The Night Wind, Stirring The Dry Bones
And Whistling Through The Empty Skull, Makes Weird Music!
The banks of the stream had gradually come nearer and nearer to us,
and the great river, stretching one hundred and fifty miles in width
where it pours its volume of millions of tons of water into the sea
at Montevideo, was here a silver ribbon, not half a mile across.
Far be it from me to convey the idea that life in those latitudes is
Eden. The mosquitos and other insects almost drive one mad. The
country may truly be called a naturalists' paradise, for butterflies,
beetles, and creeping things are multitudinous, but the climate, with
its damp, sickly heat, is wholly unsuited to the Anglo-Saxon. Day
after day the sun in all his remorseless strength blazes upon the
earth, is if desirous of setting the whole world on fire. The
thermometer in the shade registered 110, 112 and 114 degrees
Fahrenheit, and on one or two memorable days 118 degrees. The heat in
our little saloon at times rose as high as 130 degrees, and the
perspiration poured down in streams on our almost naked bodies. We
seemed to be running right into the brazen sun itself.
One morning the man on the look-out descried deer on the starboard
bow, and arms were quickly brought out, ready for use. Our French
hunter was just taking aim when it struck me that the deer moved in a
strange way. I immediately asked him to desist.
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