“There’s nothing that puts you at more inconvenience than rapids,” said Professor Bigelow, as they sought out a place to camp for the night.
They found the spot they wanted beside a rocky knoll, not far from the river. There was a small open space a short distance away, and to this the party made. Again preparations were made for the night, and then the evening meal was prepared.
“Let’s turn in early,” suggested Mr. Holton, after they had finished eating. “The three Indians in the back boat complained that one of the clamps for an oar is loose, and it may take quite a while to repair it. For that reason we must be up early in the morning.”
The clamp, they discovered later, had been split through, making it necessary to carve out a new one. To do this was not easy, for suitable wood had to be cut and measurements taken. All told, there was a delay of over three hours.
“Now let’s go,” urged Professor Bigelow, his patience almost exhausted.
Day after day the miles were laid behind them in both a pleasant and disagreeable manner. In times when treacherous rapids offered a hindrance, they struggled unflinchingly, often knee deep in the water or mud. But there were chances for relaxation, when there was nothing to do but take it easy in the high seats of the boats. Bob and Joe could not fully realize that they were not in a dream but that this was the real thing—a wild, untamed land in the very heart of vast Amazonia.
“It’s great, Joe, old boy,” said Bob, when over a week had passed. “I’ve often visualized this expedition, but my expectations are far surpassed.”
One morning when they were paddling swiftly along, Professor Bigelow uttered a cry of delight and pointed to the bank.
“Indians!” he cried excitedly. “At last we’ve found a band of Indians!”