In the afternoon we again went out to hunt.  This time I took only a 12-gauge shotgun.  As we travelled through the forest I was impressed once more by the fascination of the grandly extravagant vegetation.

But there is little charm about it, nothing of the tranquillity our idyllic Catskills or even the sterner Adirondacks, create.  There is no invitation to repose, no stimulus to quiet enjoyment, for the myriad life of the Amazon’s jungle forest never rests.  There is always some sound or some movement which is bound to stir in one the instinct of self-preservation.  You have to be constantly alive to the danger of disagreeable annoyance from the pests that abound, or of actual bodily harm from animals of the reptilian order.

Were I in possession of adequate descriptive power I could picture the impression that this jungle creates upon the mind of one from the North, but now, as I once more sit in a large city with sky-scrapers towering about me, and hear the rattling noise of the elevated railway train as it rushes past, my pen fails me and I have to remove myself on the wings of thought to those remote forests, fully realising, “Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis, ut” etc., etc.  Then I can feel again the silence and the gloom that pervade those immense and wonderful woods.  The few sounds of birds and animals are, generally, of a pensive and mysterious character, and they intensify the feeling of solitude rather than impart to it a sense of life and cheerfulness.  Sometimes in the midst of the noon-day stillness, a sudden yell or scream will startle one, coming from some minor fruit-eating animal, set upon by a carnivorous beast or serpent.  Morning and evening, the forest resounds with the fearful roar of the howling monkeys, and it is hard, even for the stoutest heart, to maintain its buoyancy of spirit.  The sense of inhospitable wilderness, which the jungle inspires, is increased tenfold by this monstrous uproar.  Often in the still hours of night, a sudden crash will be heard, as some great branch or a dead tree falls to the ground.  There are, besides, many sounds which are impossible to account for and which the natives are as much at a loss to explain as myself.  Sometimes a strange sound is heard, like the clang of an iron bar against a hard, hollow tree; or a piercing cry rends the air.  These are not repeated, and the succeeding stillness only tends to heighten the unpleasant impression which they produce on the mind.

The first thing that claimed our attention, shortly after we started, was a sound of breaking branches and falling leaves, somewhere in the distance.  Through the trees I could perceive that it was a big dark-grey monkey, which we had alarmed.  He was scrambling up a tall tree when I fired at him.  I evidently missed, for I could see him prepare for a mighty jump to a lower tree where he would be out of sight.  But in the jump he got another load of pellets, which struck him in the back.  His