As dusk settled down a Frigate-bird[49] swooped past, followed by a large flock of several hundred Boat-billed Herons[37] croaking like their relatives the Night Herons, and on their way doubtless from some roosting place to their nocturnal feeding grounds; for as they reached the water they scattered, some going up the river, others along the shore. From the east, straight across the whole width of the Pomeroon came another great flocking, a host of Mealy Amazon Parrots[63] flying as usual two and two close together—by hundreds and by thousands. They turned south along our bank and flew inland, and were joined, almost over the spot where our canoe was moored, by another great multitude of their kind, coming steadily down the coast. At the very lowest estimate there were eight or ten thousand parrots. Once and only once we saw a solitary individual unaccompanied by a mate. While still in view he attempted to attach himself to a pair of birds, whereupon both dashed at the unfortunate intruder and drove him headlong out of sight below the level of the branches. It is indeed a serious thing to lose one’s mate if one is a parrot! To be a widow or a widower is to be an outcast. At ten minutes past six the parrots vanished in the dusk and true to its name a “six o’clock bee,” a species of large cicada, sent out its shrill whistle from the mangrove to which our canoe was tied. Here for the first time since we left Farnum’s we encountered mosquitoes and sand flies, but oil of tar did much to discourage them. It is a curious fact that although the prevailing wind blows in the direction from which we had come, yet these troublesome insects are said never to pass beyond the line of the Pomeroon’s mouth. After an hour of paddling we stopped for a supply of water at a tiny Portuguese store built on piles, and going by the name of Poc-a-poo. It was a weird little place with rows of tiny shelves on which were bottles of lemon soda which was remarkably good, and an assortment of ribbons, knives and paddles for trade with the Indians. We purchased some well-made Carib Indian baskets and, stumbling over a caged Guan[6] or Maroodie as they called it, ordered it sent to Georgetown, where it appeared the following week and is now a contented inmate of the New York Zoölogical Park. At nine o’clock we started on our all-night paddle up the Pomeroon. Like most tropical nights near the sea the air was chilly. We rolled up in our blankets, and anointed our faces with the tar oil. The scientist chose as his night’s couch one of the long sloping side seats. The slope was only a fraction of a degree, but gravity and drowsiness would invariably cause the downfall of the occupant of the seat, much to the disturbance of the canoe’s equilibrium. [Illustration: FIG. 98. SOUTH AMERICAN THATCHED HOUSE, AND NESTS OF GREEN CASSIQUES. (Photo by Bingham.)]