as the Indians call it. Except this and the lapping sound of water,
as we sped along, nothing disturbed the tranquillity of the night.

I was in the act of lighting another pipe when one of the men
cried out:

"What's this?"

We all stopped paddling and stared ahead at a large dark object,
resting on a moon-lit sand-bar not far from us. Then someone said,
"_Sucuruju_." Few people can comprehend the feeling that creeps into
one's heart when this word is pronounced, under such circumstances,
in the far-off forest, in the middle of the night. The word
means boa-constrictor, but it meant a lot more at this moment. An
indescribable feeling of awe seized me. I knew now that I was to face
the awful master of the swamps, the great silent monster of the river,
of which so much had been said, and which so few ever meet in its lair.

Running the canoe ashore we advanced in single file. I now had a
chance to inspect the object. On a soft, muddy sand-bar, half hidden
by dead branches, I beheld a somewhat cone-shaped mass about seven
feet in height. From the base of this came the neck and head of the
snake, flat on the ground, with beady eyes staring at us as we slowly
advanced and stopped. The snake was coiled, forming an enormous pile
of round, scaly monstrosity, large enough to crush us all to death at
once. We had stopped at a distance of about fifteen feet from him,
and looked at each other. I felt as if I were spellbound, unable to
move a step farther or even to think or act on my own initiative.

The snake still made no move, but in the clear moonlight I could