J. Delacour—Notes of a Bird-lover in Tropical America 153


until my return from Guiana. The VAntilles runs once a month from

Martinique to Cayenne, stopping at all the ports. We called at George¬

town, Paramaribo, and the “ lies du Salut”, enchanting and salubrious

in the shade of the cocoanuts, in spite of their sinister reputation, as

the settlement of the most dangerous convicts, both political and

criminal. We arrived at Cayenne, a town of such unattractive aspect.


. dead and sordid, that, finding it was also unfavourable for ornitho¬

logical research, we remained only four days. Anyhow, a few trips

in the neighbourhood were sufficient to give me a casual idea of the

country, and on the 21st January we again set out, this time in a

northerly direction, towards St. Laurent-du-Maroni.


The Maroni


The Guiana sea is shallow, yellow, and muddy, and above the

green line of the mangroves torn by the winds, the occasional hill¬

tops, notably the Rock of Kouron, appear as mountains on that extra¬

ordinarily low coast. But VAntilles has turned amidst the great rollers,

now we are on the Maroni.


The water of the estuary is muddy like the sea. On either

side of the flat banks, distant from one another several miles,

mangroves and palms advance far in the water, concealing the banks.

A few pairs of Blue-yellow Macaws are flying screaming. That is

really the only life one sees on the river and its banks ; no waterfowl,

no waders, no crocodiles ; nothing but the luxuriant vegetation which

deprives animals even of the space where they would live on the margin.

The contrast of the Guiana rivers, apparently without fauna, to that

of the Orinoco tributaries — where animal life is so exuberant—is most

striking.


The little steamer continues up the Maroni for several hours ;

the water clears and becomes transparent, although always maintaining

its coffee tint, so characteristic of the Guiana rivers, due to the vegeta¬

tion wdiich decays everywhere and stains the water. And there are

always very few birds to be seen on the banks. We turn about several

times ; we pass little islands ; the majestic river is hardly less wide

than at its mouth, and at last we are in sight of St. Laurent.


The forest, which everywhere shuts in the river, widens out ; a



