24 OUR SEARCH FOR A WILDERNESS. 



this is tlie Chachalaca' — a bird not larger than a common 

 fowl, but with a longer tail. It spends most of its time on 

 the ground or among the lower branches of the trees in the 

 swamps. It was seldom that we caught sight of one, but we 

 shall never forget the first time we heard their diabolical 

 chorus. 



The sun's rays now light up the narrow path of water ahead 

 of us, and a thousand creatures seem to awaken and give 

 voice at once. Two splendid Yellow and Blue Macaws" Qy 

 high overhead, their screams softened by the distance; a 

 flock of great white-billed, Red-crested Woodpeckers'*'* drum 

 and call; from the bank comes the rolling cry of the Tina- 

 mou and the sweet, penetrating double note of the Sun- 

 bittern"; Hummingbirds squeak in their flight as they shake 

 the dew-drops from the orchids above us; squirrels with fur 

 of orange and gray scramble through the branches, fleeing 

 before the little capuchin monkeys. Then, one after another, 

 three splendid Swallow-tailed Kites'^" dash past us at full 

 speed, brushing the surface of the water and floating upward 

 again. 



Swallows,"" emerald and white, catch the flies which hover 

 near us; a big yellow-breasted Flycatcher alights for a moment 

 on the bow of our boat — and a tropical day is fairly begun. 

 These and a hundred other creatures about us bathe, sing, 

 and seek their food during the fresh hours of early morning. 

 Then, as the sun rises higher and its heat draws a hush over 

 all, the notes of the birds die away, leaving the insect vocalists 

 supreme. Butterflies click here and there, a loud humming 

 tells of huge wasps winging their way on murderous missions, 

 but above all rises the chant of the cicadas. The commonest 

 of these grinds out harsh, reverberating tones — whir-r-r-r-r-r! 

 wh-r-r! wh-r-r! wh-r-r! wh-r-r! rolling the r's in the first 

 utterance for a minute or more, then ending in a series of 

 short, abrupt whirs. 



