capable of attempting to poison the food, in order to free themselves of English-speaking men, who might perhaps witness some ugly deed of treachery or defalcation. This is the very long story in a nutshell. We began then to understand why the house was so fort-like in structure. It had been built to withstand assault. Only a few months before our visit it had been attacked by a party of Revolutionists who hoped to find money in the company safe; and five men had been killed and several injured. This thrilling tale was told in the emotionless matter-of-fact way in which one might describe the moves in a game of chess. From the moment our sloop sailed out of the harbor of Port of Spain the memory of the old familiar every-day world had seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer. Was it possible that there really was such a place as New York City, with its clanging street-cars, its trains and subways and elevated roads thronged with people, _en masse_ all as much alike as an army of ants? At that very hour the New York Theatres were pouring their gay crowds into the brilliantly lighted streets. How far away it all seemed, down there in the great primeval forest of another continent! We walked out under the stars to the edge of the forest, black and mysterious, teeming with the hidden life, which we were so eager to study. Our world, for the present, was this forest wilderness, stretching unbroken for mile upon mile, with only the twinkling lights of Guanoco to remind us of human habitations. I dreamed that night of being stabbed in the back by a howling monkey, while the safe of the Pitch Lake Company was broken into by a band of shrieking Macaws! On the morning after our arrival at Guanoco we sorrowfully said good-by to the “Josefa Jacinta.” As we watched her sail away we consoled ourselves by planning another and a longer trip on her—a trip which never took place. Looking back after almost two years I realize that life can bring me few experiences more full of interest and charm than those days on a little Venezuelan sloop exploring the mysterious untrodden mangroves! “How _could_ you enjoy it?” I am often asked: but the trifling discomforts were all in the day’s work and more than compensated by the beauty and freedom and wonder of it all. They served to make us know that it was not all a dream. [Illustration: FIG. 49. LOADING PITCH ON THE HAND CARS.] Our days at Guanoco began early and were full to overflowing of interest and of work. In the heat of midday we pressed flowers, skinned birds and wrote up our journals, but in spite of being so busy, we found time to get a little into the atmosphere of the human life.