[A Howler.]

Gangs of the large howling monkeys often entertained us with their terrific, unearthly yells, which, in the truthful language of Bates, "increased tenfold the feeling of inhospitable wildness which the forest is calculated to inspire." They are of a maroon color (the males wear a long red beard), and have under the jaw a bony goître—an expansion of the os hyoides—by means of which they produce their loud, rolling noise. They set up an unusual chorus whenever they saw us, scampering to the tops of the highest trees, the dams carrying the young upon their backs. They are the only monkeys which the natives have not been able to tame. Vast numbers of screaming parrots and macaws flew over our heads, always going in pairs and at a great height. Groups of "gypsy-birds" were perched on the trees overhanging the river, and black ducks, cormorants, and white cranes floated on the water or stalked along the plaias.

But one form of life superabounded. From the rising of the sun to the going down thereof clouds of ubiquitous sand-flies filled our cabin, save when the wind was high. As soon as the sand-flies ceased, myriads of musquitoes began their work of torture, without much preparatory piping, and kept it up all night.[132] These pests were occasionally relieved or assisted by piums—minute flies that alight unnoticed, and squatting close to the skin, suck their fill of blood, leaving dark spots and a disagreeable irritation. Our hands were nearly black with their punctures. We also made the acquaintance of the montúca, a large black fly whose horny lancets make a gash in the flesh, painless but blood-letting. All these insects are most abundant in the latter part of the rainy season, when the Marañon is almost uninhabitable. The apostrophe of Midshipman Wilberforce was prompted by sufferings which we can fully appreciate: "Ye greedy animals! I am ashamed of you. Can not you once forego your dinner, and feast your mind with the poetry of the landscape?" Right welcome was the usual afternoon squall, which sent these pests "kiting" over the stern.

On Wednesday we fell in with a petty sarsaparilla trader, with two canoes, bound for the Marañon. He was sick with fever. Sarsaparilla (written salsaparrilha in Brazil, and meaning "bramble vine") is the root of a prickly, climbing plant found throughout the whole Amazonian forest, but chiefly on dry, rocky ground. On the morning of the seventh day from Coca we passed the mouth of the Curaray, the largest tributary of the Napo. It rises on the slopes of the Llanganati mountains, and is considered auriferous. It is probably derived from curi, gold. Seeing a hut on the banks, we sent an Indian to purchase provisions; he returned with a few yucas and eggs. The day following we were attacked from a new quarter. Stopping to escape a storm, a party went ashore to cut down a tree of which we desired a section. It fell with its top in the river, just above our craft; when lo! to our consternation, down came countless hosts of ants (Ecitons). Myriads were, of course, swept down stream, but myriads more crawled up the sides of our canoes, and in one minute after the tree fell our whole establishment, from hold to roof, was swarming with ants. We gave one look of despair at each other, our provisions and collections, and then commenced a war of extermination. It was a battle for life. The ants, whose nest we had so suddenly immersed in the Napo, refused to quit their new lodgings. As we were loosely dressed, the tenacious little creatures hid themselves under our clothing, and when plucked off would leave their heads and jaws sticking in the skin. At last the deck was cleared by means of boots, slippers, and towels; but, had the ants persevered, they might have taken possession of the boat.

To-day we saw a high bank (called in Quichua pucaurcu, or red hill) consisting of fine laminated clays of many colors—red, orange, yellow, gray, black, and white. This is the beginning of that vast deposit which covers the whole Amazonian Valley. It rests upon a bed of lignite, or bituminous shale, and a coarse, iron-cemented conglomerate. The latter is not visible on the Napo, but crops out particularly at Obidos and Pará. The Indians prepare their paints from these colored clays.

Our Santa Rosans seemed to have little tact in fishing; still their spears and our hooks gathered not a few representatives of ichthyic life in the Napo. The species most common belong to the genus Pimelodus, or catfish tribe. Below tho Curaray the sand bars yielded turtles' eggs of a different kind from those found above, the tracajá. They were smaller and oval, and buried only six or eight inches deep, thirty in a nest.

December 9.—Passed early this morning the mouth of the Mazan; four huts at the junction. To-day we noticed the anomaly first observed by Herndon. From Papallacta to the Curaray the rise of the mercury was regular, but on the lower Napo there were great fluctuations. At one time both barometer and boiling apparatus, with which we made daily and simultaneous observations, unanimously declared that our canoes were gliding up stream, though we were descending at the rate of five miles an hour. The temperature is decidedly lower and the winds are stronger as we near the Amazon.

December 10.—Our last day on the Napo. In celebration of the event we killed a fine young doe as it was crossing the river. It closely resembled the Virginia deer. At 9 A.M. the Indians shouted in their quiet way—"Marañon!" It was as thrilling as Thalatta to Xenophon's soldiers. We were not expecting to reach it till night, being deceived by Villavicencio's map, which, in common with all others, locates the Curaray and Mazan too far to the north. We halted for an hour at Camindo, a little fishing hamlet claimed by Peru, and then hastened to get our first sight of the Amazon. With emotions we can not express, we gazed upon this ocean-stream. The march of the great river in its silent grandeur is sublime. In its untamed might it rolls through the wilderness with a stately, solemn air, showing its awful power in cutting away the banks, tearing down trees, and building up islands in a day. Down the river we can look till the sky and water meet as on the sea, while the forest on either hand dwindles in the perspective to a long black line. Between these even walls of ever-living green the resistless current hurries out of Peru, sweeps past the imperial guns of Tabatinga into Brazil, and plows its way visibly two hundred miles into the Atlantic.

At a small island standing where the Napo pays tribute to the monarch of rivers, mingling its waters with the Huallaga and Ucayali, which have already come down from the Peruvian Andes, we bade adieu to our captain and cook, who, in the little canoe, paddled his way westward to seek his fortune in Iquitus. At this point the Marañon (for so the natives call the Upper Amazon) does not appear very much broader than the Napo; but its depth is far greater, and there are few sand-bars.[133] The water is always of a turbid yellow; while the Napo, though muddy during our voyage, is usually clear. The forest, moreover, on the banks of the Marañon, is not so striking as on the tributary. The palms are not so numerous, and the uniform height of the trees gives a monotonous, sea-like horizon.