- 163 - 
Caura to 
Tacarigua 
A morning; 
ride 
down the 
Caura Valley 
and the song of our Robin in cherry time. But after a little 
a hush fell on the valley and scarce a bird could be heard. 
It was now their feeding time. 
The sun had just risen above the mountains and 
begun to flood our little world with its cheering rays 
when, after a hurried breakfast, I said good-bye to 
Chapman^and Lichfold and I, mounting our mules, rode down 
the valley. Its beauty impressed me even more then when 
I drove up from Tacarigua four days ago. Then it was late 
afternoon with a lowering sky. Now we had the freshness of 
early morning and the contrast of sunlight and shadow. 
The only drawback was the lack of time for of course we 
had to press steadily on. One should have weeks to spend 
along that road, studying and drinking in the beauties of 
each stretch of river, or group of palms or bamboos, or 
wild mountain side hung with vines. As it was, one 
succeeded another in rapid succession until my brain fairly 
reeled with the numberless vivid impressions which it tried 
in vain to classify and store away for the future. It 
was in a vmy like seeing the whole of Europe in an hour, 
if such a thing were possible. 
Lichfold accompanied me for the first four miles 
and then turned back, leaving me to make the rest of the 
distance alone. I reached Tacarigua at eleven o’clock and 
took the 11.30 train for Port-of-Spain. 
