198 WANDERINGS IN SOUTH AMERICA. 



The Indians of these wilds have never been subject 

 to the least restraint ; and I knew enough of them to 

 be aware that if I tried to force them against their will, 

 they would take off, and leave me and my presents 

 unheeded, and never return. 



Daddy Quashi was for applying to our guns, as usual, 

 considering them our best and safest friends. I imme- 

 diately offered to knock him down for his cowardice, 

 and he shrank back, begging that I would be cautious, 

 and not get myself worried, and apologising for his own 

 want of resolution. My Indian was now in conversa- 

 tion with the others, and they asked me if I would 

 allow them to shoot a dozen arrows into him, and thus 

 disable him. This would have ruined all. I had come 

 above three hundred miles on purpose to get a cayman 

 uninjured, and not to carry back a mutilated specimen. 

 I rejected their proposition with firmness, and darted a 

 disdainful eye upon the Indians. 



Daddy Quashi was again beginning to remonstrate, 

 and I chased him on the sand-bank for a quarter of 

 a mile. He told me afterwards he thought he should 

 have dropped down dead with fright, for he was firmly 

 persuaded, if I had caught him, I should have bundled 

 him into the cayman's jaws. Here, then, we stood in 

 silence, like a calm before a thunder-storm. " Hoc res 

 summa loco. Scinditur in contraria vulgus." They 

 wanted to kill him, and I wanted to take him alive. 



I now walked up and down the sand, revolving a 

 dozen projects in my head. The canoe was at a con- 

 siderable distance, and I ordered the people to bring it 

 round to the place where we were. The mast was 

 eight feet long, and not much thicker than my wrist. 

 I took it out of the canoe, and wrapped the sail round 



