OUR SEARCH FOR A WILDERNESS 



CHAPTER I. 

 THE LAND OF A SINGLE TREE. 



ONE day late in March, just as the tropical sun was 

 sinking from view, our barefooted Spanish crew pulled 

 up anchor from the muddy bottom of Port of Spain's har- 

 bor. Slowly the sails rilled, and the spray began to fly from 

 the bow as we steered straight into the crimson path of the 

 sunset. Behind us the lofty Trinidad ranges glowed softly; 

 great velvety peaks and ridges, purpled by distance, gilded 

 by the last rays of day. Then the twilight passed swiftly 

 as if the sun had been quenched by the waters which cov- 

 ered its face; the mountains became merged into the dark- 

 ness of the sky, and the city of busy life behind us melted 

 into a linear constellation of twinkling lights. 



\Ye had chartered a little sloop of twenty-one tons, the 

 " Josefa Jacinta " (Ho-say'fah Hah-seen f fah) t manned by a 

 captain, a cook and a crew of three. At her masthead 

 flew the flag of Venezuela. With a month's provisions in 

 the hold and all the varied paraphernalia of a naturalist, 

 we were headed for the northern part of the Orinoco delta 

 in search of the primitive wilderness of which we had 

 dreamed. 



Jamaica, Colon, Savanilla, La Guayra had passed in quick 

 succession, and we were surprised to find Trinidad the most 

 modern and wide-awake of all. The well-appointed hotels, 



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