It is not this alligator, but the crocodile of Egypt and the Nile, that has long been famous for its friendship with a little bird, which, when he lies on the shore, may be seen not only running all about his body, but sometimes even inside his mouth, which the reptile holds purposely open for him. One snap of the great jaws, and the bird would never more be seen, but this snap is never made. The reason is that the bird is of great service to the crocodile, by freeing it from certain small animals which fix themselves on its body, or even within its jaws. On the other hand, the bird is very glad to get these creatures to eat, so that the friendship on both sides is based upon utilitarian principles. Herodotus, who visited Egypt over 2,000 years ago, relates as follows concerning this intimacy: “It is blind in the water (!) but very quick-sighted on land; and because it lives for the most part in the water, its mouth is filled with leeches. All other birds and beasts avoid him, but he is at peace with the trochilus because he receives benefit from that bird. For when the crocodile gets out of the water on land, and then opens its jaws, which it does, most commonly, towards the west, the trochilus enters its mouth and swallows the leeches: the crocodile is so well pleased with this service that it never hurts the trochilus.” CHAPTER XVIII CROCODILES AND ALLIGATORS—DECEPTIVE APPEARANCES—AN UNFORTUNATE PECCARY—AN AMBUSH BY THE RIVER—LIFE AND DEATH STRUGGLES. The most interesting thing I know about crocodiles and alligators—and this is a remark which applies to a good many animals—is the way in which they procure their food. This they do mostly, and by preference, in the water, but they have, also, a habit of lying in wait upon the mud of river-banks, until some animal approaches sufficiently near to be within their reach. Lying sunk in the mud, and of the colour of mud themselves, they may well be mistaken for a log or drifted tree-trunk, for they make no movement, and seem to be quite inanimate. Only their eye, if one happens to catch it, proclaims that they draw the breath of life. A wild pig, or some other animal fond of rooting in the mud, sees the long, black, shapeless object, and bestows upon it, at first, a scrutinising glance. “Looks like a log,” is probably its internal comment; “still, from time to time, I’ll keep my eye upon it.” It does so, but as the supposed log is always precisely in the same place and position, it becomes strengthened in its first conclusion, and soon ceases to think anything more about it. By this, in the course of grubbing and grazing—for there may be reed-beds, or other delectable patches, scattered about over the mud—our pig—one of a scattered herd—has got somewhat nearer to the long, dark object, and with occasional deviations and wanderings away into safety, continues, on the whole, to get nearer still. It is by mere chance that he does so. There is no need