 

 were, four South American savages, two negroes 

 from Africa, a Creole from Trinidad, and myself 

 a white man from Yorkshire. In fact, a little 

 tower of Babel group, in dress, no dress, address, 

 and language. 



Daddy Quashi hung in the rear ; I showed him 

 a large Spanish knife, which I always carried in 

 the waistband of my trousers: it spoke volumes 

 to him, and he shrugged up his shoulders in ab- 

 solute despair. The sun was just peeping over 

 the high forests on the eastern hills, as if coming 

 to look on, and bid us act with becoming fortitude. 

 I placed all the people at the end of the rope, and 

 ordered them to pull till the cayman appeared on 

 the surface of the water; and then, should he 

 plunge, to slacken the rope and let him go again 

 into the deep. 



I now took the mast of the canoe in my hand 

 (the sail being tied round the end of the mast) 

 and sunk down upon one knee, about four yards 

 from the water's edge, determining to thrust it 

 down his throat, in case he gave me an oppor- 

 tunity. I certainly felt somewhat uncomfortable 

 in this situation, and I thought of Cerberus on the 

 other side of the Styx ferry. The people pulled 

 the cayman to the surface; he plunged furiously 

 as soon as he arrived in these upper regions, and 

 immediately went below again on their slacken- 

 ing the rope. I saw enough not to fall in love at 

 first sight. I now told them we would run all 

 risks, and have him on land immediately. They 

 pulled again, and out he came, — ''monstrum hor- 

 rendum, informe." This was an interesting mo- 



