146 IN THE WILDS OF SOUTH AMERICA 



would expect it to. Finally, in desperation, a long rope 

 was tied to the mast, and two men going ahead in a canoe 

 made the other end fast to a tree, a few hundred feet ahead. 

 The remaining members of the crew then hauled on the 

 rope, slowly drawing the boat forward. Progress was slow, 

 of course, but on the 22d we reached the Puerto, del Infierno, 

 the best possible name for the narrow, rocky gorge through 

 which the river rushes with uncontrolled fury. A large 

 mass of granite covered with low vegetation divides the 

 river into two narrow channels, one of them so protected 

 by high, rocky banks that no wind ever reaches the water, 

 consequently making it impossible for boats to sail up the 

 passage. The other is a narrow, rock-strewn gorge, down 

 which the water thunders in a series of cascades. On the 

 right bank, perched high on the rocks, are a few mud huts 

 called Pueblo de las Piedras. We spent the greater part 

 of a day waiting for wind, and then made straight for the 

 seething passage. Fortunately our pilot was a good one; 

 his method was to steer directly for some great boulder, 

 below which the water was quiet, and just as the ship 

 seemed about to strike he swung the tiller, and the boat 

 painfully nosed her way up the cataract that dashed down 

 the sides of the rock. If the breeze slackened for a moment 

 the ship drifted back with the strong current, which was 

 extremely dangerous, as there was no way of regulating 

 her course; but always, just in the nick of time, the sails 

 filled and after an hour's struggle we left the rapids and 

 sailed into the quiet water above. 



Not far above the Infierno is the village of Mapire, a neat 

 collection of perhaps fifty huts on a high bluff overlooking 

 the river. In back of the town are vast llanos, or grassy 

 plains, which are capable of supporting numerous herds of 

 cattle. On the opposite side of the river, and some little 

 distance up, is the mouth of the Caura, at one time believed 

 to be the home of a tribe of headless people; but the old 

 superstition has been overthrown, and during the first 

 month of each year many adventurous parties ascend the 



