vine-tangle forming the vault of the forest hang the bunches and
clusters of forty or fifty varieties of wild grapes, many of them
superior to our scuppernongs and catawbas, while the amber-colored _Uva
real_ rivals the flavor of the finest Damascene raisin-grapes. A forced
march of ten hours through fens and silent virgin woods brought us at
last to the hummock region; the plain swelled into mounds, and the
currents of the sluggish bayous became more perceptible. The higher
levels showed vestiges of cultivation; we crossed dykes and ditches,
a neglected fence here and there, and where the larger trees had been
felled grapes and liana figs covered even the bushes and hedges in
incredible profusion. A troop of capuchin monkeys leaped from a low
mango-tree, and two stumbling youngsters who brought up the rear in the
scramble for the high timber would have tempted us to a chase if we had
not been anxious to reach less malarious quarters before night. The
neighborhood of the great swamps still betrayed itself by that peculiar
miasmatic odor which emanates from stagnant pools and decaying vegetable
matter, and in the recesses of the forest fluttered the slate-colored
swamp-moth, the ominous harbinger of the mosquito. The tipulary pests
were getting ready for action; their skirmishers, the _sancudos_ and
_Moscas negras_, had already opened the campaign, and became sensible
as well as audible in spite of the rapidity of our march. One of the
twilight species, the _Mosca delgada_, a straw-colored little midge,
bites like a fire-ant,--a mischievous and, it seems, unpractical freak
of nature, since the superfluous virulence of its sting must certainly
interfere with the business facilities of a suctorial insect.

[As evening descended the travellers reached a cotton
plantation, and hastened to take refuge from the rising cloud
of mosquitoes.]

The cotton-gin loomed at the farther end of the field, and was taken by
storm over piles of muck and scattered fence-rails. Seeing no ladder,
we clambered through the pivot-hole in the ceiling of a musty-smelling
machine-shed, but in the open loft above we found a delicious breeze,
and--St. Hubert be praised!--not a single mosquito.

The carrier threw himself upon his pack with a sigh of relief, and we
squatted around the hatch to cool off before we opened our mess-bag.

From the hills on our right came the perfume of blooming tamarisks, and
from the jungle below a cool la