country in the world in her wonderful and
beautiful productions of the feathered race. The scarlet curlew breeds
in innumerable quantities in the muddy islands on the coasts of
Pomauron; the egrets in the same place. They resort to the mudflats in
ebbing water, while thousands of sandpipers and plovers, with here and
there a spoonbill and flamingo, are seen among them. The pelicans go
farther out to sea, but return at sundown to the courada-trees.

You never fail to see the common vulture where there is carrion. At the
close of day the vampires leave the hollow trees, whither they had fled
at morning's dawn, and scour along the river's banks in quest of prey.
On waking from sleep, the astonished traveller finds his hammock all
stained with blood. It is the vampire that has sucked him.

What an immense range of forest is there from the rock Saba to the great
fall, and what an uninterrupted extent from it to the banks of the
Essequibo! It will be two days and a half from the time of entering the
path on the western bank of the Demerara till all be ready, and the
canoe fairly afloat on the Essequibo. The new rigging in it, and putting
everything to rights and in its proper place, cannot well be done in
less than a day.

After being night and day in the forest impervious to the sun and moon's
rays, the sudden transition to light has a fine heart-cheering effect.
In coming out of the woods you see the western bank of the Essequibo
before you, low and flat. Proceeding onwards past many islands which
enliven the scene, you get to the falls and rapids. When the river is
swollen, as it was in May, 1812, it is a dangerous task to pass them.

A little before you pass the last of the rapids two immense rocks
appear, which look like two ancient stately towers of some Gothic
potentate, rearing their heads above the surrounding trees. From their
situation and their shape, they strike the beholder with an idea of
antiquated grandeur, which he will never forget. He may travel far and
wide and see nothing like them. The Indians have it that they are the
abode of an evil genius, and they pass in the river below, with a
reverential awe.

In about seven hours, from these stupendous sons of the hill you leave
the Essequibo and enter the river Apoura-poura, which falls into it from
the south. Two days afterwards you are within the borders of Macoushia,
inhabited by the Macoushi Indians, who are uncommonly dexterous in the
use of the blo