This being practically a treeless region, the birds were of necessity either terrestrial, aquatic or aërial, and the latter formed a not inconsiderable percentage. Terns were one of the most picturesque features of the savanna, flying over and around the island in small flocks, the large Great-billed fellows[14] with black caps and wings, and the tiny Eye-browed species[15] reminding one of our Least Tern. Both beat back and forth, or hung fluttering over the lagoon, and now and then dropped plummet-like after a small fish. The Swallows were legion—six species in all, forever swooping over the marsh or snatching sips of river water as they flew. The Variegated[119] were the most beautiful, and we welcomed as old friends Barn[121] and Tree Swallows,[120] whose twittering forms brought our northern autumn marshes vividly to mind. Many Flycatchers and Seed-eaters were nesting close by, while the beautiful Orioles[159] clung to their pendent nests over the water, and a House Wren[124] divided his time between inspecting his brood in a hollow stub at the foot of the bungalow steps, and singing his heart out, from the roof. The little “Rooties” or Cinnamon Spine-tails[94]—absurdly Wren-like but in reality Woodhewers which have deserted tree-trunks for reeds—showed us their homes, concealed in great untidy balls of twigs. As they flit here and there through the bushes and grasses, they let off a sound like a miniature rattle. The mornings and evenings, here as elsewhere in the tropics, are the periods of greatest activity among birds and other creatures. In the afternoon, before the Hoatzins began to gather, great tarpon would play in the river, the shower of drops scattered by their leaps sparkling like silver in the slanting rays of the sun. The few in the lagoon are of small size, but tarpon in the Abary reach a weight of 185 pounds. A swirling in the shallows near the landing shows where an anaconda (_Eunectes murinus_) is stirring after his day’s rest. His mate, ten feet long, has just been shot after having helped herself to the bungalow chickens—one each night for a week, and serpent number two (whose size our Arrawak Indian squaw cook places at a fabulous thirty feet or more!) must soon pay the same penalty unless he changes his diet. [Illustration: FIG. 158. CROCODILES ON A SOUTH AMERICAN RIVER BANK. (Photo by Bingham.)]