lted aisles which stretched from us as we
walked, but a constant movement far above our heads told of that
multitudinous world of snake and monkey, bird and sloth, which lived in
the sunshine, and looked down in wonder at our tiny, dark, stumbling
figures in the obscure depths immeasurably below them. At dawn and at
sunset the howler monkeys screamed together and the parrakeets broke
into shrill chatter, but during the hot hours of the day only the full
drone of insects, like the beat of a distant surf, filled the ear,
while nothing moved amid the solemn vistas of stupendous trunks, fading
away into the darkness which held us in. Once some bandy-legged,
lurching creature, an ant-eater or a bear, scuttled clumsily amid the
shadows. It was the only sign of earth life which I saw in this great
Amazonian forest.

And yet there were indications that even human life itself was not far
from us in those mysterious recesses. On the third day out we were
aware of a singular deep throbbing in the air, rhythmic and solemn,
coming and going fitfully throughout the morning. The two boats were
paddling within a few yards of each other when first we heard it, and
our Indians remained motionless, as if they had been turned to bronze,
listening intently with expressions of terror upon their faces.

"What is it, then?" I asked.

"Drums," said Lord John, carelessly; "war drums. I have heard them
before."

"Yes, sir, war drums," said Gomez, the half-breed. "Wild Indians,
bravos, not mansos; they watch us every mile of the way; kill us if
they can."

"How can they watch us?" I asked, gazing into the dark, motionless void.

The half-breed shrugged his broad shoulders.

"The Indians know. They have their own way. They watch us. They talk
the drum talk to each other. Kill us if they can."

By the afternoon of that day--my pocket diary shows me that it was
Tuesday, August 18th--at least six or seven drums were throbbing from
various points. Sometimes they beat quickly, sometimes slowly,
sometimes in obvious question and answer, one far to the east breaking
out in a high staccato rattle, and being followed after a pause by a
deep roll from the north. There was something indescribably
nerve-shaking and menacing in that constant mutter, which seemed to
shape itself into the very syllables of the half-breed, endlessly
repeated, "We will kill you if we can. We will kill you if we can."
No one ever moved in the silent woods. A