July 16, 1910.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
89 
current of air blew softly through the rancho 
under which we were reclining, then continuing 
their chant, the four young men forced the canoe 
on its way, Don Agusto seated in the stern 
steering and keeping her head on the shore. 
The .canoe was large enough to permit the men 
to pass each other -in the forward part, and so, 
starting from the bow, each one placed his pole 
and then pushing, walked along till his way was 
stopped by our shelter. Thus propelled, the canoe 
gathered headway, yellow muddy waters went 
eddying past and green overhanging banks alter¬ 
nated with low swampy borders in rapid succes¬ 
sion. The fog rolled away and a strong clear 
sunlight bathed all the land and glistened on the 
water. The men worked steadily, and onward 
we went. Our voyage of exploration and mild 
adventure had commenced. 
■ It is easy going in the tropics when one has a 
big canoe and a stout lot of men to do the work. 
I was once called by a friend one of those fools 
who will work, but I think that perhaps he was 
mistaken ; at any rate he was for that morning 
after we had left Magangue and were making 
an unsteady progress up the muddy waters of 
the Magdalena River. Knowing that crocodiles 
would be out in force, I had my rifle handy, and 
while there is really no use in such killing, it is 
always a satisfaction because the people are fear¬ 
ful of them, and it is said that if one falls into 
the water of the Magdalena River there is no 
escape, but then they say a great many remark¬ 
able things in Colombia. Among other stories of 
the ferocity of the crocodiles they tell how a 
young lieutenant who, while on one of the river 
steamers en route for the interior with a squad 
of soldiers, fell overboard, and nothing was ever 
seen of him again, except a quantity of blood 
which appeared to stain the water where he had 
fallen in, followed by an eddying over the sur¬ 
face as. if the water had been disturbed by some 
large object moving forcibly at a little depth. 
Then the current of the river went eddying on 
again, muddy water rolling toward the sea. That 
is why we like to kill crocodiles, but if the real 
truth were known, it is probable that they would 
not prove very dangerous. However, they made 
good killing and we felt a sort of virtuous thrill 
at every successful shot. 
It had grown intensely hot and the men were 
not working vigorously. Gomez was asleep—and 
Don Pacho could snore—but it did not make 
much difference; there was no game to be fright¬ 
ened. At a bend in the river we came to a great 
mud bank, and I hardly recall such a sight, quan¬ 
tities of alligators and crocodiles basking in the 
sun. Over the mud banks were numbers of black 
and white terns,, now settling down and again 
circling off in graceful movement, twittering 
something like swallows, their fine black, white 
and gray plumage showing to striking advantage 
as they went flying about continuously, evidently 
in thorough enjoyment of abundant food, safety 
and gratification at the warm sun and clear tropi¬ 
cal air of the dry season. 
Motioning to the men to send the canoe for¬ 
ward cautiously, I crawled out from our thatched 
tolda on all fours, made my way to the bow and 
stood with the crew waiting for a shot at one 
of the crocodiles. The men were all excitement 
and Vincente—I am not sure which Vincente—• 
pointed out an old patriarch, whispering, ‘"Kill 
him; that’s a bad one.” 
• Cautiously the canoe was poled forward, a glid¬ 
ing, steady motion and a little sensation of rising 
and falling as we went. Except for the twitter¬ 
ing cries of the terns everything was still and 
the crocodiles slept undisturbed. We were draw¬ 
ing nearer now. Could I risk a shot? No, not 
yet, Vincente answered. Just then a flock of 
snipe like the teeter peeps, so well known along 
our shores, flew away, protesting their indigna¬ 
tion in piping voices, to settle down at the further 
end of the sand bank. Still the crocodiles slept 
on. We were close to them now. Vincente 
motioned to the men, poles were set in the shal¬ 
low water, each held by muscular hands. The 
canoe became absolute.y still. This was easy. 
Taking careful aim, I fired. Instantly there was 
a rushing and commotion, quantities of wild birds 
starting away with shrill cries and numbers of 
great crocodiles and alligators splashing headlong 
to the water. A repeating rifle is a good weapon, 
and pumping lead at him, I succeeded in making 
the brute twist about as if he were hurt, and 
then make a trem.endous rush for the river, 
where he swam slowly out to deep water and 
presently disappeared. 
Don Pacho was just crawling out from our 
tolda, his round face giving undoubted signs of 
his efforts to suppress a hearty laugh at my ex¬ 
pense, but to laugh would be to commit a breach 
of courtesy that no one would think of except 
for the purpose of starting a quarrel. Neither 
did the men laugh, but they looked a great deal 
and I know that later they would, in private, 
have jokes in plenty at my expense. 
