282 TIMEHRI. 
one woodskin came rushing down the stream, heavily 
loaded, with its redskinned owner and my three boys. 
This woodskin we bought, at the price of one cutlass ; 
and once more we fell asleep in hopes of getting off 
in the morning. 
If ever there was a load just wanting the last straw, 
that woodskin had such a load when GABRIEL and I 
with half our baggage in it, started on the downward 
journey. The other two boys and the rest of the lug- 
gage we necessarily left behind for a second journey. 
For a day and a half, in an overloaded piece of bark, we 
floated down the smooth reaches or rushed down the 
rapids till we came to the fall. There GABRIEL left me, 
and, with the rest of the party, rejoined me in three 
days’ time. 
On several previous occasions I had spent some days, 
under varying circumstances, at the place at which I 
spent these three lonely days, just where the Potaro 
river, four hundred feet wide, drops suddenly down a 
perpendicular cliff of 750 feet, into a great hole, from 
which it escapes through a narrow ravine in a series of 
rapids. The scene is magnificent beyond description. 
But on this occasion, the rain falling throughout the 
three days and nights, I lived in a dense mist through 
which it was rarely possible to see more than a few feet 
in front of one. The cold was intense—though probably 
the thermometer was never actually below 50. Wrapped 
in flannel clothes, an ulster of frieze, and often a rug, I 
found full occupation in trying to keep up a fire, and, 
from time to time, in cooking a little of the only food 
remaining to me—a few handfuls of flour and a couple of 
tins of oysters. 
