. Our search for a wilderness; an account of two ornithological expeditions to Venezuela and to British Guiana . Fig. 27. The Jungle Railroad. As we start, the hist bats of night dash into the darkjungle, and their diurnal prototypes, a (lock of graceful PalmSwifts,71 swoop about overhead. To our ears there comesthe finals of the morning chorus of distant red howlers andthe first deep-toned bellings of the giant Cassiques. All along the line, beasts and birds show their lack of fearof the rumbling cars. A party of chattering little monkeys THE LAKE OF PITCH. 57 sit and gibber at us and rub the
. Our search for a wilderness; an account of two ornithological expeditions to Venezuela and to British Guiana . Fig. 27. The Jungle Railroad. As we start, the hist bats of night dash into the darkjungle, and their diurnal prototypes, a (lock of graceful PalmSwifts,71 swoop about overhead. To our ears there comesthe finals of the morning chorus of distant red howlers andthe first deep-toned bellings of the giant Cassiques. All along the line, beasts and birds show their lack of fearof the rumbling cars. A party of chattering little monkeys THE LAKE OF PITCH. 57 sit and gibber at us and rub their dew-drenched fur. Theirparents and great-grandparents had found nothing to fearin this strange thing which, five times each day, crawls backand forth on its narrow trail, and why should they do morethan look and wonder? As we come in sight of the muddybanks of the little river, a great Parrot shrieks in derision at. Fig. 28. Spider Lilies near Pitch Lake. us from the top of a dead stub by the track, executing slowsomersaults for our benefit. Instinctively we look for achain on its leg and a food cup near by! A splash drawsour eyes downward, and from a maelstrom of muddy watershoots a villainous sting ray. A school of little staring four-eyes skips over the water, and near the swampy, fartherbank, a sprawling half-grown crocodile watches us — asquiet as a stranded log. 58 OUR SEARCH FOR A WILDERNESS. The air blows cool and damp on our faces, and we longfor the keen power of scent of a dog. Even to our dullnostrils every turn of the road is full of interest. A swamp,thickly starred with dainty spider-lilies, comes into view,and we inhale draughts of sweetest incense; Easter Sundayis at hand, and the very wilderness reminds us of it. With every breath of air the great palm leaves flick myriadsof drops to the underbrush below, with a sound as of heavyrain. The trunks are black and soaked, and there
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