Here is the daily program at the lake of pitch,—this little outpost of humanity, deep hidden in the tropical jungle. At daybreak the group of sheds and thatched huts gives up a horde of Trinidadian negroes; great black fellows, giants in strength, children in mind. Amid a perfect medley of excitement and uproar, breakfast is prepared. We hear sounds which _must_ mean at least the violent death of several, and as one listens to the shrieks and groans, the imagination easily supplies the terrible blows and struggles. But a closer look only shows one of these great children down on his knees, calling on everything which occurs to him or enters his vision to witness that he did _not_ steal the sixpence from _Napoleon_, of which some one has accused him, perhaps in jest. Yet all this is calmness compared to the later rush for the best cars to use in the day’s work. It would delight a Sophomore’s heart to see the mêlée. But somehow all is straightened out and off go the hand trucks, crawling along the rickety rails out over the lake, like beads sliding along a string. Here a car has reached the end of the line. The negro selects a place fairly clear of vegetation, takes his broad adze, and shears away the upper few inches of roots and mould. Then with deep swift strokes he outlines a big chunk of the shiny black gum, cuts it loose, and carries it on his head to his car. So malleable is the pitch that by the time he has half filled the little iron truck the pitch has settled down and filled all interstices. He trundles back the car and dumps it into one of the larger wooden trucks which will take it to Guanoco. He now receives a check which is redeemable for fifteen cents and the first link in the commercialization of the pitch is finished. Along the wavering line of temporary rails over which the hand-cars are pushed back and forth, are dozens of grave-like holes. Those nearer the railroad end are smooth-edged and filled with soft pitch on which as yet no vegetation has taken root. Farther along they are filled with water, and still farther we find them in the process of being excavated. [Illustration: FIG. 50. MANGROVE WILDERNESS FROM THE HIGH LAND AT GUANOCO.] The men dig down until they have reached a depth of five or six feet, and then start in a new place. The hole is filled by the first rain; water-bugs fly to the little pool, frogs lay their eggs in it, queer fish wriggle their way to it and for a brief space it supports a considerable aquatic life. Then new soft pitch begins to ooze up and in a few more weeks the plug of viscid black gum has reached the level of the ground and the scar is soon healed over by a thin growth of grass.