ACROSS UNKNOWN SOUTH AMERICA 
Patos (“river of ducks”) with the river Arinos on the 
right side of the latter stream. 
We were amazed to see opposite the island on the right 
bank a fishing tackle and some clothes. As we had already- 
gone 89 kilometres 850 metres that day, having kept an 
average speed of 11 kilometres 250 metres an hour, and 
the sun was about to set, we decided to halt on “ Lucky 
Island ” for the night. We were busy preparing our 
dinner when a strange figure appeared on the right bank, 
rifle in hand. His astonishment at seeing us was no 
greater than ours at seeing him. 
“Who were we?” “Where did we come from?” 
“ What did we want there? ” “ Where were we going? ” 
All those questions having been duly answered, I sent 
my canoe over to ferry the fellow across. He was one 
of the queerest men I have ever met. His eyes constantly 
roamed about like those of a wild feline animal. He 
never kept still a moment, springing up unexpectedly to 
his feet when he was sitting down, and squatting himself 
down when he had been standing up. All the time he 
was handling his rifle, a very handsome one, and with 
rapid movements watched intently now one then another 
of our party. He seemed in a state of great nervous strain 
and excitement. He appeared to be a first or second cross 
of Indians and negroes, quite young, some twenty-four 
years of age. He had very little clothing upon his person, 
which showed limbs of extraordinary muscular strength. 
Seldom is it given to one to see so cruel a face; seldom 
were criminal characteristics so clearly marked on any 
one’s countenance and in the formation of the skull. A 
man with a face like that could be capable of any crime. 
His conversation supplied ample further testimony that 
his physiognomy had not deceived me. I had so far 
thought that my men were the coarsest, the most brutal 
individuals I had ever met, but they were not in it at all 
with the strange figure we had before us. The conversa- 
34 
