The Corentyne and its branches were literally teeming with fish of various kinds, the greater number being haimara and perai. The latter were so abundant and ferocious that at times it was dangerous, when bathing, to go into the water at a greater depth than up to one's knees. Even then small bodies of these hungry creatures would swim in and make a dash close up to our legs, and then retreat to a short distance. They actually bit the steering paddles as they were drawn through the water astern of the boats. A tapir which I shot swimming across the river had its nose eaten off by them whilst we were towing it to the shore. Of an evening the men used to catch some of them for sport, and in taking the hook from their mouths produce a wound from which the blood ran freely. On throwing them back into the water in this injured condition they were immediately set upon and devoured by their companions. Even as one was being hauled in on the line, its comrades, seeing that it was in difficulties, attacked it at once. One day, when the boat was hauled in to some rocks, a few of the men were engaged shooting fish near by, and in so doing wounded a large haimara. Having escaped from its human tormentors, it made for the open river, but was instantly attacked by perai attracted by the blood escaping from its wound, and was driven back to the shelter of the rocks close to the boat, from which I had a good view of the chase. The large fish followed by its savage enemies reminded me of a parallel case on land,--a stricken deer pursued by wolves.