118 JUNGLE PEACE 



which to penetrate to my person and to the 

 leather-covered box which was so precious. 



Things went better after we made the dis- 

 covery that we were progressing bow-hindmost. 

 And all the time the rain poured down, and 

 coolie women and girls plodded drearily by to 

 work. We landed finally and, in despair of 

 photography, I cached the camera beneath a 

 slanting tree. Then we began a tramp through 

 all the mud in the world. There is only one 

 place where the mud is deeper and more sticky 

 than by a sugar-plantation trench, and that is 

 on the dividing dikes of a Chinese rice-field. We 

 slipped and slid, and when our shoes became 

 too heavy to lift, we dabbled them in the trench 

 and washed them. In brief intervals of less 

 heavy rain we watched passing herons and 

 hawks, while giant anis bubbled and grunted 

 in surprise at our procession. 



At last the never-to-be-forgotten hoarse gut- 

 turals of hoatzins came to our ears, and dimly 

 through the rain we saw one small branchful of 

 four birds, hunched up with drenched plumage. 

 Two others were posed as rain-worshipers — 

 rufous wings widespread, heads stretched out, 

 welcoming the sheets of water which poured 



