220 NIGHT-WATCH. 



that stream to Puerte de Jeres, or "Quatro Ojos," as it is more fre- 

 quently called. Thence travellers mount on horseback, by a road 

 through the forest, to the city of Santa Cruz, where the Mojos cacao is 

 sent to Market. During the latter part of the dry season, in the month 

 of November, travellers from Trinidad to Santa Cruz go on horseback 

 entirely through the country, in preference to poling and paddling 

 against a rapid current, which in the descent often endangers the safety t 

 of the cargo by upsetting the canoes against snags. 



The banks of the Mamore are the same as the Chapare. Our sound- 

 ings are now thirty feet, and the Mamore has a width of four hundred 

 yards below the junction; this stream flows in a northerly direction. 

 The current of the Mamore runs at the same speed as the Chapare — one 

 mile and a half per hour. 



While the porpoise bows his back in the air above the surface of the 

 river, and spouts like the porpoise of the sea, small parties of seal whirl 

 round and bark at us daringly. The seals are very small ; not near so 

 large as those we have seen on the river La Plata. 



At 9 a. m., thermometer, 73°; wet bulb, 70° ; river water, 75°. As 

 we passed near the perpendicular bank a moderate-sized tree came down 

 with a terrible crash just before us. The bank broke and the current 

 washed away the earth, and we left the tree struggling with the river, 

 which in time will either give way and follow us down, or stand stub- 

 born as the foundation of another island. 



We met with a fishing party of Indians in a canoe, with two women 

 as cooks for twelve men. As we had been feasting on wild turkeys, 

 ducks, and geese, we offered to purchase fish, but they were as much in 

 want as we, and showed a disposition to keep at a distance — very likely 

 on account of our cases of small-pox. 



The river was so clear of snags and drift-wood that the men wanted 

 to continue on all night, which promised to be clear, though the day 

 was wet and unpleasant, with an easterly storm, which seemed rather 

 to encourage the musquito tribe. We therefore had dinner cooked early. 



After the sun went down the bright moon lit up our water-path 

 through the wilds. The earth seemed asleep as we watched the nodding 

 Indians at their paddles, which hung dripping over the sides of the 

 canoe. At one moment a rustling noise was heard among the canes. 

 We swept close in towards the bank by the current. The burning 

 piece of wood which the old captain kept on his part of the boat dis- 

 turbed the black tiger, or a serpent slipped softly from a cluster of canes 

 into the water to avoid us. As we turn, the moon shines directly up 

 the river, and the sheet of water appears like a silvery way. We think 



