“This is what I call jolly,” remarked Barney.

“What’s jolly?” inquired Martin.

“Why this, to be sure,—­grub to begin with, and a smoke and a convanient snooze in prospect,”

The hopes which Barney cherished, however, were destined to be blighted, at least in part.  To the victuals he did ample justice; the pipe was delightful, and in good working order; but when they lay down to repose, they were attacked by swarms of stinging ants, which the heat of the fire had driven out of the old logs.  These and mosquitoes effectually banished sleep from their eye-lids, and caused them to reflect very seriously, and to state to each other more than once very impressively, that, with all their beauties and wonders, tropical lands had their disadvantages, and there was no place like the “ould country,” after all.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SAD AND MOMENTOUS ERA REFERRED TO AT THE CLOSE OF THE CHAPTER PRECEDING THE LAST

One sultry evening, many weeks after our travellers had passed the uncomfortable night on the floating island in the Gapo, they came to a place where the banks of the river rose boldly up in rugged rocks and hemmed in the waters of the Amazon, which were by this time somewhat abated.  Here they put ashore, intending to kindle their fire and encamp for the night, having been up and hard at work since daybreak.

The evening was calm and beautiful, and the troublesome insects not so numerous as usual,—­probably owing to the nature of the ground.  One or two monkeys showed themselves for a moment, as if to enquire who was there, and then ran away screaming; a porcupine also crossed their path, and several small bright snakes, of a harmless species, glided over the rocks, and sought refuge among the small bushes; but beyond these there were few of the sights and sounds that were wont to greet them in the forest.

“I think things look well to-night,” remarked Martin as he threw down a bundle of sticks which he had gathered for the fire; “we shall have a comfortable snooze for certain, if the mosquitoes don’t wake up.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” replied Barney, striking a light with flint and steel and stooping to puff the smouldering spark into a flame.  “I’ve larned by exparience that ye niver can be—­puff—­sure o’ nothin’ in this—­puff—­remarkable country.  Jist look at Darkey now,” continued the Irishman, sitting down on a stone before the fire, which now began to kindle up, and stuffing the tobacco into his pipe with his little finger.  “There he is, a livin’ Naygur, aliftin’ of the provision-bag out o’ the canoe.  Well, if he was all of a suddent to turn into Marmoset an’ swaller himself, an’ then jump down the throat of Grampus, and the whole consarn, canoe and all, to disappear, I don’t think that I would be much surprised.”

“Would you not, Barney?  I suspect that I should be, a little, under the circumstances; perhaps the old Nigger would be more so.”