138 



NAVIGATION. 



popero, giving the boat a broad sheer with the sweep of his long paddle ; 

 the desperate exertions of the bogas ; the railroad rush of the canoe ; and 

 the wild, triumphant, screaming laugh of the Indians, as we shot past 

 the danger, made a scene that was much too exciting to admit of any- 

 other emotion than that of admiration. 



"We passed many of these to-day, and were well soaked by the 

 canoes taking in water on each side ; some of them were mere smooth 

 declivities — inclined planes of gravel, with only three or four inches of 

 water on them, so that the men had to get overboard, keep the canoes 

 head on and drag them down. The average velocity of the river here 

 is three and a half miles to the hour ; but when it dashes down one of 

 these declivities, it must be much more. The breadth of the river is a, 

 constantly varying quantity, probably never over one hundred and fifty 

 yards, and never under thirty ; banks low, and covered with trees, 

 bushes, and wild cane. There were hills on each side, some distance 

 from the bank, but now and then coming down to it. It is almost 

 impossible to estimate the distance travelled with any degree of accu- 

 racy. The force of the current is very variable, and the Indians very 

 irregular in their manner of rowing — sometimes paddling half an hour 

 with great vigor, and then suffering the boat to drift with the tide. 

 Averaging the current at three and a half miles the hour, and the row- 

 ing at one and a half, with nine hours of actual travel, we have forty- 

 five miles for a day's journey at this season. I have estimated the 

 number of travelling hours at nine, for we get off generally at 5 a. 

 m., and stop at 5 p. m. We spend two hours for breakfast, in the 

 middle of the day, and another hour is lost at the shallows of the river, 

 or stopping to get a shot at an animal or bird. 



At half-past five we camped on the beach. The first business of the 

 boatmen when the canoe is secured, is to go off to the woods and cut 

 stakes and palm branches to make a house for the patron. By sticking 

 long poles in the sand, chopping them half in tw T o, about five feet above 

 the ground, and bending the upper parts together, they make, in a few 

 minutes, the frame of a little shanty, which, thickly thatched with 

 palm leaves, will keep off the dew or an ordinary rain. Some bring 

 the drift-wood that is lying about the beach and make a fire ; the pro- 

 visions are cooked and eaten; the bedding laid down upon the leaves 

 that cover the floor of the shanty ; the mosquito nettings spread ; and, 

 after a cup of coffee, a glass of grog, and a cigar, (if they are to be 

 had,) everybody retires for the night by eight o'clock. The Indians 

 sleep around the hut, each under his narrow cotton mosquito curtain, 

 which glisten in the moon-light like so many tomb-stones. This was 



