222 IN THE WILDS OF SOUTH AMERICA 



compelled to go for it in a rowboat; then the bird was 

 skinned and preserved. After that no one ventured to 

 shoot at the winged hosts. Egrets were present in such 

 vast numbers that the trees were white with them; and 

 when they flew the twinkling wings filled the air like snow- 

 flakes. They were not molested in this locality for the 

 reason that their habitat is impenetrable. I later learned 

 in another region that thousands of these birds are killed 

 for their plumes, in a most atrocious manner. About the 

 time the egret's feathers are at their best, which is also the 

 time when the nests are filled with young birds, the annual 

 floods have begun to recede, leaving small lakes and marshes 

 teeming with imprisoned fish, such as we had seen en route 

 to Rancho Palmiras. This is the season of harvest for the 

 water-birds, and they repair daily to some favorite resort 

 to gorge on the luckless fish. The plume-hunters, taking 

 advantage of this combination of circumstances, collect 

 quantities of fish, poison them, and then scatter them over 

 the birds' feeding-grounds. Occasionally poisoned shrimp 

 are used if the inundations extend beyond the usual time. 

 This method is, of course, cheaper than shooting; the birds 

 are not frightened away as they are by the loud reports 

 of guns, and the success of such relentless persecution must 

 be obvious. A whole colony could be exterminated in its 

 feeding-grounds even if the rookery is impregnable. 



Sao Luis de Caceres was reached January 5, and at noon 

 the next day the Nyoac weighed anchor again and started 

 up-stream. A short stop was made at a small landing called 

 Porto Campo, where a few days' hunt produced tapirs, 

 deer, and white-lipped peccaries. January 13 found the 

 expedition aboard a launch, struggling against the swift 

 current of the Sepotuba. A heavy house-boat full of pro- 

 visions and luggage was towed alongside, and we made not 

 over a mile an hour. The end of the river journey came 

 on January 16. We had reached Tapirapoan, the farthest 

 outpost on the frontier, and immediately preparations were 

 begun for our long dash across the chapadao of Matto Grosso. 



