At the Rapids of Machuca we debarked.  Here was a miry portage about a mile in length, through which we waded right merrily; for it seemed an age since last we had set foot to earth.  Our freight was pulled up the Rapids in bongas (row-boats), manned by natives; but our steamer could not pass, and so returned to the Star of the West for another load of passengers.

There was mire at Machuca, and steaming heat; but the path along the river-bank was shaded by wondrous trees, and we were overwhelmed with the offer of all the edible luxuries of the season at the most alarming prices.  There was no coin in circulation smaller than a dime.  Everything salable was worth a dime, or two or three, to the seller.  It didn’t seem to make much difference what price was asked by the merchant:  he got it, or you went without refreshments.  It was evident there was no market between meals at Machuca Rapids, and steamer traffic enlivened it but twice in the month.

What oranges were there!—­such as one seldom sees outside the tropics:  great globes of delicious dew shut in a pulpy crust half an inch in thickness, of a pale green tinge, and oozing syrup and an oily spray when they are broken.  Bananas, mangoes, guavas, sugar-cane,—­on these we fed; and drank the cream of the young cocoanut, goat’s milk, and the juices of various luscious fruits served in carven gourds,—­delectable indeed, but the nature of which was past our speculation.  It was enough to eat and to drink and to wallow a muddy mile for the very joy of it, after having been toeing the mark on a ship’s deck for a dozen days or less, and feeding on ship’s fodder.

Our second transport was scarcely an improvement on the first.  Again we threaded the river, which seemed to grow broader and deeper as we drew near its fountain-head, Lake Nicaragua.  Upon a height above the river stood a military post, El Castillo, much fallen to decay.  Here were other rapids, and here we were transferred to a lake boat on which we were to conclude our voyage.  Those stern-wheel scows could never weather the lake waters.

We had passed a night on the river boat,—­a night of picturesque horrors.  The cabin was impossible:  nobody braved its heat.  The deck was littered with luggage and crowded with recumbent forms.  A few fortunate voyagers—­men of wisdom and experience—­were provided with comfortable hammocks; and while most of us were squirming beneath them, they swung in mid-air, under a breadth of mosquito netting, slumbering sonorously and obviously oblivious of all our woes.

If I forget not, I cared not to sleep.  We were very soon to leave the river and enter the lake.  From the boughs of overarching trees swept beards of dark gray moss some yards in length, that waved to and fro in the gathering twilight like folds of funereal crape.  There were camp-fires at the wooding stations, the flames of which painted the foliage extraordinary colors and spangled it with sparks.