114 JUNGLE PEACE 



men was taking me out to where the hoatzins 

 lived. We went in his car, which, and I use 

 his own simile, was as truly a relic as anything 

 I have mentioned. I have been in one-horse 

 shays. I have ridden for miles in a Calcutta 

 gharry, I was now in a one-cylinder knock- 

 about which in every way lived up to its name. 

 It was only after a considerable time that I felt 

 assured that the mud-guards and wheels were 

 not on the point of leaving us. When I had 

 also become accustomed to the clatter and bang 

 of loose machinery I was once more able to look 

 around. I had become fairly familiar with the 

 various racial types of Guiana, and with some 

 accuracy I could distinguish the more apparent 

 strains. Halfway through the town we passed 

 three girls, one a coolie, the second dominantly 

 negroid, while the third showed the delicate pro- 

 file, the subtle color, the unmistakable physiog- 

 nomy of a Syrian. She might have posed for 

 the finest of the sculptures on a Babylonian 

 wall. I turned in astonishment to my host, who 

 explained that years ago some Syrian peddlers 

 had come this way, remained, prospered, and 

 sent for their wives. Now their children had 

 affiliated with the other varied types — affiliated 



