8 
Annual Reports of Academy of 
Company, where we spent the night. After an early breakfast, 
we embarked in Mr. Miller’s pitpan at half-past six for the last 
leg of our river journey, seventeen miles up the Tunky to Miranda. 
The baggage in two small pitpans left long before daylight, as 
the tow boat and our large pitpan were to remain at Tunky, while 
we were to be poled up, as the river was too shallow even for the use 
of paddles. This was a day of exceedingly hard work for the 
Indians, many swift shallow rapids, outcropping rocks and very 
low water were encountered; we were aground almost continuously. 
In many long stretches there was not enough water to force the 
boat ahead with poles, and the Indians were compelled to get over¬ 
board and drag it across the rocks. Except for the shallow water 
and the hard work of our Indians it was a beautiful trip, with great 
trees on either bank whose branches met over our heads, clumps of 
bamboo, palms, and tree ferns. 
Settlements of the Sumo Indians with their open-sided palm- 
thatched huts, always at the foot of a small rapid and the ever 
present Supa Palm growing near by. Sumo women washing 
clothes and beating them on a flat rock; children on the bank 
answering the bickering of our Indians,—for the Moskito Indian 
believes he owns the Sumo, body and soul, usually taking what 
he wants as he passes by. A pair of beautiful Sun Bitterns kept 
just ahead of us, flying from rock to rock and uttering a harsh 
cry from time to time, always keeping just out of range until they 
finally disappeared into a tangle of wild cane. 
Sun Grebes were seen swimming amongst the foam in an eddy 
at the foot of a rapid; as we came nearer they would fly to the lower 
limbs of a tree hoping to escape our notice; then at the grinding 
of the boat on the rocks they would take flight and disappear around 
a bend in the river to repeat the performance later. A troupe of 
twenty-five or more Mantled Howler Monkeys made the forest 
echo with their weird harsh howling As we rounded a bend in the 
river at three o’clock in the afternoon, we saw the wharf at Miranda, 
perched high on the left bank, well out of each of the floods that 
sweep down all tropical rivers in the wet season. Here Mr. Davey, 
temporarily in charge of the Eden Mine, loaded us all on top of the 
baggage on a small flat car, and a very efficient gasoline locomotive 
hauled us seven miles over the only railroad in eastern Nicaragua 
to Eden, where we were to make our headquarters. A few minutes 
