We found Farnum’s deserted, the family having gone down to Georgetown, so we took possession of the empty house; swinging our hammocks on the porch and watching the sun sink over the river, with the dark forest beyond, growing ever darker. As we had been told that there were no mosquitoes, we had not hung our hammock nets, and the droning hum of these miserable pests kept us awake for hours. From across the river came the discontinuous, labored puffs of an overloaded freight train pulling up a grade. Now and then the wheels would slip and four or five chugs would come in quick succession. One could imagine the heavy trail of smoke and sparks, the shining rails and the long line of heavy, slowly moving cars—then the sound ceased, and far down the river another frog took up the chugging. Now and then the voice of a red “baboon” came to our ears; and continually the mosquitoes “zooned” and on the floor below our hammocks the dog whined unceasingly as he scratched his bête rouge. When we opened our eyes, lightning bugs of several candle-power flashed above us in the thatch of the porch, and by their light we could see big tarantulas dragging their prey here and there, seeming ready to drop with fatigue at any moment. All the sounds of the wilderness are lulling, save that of mosquitoes when one is netless. Many times that night we wished ourselves back in the boat. We had heard that there was a coast-wise way of returning to Georgetown; threading little-known rivers and creeks in a small canoe. The idea of exploring those charming little creeks at which all through the journey we had looked with longing, was fascinating to us, and we owe this realization of our dreams to Mrs. Wilshire, who planned the trip and gave it to us as a surprise. This proved to be the most wonderful canoe voyage which any of us had ever taken. For five days we were paddled, portaged, towed and pushed through a wonderland abounding in rarely beautiful birds, butterflies and orchids. We slept at night under our tiny tarpaulin, or invaded, and were made welcome at little isolated Indian missions. Our pen falters at the thought of attempting to give any idea of the wonders of that trip, but day by day we set down our impressions as best we could and here are some of them. It was almost noon on the 16th of March before we had our men, luggage and canoe in readiness to start. Pushing off we said good-by to the rest of the party; including Crandall and his precious cargo of Red-backed Cassiques and other live birds. They were to return via Morawhanna and the “Mazaruni” direct to Georgetown. We secured a little canoe, or ballyhoo, about fifteen feet long, with a tarpaulin stretched over the centre. In the bow were four Indian paddlers, two men and two boys, while in the stern as steersman and paddler was a splendidly built Carib Indian, Marciano, chief of the Hoorie woodmen. [Illustration: FIG. 89. BARAMA RIVER FROM FARNUM’S HOUSE.]