Later than usual the breeze freshened, and we were sailing apparently for the spur of San Gil, which stretches northward right across the river. As we advanced, the walls opened, and we entered a gorge far finer than that of the Saguenay; for the savage cliffs of the wild Canadian stream are here replaced by white limestone precipices jealously covered with palms and vines, until only here and there could the rock be seen under or through its richly colored mantle. The river is deep, in places eighteen fathoms, and, except in the overhanging trees, there was no place to land on either side for some distance. Frank shot at a fine pelican, but only broke a wing; and although he pursued the wounded bird rapidly in a little _cayuco_ that we had in tow, he did not gain on the powerful swimmer until a shot from the “Progreso” killed the fugitive, whose remains measured seven feet across the wings. Other birds tempted us, but the fast-waning daylight warned us against delay; and as darkness fell upon us with tropical rapidity, we came to the lake-like Golfete, nine miles from Livingston, and anchored for the night off Cayo Paloma (Dove Island), the only inhabited spot on the river. Our crew went ashore for shelter, and we retired under our substantial awning, which protected us from the rain which fell in torrents during the night. We had found no mosquitoes at Livingston, and there were none here; so our sleep was not broken until our boys came on board before daybreak. Where we had entered this beautiful lake we strangers did not know; and even when the direction was ascertained, the opening of the river was invisible. Coconut-palms and bananas will give a charm to any landscape; yet the little Cayo Paloma hardly needed them, so beautiful was it in itself. Grand San Gil brushed the clouds from his forehead and looked down smilingly upon us in promise of a fair day as we sailed up the Golfete. A short league brought us to a curious limestone rock on the northern shore,—a regular cube, rising from deep water, and capped with a pyramid of foliage. So unusual a formation could hardly have failed to attract the aboriginal mind; and there may be on the summit some remains,—a sacrificial altar, or stele. We did not go near enough to see any way of access; but the branches seem to hang low enough on one side to promise an entrance to an active climber, and we determined to try it some other day when we had more time.[4]