262 WANDERINGS IN SOUTH AMERICA. 



most branches, while its aged trunk, imdermined by the 

 rushing torrent, hung as though in sorrow over the river, 

 which, eie long, would receive it, and sweep it away for ever. 



During the day, the trade- wind blew a gentle and re- 

 freshing breeze, which died away as the night set in, and 

 then the river was as smooth as glass. 



The moon was within three days of being full, so that 

 we did not regret the loss of the sun, which set in all its 

 splendour. Scarce had he sunk behind the western hills, 

 when the Goatsuckers sent forth their soft and plaintive 

 cries; some often repeating, "Who are you — who, who, 

 who are you ? " and others, " Willy, Willy, Willy come go." 



The Indian and Daddy Quashi often shook their heads at 

 this, and said they were bringing talk from Yabahou, who 

 is the evil spirit of the Essequibo. It was delightful to sit 

 on the branch of a fallen tree, near the water's edge, and 

 listen to these harmless birds as they repeated their even- 

 ing song ; and watch the owls and vampires as they every 

 now and then passed up and down the river. 



The next day, about noon, as we were proceeding on- 

 wards, we heard the Campanero tolling in the depth of the 

 forest. Though I should not then have stopped to dissect 

 even a rare bird, having a greater object in view, still I 

 could not resist the opportunity offered of acquiring the 

 campanero. The place where he was tolling was low and 

 swampy, and my legs not having quite recovered from the 

 effects of the sun, I sent the Indian to shoot the campanero. 

 He got up to the tree, which he described as very high, 

 with a naked top, and situated in a swamp. He fired at 

 the bird, but either missed it, or did not wound it suffi- 

 ciently to bring it down. This was the only opportunity I 

 had of getting a campanero during this expedition. We 

 had never heard one toll before this morning, and never 

 heard one after. 



