II.  Up the Paraguay

On the afternoon of December 9 we left the attractive and picturesque city of Asuncion to ascend the Paraguay.  With generous courtesy the Paraguayan Government had put at my disposal the gunboat-yacht of the President himself, a most comfortable river steamer, and so the opening days of our trip were pleasant in every way.  The food was good, our quarters were clean, we slept well, below or on deck, usually without our mosquito-nettings, and in daytime the deck was pleasant under the awnings.  It was hot, of course, but we were dressed suitably in our exploring and hunting clothes and did not mind the heat.  The river was low, for there had been dry weather for some weeks —­judging from the vague and contradictory information I received there is much elasticity to the terms wet season and dry season at this part of the Paraguay.  Under the brilliant sky we steamed steadily up the mighty river; the sunset was glorious as we leaned on the port railing; and after nightfall the moon, nearly full and hanging high in the heavens, turned the water to shimmering radiance.  On the mud-flats and sandbars, and among the green rushes of the bays and inlets, were stately water-fowl; crimson flamingoes and rosy spoonbills, dark-colored ibis and white storks with black wings.  Darters, with snakelike necks and pointed bills, perched in the trees on the brink of the river.  Snowy egrets flapped across the marshes.  Caymans were common, and differed from the crocodiles we had seen in Africa in two points:  they were not alarmed by the report of a rifle when fired at, and they lay with the head raised instead of stretched along the sand.

For three days, as we steamed northward toward the Tropic of Capricorn, and then passed it, we were within the Republic of Paraguay.  On our right, to the east, there was a fairly well-settled country, where bananas and oranges were cultivated and other crops of hot countries raised.  On the banks we passed an occasional small town, or saw a ranch-house close to the river’s brink, or stopped for wood at some little settlement.  Across the river to the west lay the level, swampy, fertile wastes known as the Chaco, still given over either to the wild Indians or to cattle-ranching on a gigantic scale.  The broad river ran in curves between mud-banks where terraces marked successive periods of flood.  A belt of forest stood on each bank, but it was only a couple of hundred yards wide.  Back of it was the open country; on the Chaco side this was a vast plain of grass, dotted with tall, graceful palms.  In places the belt of forest vanished and the palm-dotted prairie came to the river’s edge.  The Chaco is an ideal cattle country, and not really unhealthy.  It will be covered with ranches at a not distant day.  But mosquitoes and many other winged insect pests swarm over it.  Cherrie and Miller had spent a week there collecting mammals and birds prior to my arrival at Asuncion.  They were veterans of the