Wild Life under the Equator

It is intensely hot. We are at the end of the month of March, and the rays of the sun are pouring upon us with a power which is terrific. Every two or three minutes I dip my umbrella into the water, for after this lapse of time it is perfectly dry; green leaves and a wet handkerchief are in my Panama hat, which now and then I also dip into the water of the stream.

You will ask me in what kind of country I find myself in such a plight. I am in a very complicated network of creeks, swamps, dense forest, and overflowed lands, forming a delta, which in the work I published in 1861 I named the Delta of the Ogobai. For several days I have been here in a canoe exploring the country by water. What a lonely place! We have not seen a single village, we have met not a single human being; it is a complete desolation, and on the day in question it seemed more desolate than usual. The creek we had got into was narrow, and on both sides there was an interminable forest of palms, that kind which yields bitter nuts to eat; these grow to the water's edge and many of their graceful branches are bathed in the stream.