A most furious contest commenced between the animals and the electric-eels--who, thus suddenly aroused and trampled upon, were striking their strong enemies with all their power. Now and then an eel or two would flash up through the surface, but they were mostly invisible. The horses plunged frantically, uttering cries of agony almost human-like. They bit at the water, shrieked, and endeavored to reach the bank, but in vain. Stricken down by their unseen foes, many of them lost their legs, and went down, with difficulty keeping their heads above the water; and those that fell blocked the path of escape to those less fortunate. The appearance of the horses was most agonizing. Their manes fairly bristled with horror and pain, while it made me sick to hear their cries. The mules also suffered terribly, but not quite so acutely, it seemed to me, as the horses. Don Jose and his people enjoyed the scene immensely, shouting and crying out in the exuberance of their joy. The singular contest lasted fully ten minutes, when it became evident that the fury of the attack of the eels was sensibly abating. In about five minutes more, the fear and pain of the horses and mules totally ceased. Those which had fallen regained their feet, and the whole herd, after quietly drinking their fill, left the pool, and galloped off over the pampas. The reason of this was that the electric power of these eels becomes completely exhausted or expended after it has been exercised malignantly for a certain time, and it requires several hours of rest to recuperate their electric power. And during this time they are powerless of harm. And now the peons advanced into the lagoon, brandishing their spears, while the Don, Tony, Dicky and myself dismounted and stood on the margin, watching our chance. The peons drove their prongs along the bottom, spiking the enfeebled reptiles, which they threw on the shore in great numbers, and then, retracing their steps, drove them toward our position on the bank, where we soon had our fill of the sport. The eels came up, first singly, then in knotted masses, and we darted our spears into them at our pleasure. Dicky Drake enjoyed the sport hugely, but, as usual, met with some mishap. He had taken off his shoes, and was toddling barefoot in the slime, when he accidentally trod on an eel which had been prudent enough to hold off from the attack on the horses. The poor fellow leaped back, with a loud scream, and went limping up the bank. "Did you ever tread on a paper of red-hot pins?" he asked of me at the conclusion of the sport. "Never did," I replied. "If you'd like to know how it feels, just sot yer hoof on that air innocent-lookin' varmint," said he, pointing ruefully to the reptile by which he had suffered; but I had no anxiety to make the attempt.