Men travel far to see a city, but few seem curious about a river. Every river has, nevertheless, its individuality, its great silent interest. Every river has, moreover, its influence over the people who pass their lives within sight of its waters.— H. S. Merriman : The Sowers , chap. ii. British Guiana, as first seen from the shoal-water near the Demerara lightship, is a mournful and monotonous picture. Mud flats, fringed with courida and mangrove, stretch endlessly along the shore. Never a hil

The problem of improving the Colony’s lines of communication into the interior may be said to be the problem of circumventing the Essequebo River. For instance, it is the Essequebo and its tributary the Rupununi which ought to form a natural highway across British Guiana to Brazil. But the cattle-track, just opened to Georgetown from the Colony’s lowland savannahs near the Brazilian border, studiously avoids the Essequebo, which it touches only at Kurupukari, there crossing the river and leaving

Tumatumari is a formidable cataract with rocky islands amidst its swirling rush of waters. The name is said to mean “as hot as pepper.” All river traffic, whether upstream or downstream, is stopped by this obstacle, and a portage between the lower and the upper landing must be made over about half a mile of good cart-road. On the right bank stands a nice wooden bungalow, belonging to Sprostons, built on a bluff overlooking the river. There are also several other houses, including a land office,

Once the stores are all safely packed in the tent-boat, the paddlers established on their thwarts, and after the last wild rush up the bank to secure some precious, almost forgotten article, such as kettle or saucepan, how delightful it is to feel that at length one is off into the very heart of the wilderness! The soothing splash of the paddles is inexpressibly welcome after the din of launch travel, and we surrender ourselves to the enjoyment of the big restful silence and unchanging peace of

There were showers at dawn, but these had passed over when we started from Tukeit in the early morning to climb up on to the Kaietuk plateau. The existing forest trail, after leaving Tukeit, traverses some low foot-hills, and then rises sharply to cross the Washibaru creek. Next follows another steep ascent to the Korumê creek, which is bridged by tacoubas at a point whose Indian name has been translated as the “Devil’s Mother’s Pillars.” Here the country is very broken, and the whole channel of

In the long, straight reach of the Potaro, immediately above Kaietuk, there are several rapids; and the dangerous proximity of the Kaietuk abyss itself makes this stretch of the river an undesirable starting-point for an upstream journey. Mr. Menzies told us a harrowing tale of a bushman who years ago, wishing to cross from the right to the left bank of the Potaro in this reach, made a raft to ferry himself and his kit over the river. When out in midstream, he found to his horror that his punt-p

By contrast with the forest, the Baramaku savannah seemed fairyland. It looks like an English park: smiling slopes of grass with here and there a clump of bracken or a cluster of trees; undulating knolls and dells, and a delicious little brook at its far end. Its area is between three and four square miles, and it is situated about 2,700 feet above sea-level. We walked right across it and pitched camp near the brook. A tarpaulin shelter was quickly made, and we changed luxuriously into dry cloth

It took some time to ferry our whole party across the Ireng, as there were only three boats available—namely, two small dug-outs and a large one, the latter specially made for us by the Mataruka people. The crossing was an amusing performance to watch, and very picturesque the dug-outs looked piled up with baggage and people. Meanwhile, my husband and I rested in shade under some trees at the mouth of the Waikana creek, which drains the Mataruka savannah and joins the Ireng through a narrow rift

From the ridge above the head-waters of the Chitu we descended gently, and after fifteen minutes’ march we forded the Maipa, a deep, sluggish stream, with a belt of forest at its farther side. On the projecting branch of a tree a glorious purple orchid, the only one we saw during our journey, was admiring its reflection in the water. The Maipa probably belongs to the Orinoco watershed. We then traversed the narrow forest belt on the farther bank, and emerged into a curiously-rifted savannah, whi

Saturday, 15th January, 1916, was the day on which at last we climbed to the summit of Mount Roraima. We were most fortunate in having a cool, grey morning; and after sundry delays, at which Indians are adepts, we started off from Kamaiwâwong at 7.38 a.m. Our party consisted of Schoolmaster and twelve other Arekunas, some to act as baggage-carriers and some to cut open a trail where the ascent was through forest. Mr. Menzies and Haywood also accompanied us, but none of our Makusi droghers. We ha

Many farewells and the bringing up of piles of cassava for the support of our caravan delayed our start from Kamaiwâwong on the return journey to Mataruka. We had asked Schoolmaster to send two men with us to bring back from Puwa the salt and the cloth which was to be the recompense of those Arekunas who had assisted us; but instead of sending two men, Schoolmaster himself and the entire party who had climbed Roraima with us gaily accompanied our march back. It was a delightful morning, with alt