IX. 

 ON THE RIVERS AND CREEKS. 



IF the struggle for life is so intense inside the 

 forest, how much greater is it along the banks of 

 the rivers and creeks. As we have before stated, 

 the narrower streams meander through dark arcades, 

 and only when they are over fifty feet broad do we 

 get anything like a break in the continuity. Even 

 then it is only here and there, where a tree has 

 been undermined by the flood, that anything like a 

 patch of sunlight comes down to the level of the 

 water. 



In passing along the banks of the great rivers of 

 Guiana, we come upon openings, from which flow 

 swift streams of coffee-coloured water. To the 

 casual observer they are little bays hollowed 

 out of the bank, and backed by masses of vege- 

 tation which effectually hide everything beyond. 

 These are the mouths of tributary streams, called 



creeks, which drain the forest, feed the rivers, 



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