It was delightful to feel solid ground under one’s feet again and we could hardly get over our accustomed walk of “three steps and over-board.” Here in our wilderness we found an unexpected home. Through the kindness of our cordial friends in Trinidad—Mr. Eugene André and Mr. Ellis Grell—we had letters to the men in charge of the pitch lake at Guanoco and it was to this great lake that the tiny settlement of Guanoco owed its being. As soon as we reached the wharf, a young Venezuelan came on board, introducing himself as Señor Bernardo Lugo y Escobar,—one of the officials of the Pitch Lake Company, and explaining that Mr. Grell had written him that we might possibly come to Guanoco and that we were to be entertained at the headquarters for as long as we chose to stay. Mr. Lugo was most urgent in his hospitality and I knew well of what the sloop dinner would consist. Maestro and I would hold a perfectly futile consultation in which we would decide upon the only possible menu—_funche_ (which is the Venezuelan name for cornmeal mush), dried pea soup and cocoa. I must explain that the lack of variety in our larder was due to the fact that we had expected to be able to supplement our canned goods with fresh fish and game, both of which proved difficult to obtain, the latter because of the impossibility in this vast swamp of ever finding the game after it was shot. The experience taught us the useful lesson which every camper and explorer learns sooner or later, sometimes alas! _too_ late—never to depend upon the game of the country, but always to plan your provisions as if game did not exist. Then when one gets it, it comes as an unexpected luxury. But to return to my visions of a good dinner in the preparation of which I had no part or responsibility. Perhaps there would also be the luxury of a real bath. I was roused from these attractive reflections by the voice of the Captain politely refusing Mr. Lugo’s invitation for the night, and saying that we would not go ashore until the next day. Whereupon I diplomatically remarked in English,—that Mr. Lugo might not understand,—that I thought Mr. Lugo’s feelings would be hurt if we refused, and as long as we were to go the next day and there was nothing to be gained by spending the night on the sloop, why not gratify him by going at once. And so it came about that in a few minutes more we were at “Headquarters.” As the house was quite invisible from the water, we had imagined that we were to go to one of the thatched huts which we had seen from the river. To our surprise, around the base of the hill we found ourselves going up a pretty palm bordered walk which led to a low, massive, fort-like building. [Illustration: FIG. 47. PITCH LAKE, SHOWING FRESHLY DUG PIT FILLED WITH WATER; AN OLDER PIT FILLED WITH SOFT PITCH, BOTH SURROUNDED BY THE HARD SURFACE PITCH.]