“No, no,’’ Gomez said, ‘‘you can’t kill those 
things; that is, not the big ones. Why, during 
the last revolution we were at this very spot and 
trained a cannon on a big caiman. I think it 
must have been that very same brute, but the 
saints bless you, we couldn't kill him. No, we 
couldn’t kill him, and we trained a machine gun 
on him, too. The cannon balls only made a dent 
in his back, and the machine gun did nothing but 
make him get up and dance. Well, it was funny 
to see him. He reared up on his hind legs and 
every time a ball struck him he would go waltz¬ 
ing about in a different direction. Then he got 
to the water and swam off the best he could, but 
the motion had started on him and he went 
swimming around in circles with all the other 
caimans poking their heads up and looking at 
him.” Then Gomez laughed, and so did the men. 
Were they laughing at me? Oh, no; that was 
impossible, for I was laughing, too. That is the 
Spanish of it. Then one of the men—I think it 
must have been Vincente—began to imitate a 
crocodile dancing on his tail. Then we laughed 
more, but Don Pacho stopped him. as he might 
upset the boat and that would be dangerous. 
Now we noticed that it was hot, perspiration 
was dripping down my back, and the front of 
my shirt was as wet as if I had thrown water 
over it. Don Pacho pointed to a pleasant bank 
of the river and said to the men : “There is a 
good place for sancocha. Make it there.” Then 
motioning to me I followed him under the tolda, 
glad to get out of the sun. A cooling air current 
passed over us as the canoe glided forward, then 
came a puff of cool breeze and I turned my 
heated face and chest toward it, but Don Pacho 
protested and I knew better myself. A soft 
linen ruana was passed to me, I put it over my 
shoulders, and then reclined at ease a little out 
of the current of air so that I might cool off 
gradually. 
Presently the canoe bumped against the shore, 
grated on the calcareous rim of an exposed 
stratum of earth, and then we went ashore. It 
was a relief to stretch one’s legs after a morn¬ 
ing’s confinement in a narrow space, for even in 
a large canoe, such as we had, six men and a 
supply of provisions make rather close quarters. 
Here we were at a lonely spot in the jungle, evi¬ 
dently a favorite place for those who, travel ng 
on the river, found it convenient to stop for a 
time. A little space had been worn smooth on 
a rather high bank overlooking the broad yellow 
river where the sun shone with cruel brilliancy 
and burning heat, but where we were the cool 
shade was disturbed only by flickering sunbeams 
falling here and there. Over our heads great 
trees formed an archway of green boughs, and 
about us was the deep jungle where the silence 
of the heat of a tropical day was undisturbed, 
only everywhere the all-pervading sound of mov¬ 
ing waters was perceptible though not distinctly 
heard. 
Here we rested. A couch was prepared for 
me, a rough but comfortable contrivance of bed¬ 
ding and palm boughs. Don Pacho busied him¬ 
self about orders for our sancocha, then he came 
and shared the couch with me. The men had 
made a fire, there was plenty of dry wood along 
the river and a great iron pot was set to boiling 
over it in which were yams, plantain and two 
chickens, all boiling together. A big pot of black 
coffee was simmering at the side of the fire. 
This was all the preparation, and while it was 
cooking, the men rested. We did not talk much. 
It was just a dreamy time bordering on sleep, 
and yet awake; a word or two now and again, 
that was all. We just idled and made no effort. 
A half hour passed and our breakfast was 
ready. The pot was lifted carefully from the 
fire and brought to where we were resting, 
gourds were placed in convenient reach and all 
fell to eating, the men squatting around the iron 
pot, Don Pacho and I served more carefully, but 
all were eating in good comradeship. Our men 
shared, but did not for that reason limit their 
respect, but served and ate at the same time. I 
did not think I was hungry, but I was and so 
were the men, and in a very little while there 
was nothing left of that sancocha. Then a 
supply of strong black coffee was consumed while 
smoking some very bad tobacco cigarettes, but 
then anything was good at that time. After this 
came the siesta and we all reclined, dreaming and 
dozing in the shade till the greatest heat of the 
day should pass. 
Learning by Experience. 
Dr. Zell, a German naturalist, has collected 
many instances to prove that animals learn by 
experience, and thus become wiser than their 
uninstructed parents. Game animals of all kinds, 
he avers, have learned the range of modern 
rifles. Greyhounds quickly learn to let rabbits 
alone, and foxhounds pay no attention to either 
rabbits or hares. Killer whales and gulls follow 
whaling vessels just as vultures follow an army. 
Crows accompany the chamois hunter as soon as 
they have seen the result of his first successful 
shot, and rough-legged buzzards follow the 
sportsmen after winged game. 
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