From island to island in the river, glided evil-looking, light-green snakes, lifting their heads and part of their bodies out of the water. And under the roots of trees and in the stream, basked man-eating alligators watching for their prey, only their eyes and nostrils showing above the water.
And waiting to drop upon the young Englishmen if their boats came too near, were venomous snakes glittering like jewels, coiled on the mangrove limbs or hanging from the branches like shining tinsel ribbons.
Mosquitoes, too, were lively, piercing through the young men’s blankets and cloaks, so thirsty were the insects for a taste of fresh, red English blood.
And the young men were forced to keep a careful lookout at night for fear of a visit from a python, jaguar, alligator, or electric eel. When the sun set, night instantly fell like a black curtain, for there is no twilight in the tropics. Then the howling of wild beasts made the place hideous.
Finally, after passing Indian villages and towns pillaged and burned by the Spanish soldiers, after water-trip and march, the young Englishmen caught up with Bolivar on a plain near the Apure River.
The young men had long been eager to see that remarkable General whose extraordinary energy and perseverance had already liberated a large portion of Venezuela. And it was a picturesque scene that now burst on their sight—a band of tropic warriors in a tropic setting.
Bolivar was surrounded by his officers, many of them mounted. A magnificent wild-looking band they were in shirts of brilliant colours worn over white drawers which reached below the knee. Bright bandanas were tied about their heads to keep off the sun. Over these handkerchiefs were set wide sombreros or hats made of split palm-leaves, decorated with plumes of variegated feathers. One of the officers wore a silver helmet instead of a sombrero, and another had on a casque of beaten gold. Some had silver scabbards, and heavy silver ornaments on their bridles. Almost all wore huge silver or brass spurs fastened to their bare feet.
As soon as they saw the young Englishmen approaching, these wild-looking chiefs spurred their horses forward uttering shrill shouts of welcome. They embraced the young men, like long absent friends, and examined their weapons and uniforms.
Bolivar, reigning in his horse, stood looking on in silence. He was a small man, with a thin and careworn face, which had upon it an expression of patient endurance. He appeared refined and elegant although simply dressed. He wore a dragoon’s helmet. His uniform was a blue jacket with red cuffs and gilt sugar-loaf buttons; coarse blue trousers; and sandals of split aloe-fibre. As the young men came up, he returned their salute with a peculiar melancholy smile, and then rode on.
He carried in his hand a lance from which fluttered a small black banner, embroidered with a white skull and cross-bones, and the motto:—