After this there followed several days of calm; there was not enough wind to fill the sails, and all the “whistling for a breeze” of the sailors did exactly as much good as one would expect it to. Finally, in desperation, a long rope was tied to the mast, and two men going ahead in a canoe made the other end fast to a tree, a few hundred feet ahead. The remaining members of the crew then hauled on the rope, slowly drawing the boat forward. Progress was slow, of course, but on the 22d we reached the _Puerto del Infierno_, the best possible name for the narrow, rocky gorge through which the river rushes with uncontrolled fury. A large mass of granite covered with low vegetation divides the river into two narrow channels, one of them so protected by high, rocky banks that no wind ever reaches the water, consequently making it impossible for boats to sail up the passage. The other is a narrow, rock-strewn gorge, down which the water thunders in a series of cascades. On the right bank, perched high on the rocks, are a few mud huts called _Pueblo de las Piedras_. We spent the greater part of a day waiting for wind, and then made straight for the seething passage. Fortunately our pilot was a good one; his method was to steer directly for some great boulder, below which the water was quiet, and just as the ship seemed about to strike he swung the tiller, and the boat painfully nosed her way up the cataract that dashed down the sides of the rock. If the breeze slackened for a moment the ship drifted back with the strong current, which was extremely dangerous, as there was no way of regulating her course; but always, just in the nick of time, the sails filled and after an hour’s struggle we left the rapids and sailed into the quiet water above.