Some of the men had caught a huge tortoise known in various parts of South America as the _morrocoy_, farther down the river. This became a sort of general pet, and while it was at first intended to use “Lizzie”--for that was the name that had been given to the friendly, inactive creature--for food, it was later decided that the animal was worthy of better treatment. It was therefore agreed upon that Lizzie should go to the Bronx Zoo. A comfortable crate was constructed, and just before loading it on the launch bound down-stream, we gathered around the box and dropped an abundant supply of sliced melon and other succulent food through the bars. Then we learned an interesting bit of natural history. One of the _camaradas_ had stood by until he thought enough perfectly good food had been wasted on the tortoise. “Don’t give her all that,” he advised, “a turtle is just like the camel and the elephant; it can go six months without eating.” We were glad to learn later that Lizzie survived the trip to New York, and proved to be the largest of her species in the Zoo collection. Order was finally restored out of chaos, and each member of the party was given a mule and a complete saddle outfit. The pack-animals were divided into squads, each in charge of a chief mule-man and his assistants; then the impedimenta were sorted out and arranged for easy and quick packing on the mules. At noon, January 21, the first detachment of the expedition started. This included all of the Americans and several of the Brazilians to whose number Lieutenants João Lyra and Joaquin de Melho Filho had been added. Captain Amilcar was to follow the next day with the remainder of the caravan. This division of the party was absolutely necessary as, on account of the great number of men and animals required, the expedition would have been unwieldy if it had attempted to move in one body. The first day’s ride was a short one. Early in the morning the men started to load the pack-animals, many of which were apparently fresh from the ranges and had never been broken to work of any kind; as a result of this there was a good deal of confusion at first. The corrals reminded one of a wild-west show. Guachos, wearing fringed leather aprons, and wicked, keen-edged knives in their belts, and who swore fluently in two or three different languages, lassoed the panicky animals, blindfolded them, and adjusted the packs. When the covering was removed from the animals’ eyes they frequently gave a few sharp snorts, and then started through the corral in a series of rabbit-like leaps, eventually sending the packs, saddles, and all flying in every direction. After freeing themselves of their burden, they gave a few extra high kicks of exultation, and then ran into the huddled mass of their fellows for concealment. Gradually, however, the men became more adept at their work, the mules and oxen quieted down and little groups left the corrals, wound up the trail, and disappeared in a cloud of dust.