We landed for an hour at a small cocoanut plantation and found a most ingenious method of improving time and space until the main crops should yield. Rice was planted in long narrow trenches which are flooded twice a day. Between these trenches the young cocoanut palms are placed, and in the spaces separating the palms, cassava and coffee are grown, while between them in turn and around the edge of the trenches were plantain and tania. The catch crops are thus made to pay for the price of the land and labor. Land—virgin forest—can be empoldered and ditched for $35 an acre. The first year’s two rice crops will repay this and continue to do so for five years, when the cocoanuts will yield a regular income for fifty or sixty years. This, at least, is the calculation of the agriculturist. Deer, peccaries and capybara are found on this little clearing, and we saw several of the latter animals running about among the underbrush on the bank. Mealy Amazon Parrots[63] were nesting in an inaccessible stub. Ant-birds of several species were by far the most abundant birds. Everywhere the undergrowth was flaming with sharp-pointed scarlet blossoms on long stalks which a native called Wild Plantains. Below the plantation, mangroves composed the only vegetation visible along the banks of the river, and before long our canoe began to rise and fall with the swell of the sea. For days the smell of the damp tropical marshes had filled the air, and now we sniffed eagerly at the invigorating salt breeze. We lowered the tarpaulin, tied everything fast and prepared bailers under the direction of Marciano. At last, rounding a curve of the river we came in sight of the sea—a vast stretch of turbulent brown water. A Cocoi Heron[31] and an American Egret[32] flew away with protesting croaks, and we began to pitch and toss as we turned south, beyond the outermost sprawling mangrove roots. We had been warned on no account to make this part of the trip with other than full-blooded Indian paddlers, and when we saw the need for steady, skilful work, we were indeed glad that we had Marciano and his good crew. The waves were too muddy to break, but they rolled high over the low rail of our canoe and we were soon soaked through and had to bail steadily to keep the frail craft from filling. In the midst of all the excitement three splendid Flamingos[42] flew overhead, one close behind the other, necks and legs extended to the full. We watched them until our eyes ached, and then a dash of several quarts of salt, muddy water in our faces, brought us suddenly back to grim reality. After we had paddled three or four miles, we entered the broad mouth of the Pomeroon, turned close in along shore and finding a sheltered bight, waited for the turning of the tide and to give our Indians a much-needed rest. The heavily laden canoe had given them a hard paddle against wind and tide, and we were to travel onward throughout all the night.