“They are here, that is the crocodiles are, but the water is too high to see them,” he said. “During the dry season the sand bars and islands are covered with them. There are plenty of anacondas, too, but they stay around the banks. So you are going into the interior, I hear!” “Yes, to a ranch that’s just starting up,” David replied. “Well, you’ll see all the snakes and other vermin you want, and more too.” “Fine! I have never been here before and I want to see everything there is to be seen.” “You had better look fast then, because you won’t stay long. They all go back pretty quick.” “Not I. I am going into the business for good.” “That’s what they all say. And I carry them back home on the next boat.” “You will not carry me back on the next boat, nor on the trip after that either.” David was losing patience. “If you knew what’s in store for you you wouldn’t even go ashore when we get to Manaos; you would come right back home with me on this trip. And that is what I would advise you to do.” “Thank you,” and David walked away. They made short stops at the more important towns along the river, to deliver mail and unload freight. The waterfront in these places always teemed with dark-skinned natives. Long lines of men, stripped to the waist, were carrying bags of produce to barges moored to the banks, waiting for steamers going downstream. Groups of other men lounged on the docks or came to the ship in row-boats, offering fruit for sale. David was greatly surprised to see the barges of Brazil nuts that were being transferred to a steamer outward bound. The nuts--he had no idea there were so many in the world, were handled just like coal. They were scooped out of the barges in steam shovels and dumped into the hold of the boat, where they disappeared in the seemingly insatiable, black void. Many were spilled overboard and others rained on the deck, but no one cared. There were cargoes of rubber, too, large, oblong balls, or thick bricks that must have weighed several hundreds of pounds. But David was to see enough of them later and under less attractive circumstances. On the sixth day they reached the junction of the Rivers Negro and Solimoes. “This is the end of the Amazon,” Rogers explained as they gazed at the sweep of the mighty streams. “The end?” David asked in surprise. “I always thought of the Amazon as a river three or four thousand miles long.” “The Amazon proper is only about one thousand miles long. But the Solimoes continues on a few thousand more and is in reality the Upper Amazon. Here is a map that shows it.” He drew a folder out of his pocket and they spread it on the foot of a deck chair. “See?” Rogers said, “Manaos is ten miles up the Rio Negro which comes from the north-west. The Solimoes comes from the west and has its source near Quito, Peru. It is navigable, too, almost the whole of its length in boats of some kind. As I said, though, you have seen all of the real Amazon. Now, are you satisfied?”