The river made a bend just ahead of us, and my first thought was to get out a boat and explore the stream for a way. We might find some village, I imagined, or at least some evidence of human habitation.
So I ordered the gig lowered and took with me four men, besides Duncan Moit, who wanted to go along and begged the privilege. The current was languid and easy to breast, so we made excellent progress.
Bend after bend we made, for the stream was as crooked as a ram’s horn; but always the forest towered on the one hand and the low, marshy flats prevailed upon the other.
Rowing close to the shore, under the shadow of the trees, we could hear the stealthy sound of wild beasts in the wilderness, and once we espied a sleek jaguar lying flat upon the bank to drink. But no sign of man or civilization of any sort did we encounter. Even the woodman’s axe was nowhere in evidence.
We hugged the forest for several miles, finding the river easily navigable for small steamers. Then we decided to return, and followed the edge of the opposite marsh, which was much less inviting and less liable to be inhabited than the other shore.
We were scarcely a mile from the ship when Moit suddenly exclaimed:
“Isn’t that a canoe?”
“Where?” I asked.
He pointed to a small inlet, and I could see plainly a craft that looked like an Indian dugout lying among the reeds.
“Let us get it and see what it looks like,” said I, hailing with some satisfaction this first evidence of human handicraft.