Tacatou; and just where the Tacatou falls into the Rio Branco there stands
the Portuguese frontier-fort called Fort St. Joachim. From the time of
embarking in the River Pirarara it takes you four days before you reach
this fort.

There was nothing very remarkable in passing down these rivers. It is an
open country, producing a coarse grass and interspersed with clumps of
trees. The banks have some wood on them, but it appears stinted and
crooked, like that on the bleak hills in England.

The tapir frequently plunged into the river; he was by no means shy, and it
was easy to get a shot at him on land. The kessi-kessi paroquets were in
great abundance, and the fine scarlet aras innumerable in the coucourite-
trees at a distance from the river's bank. In the Tacatou was seen the
troupiale. It was charming to hear the sweet and plaintive notes of this
pretty songster of the wilds. The Portuguese call it the nightingale of
Guiana.

Towards the close of the fourth evening the canoe which had been sent on
with a letter met us with the commander's answer. During its absence the
nights had been cold and stormy, the rain had fallen in torrents, the days
cloudy, and there was no sun to dry the wet hammocks. Exposed thus, day and
night, to the chilling blast and pelting shower, strength of constitution
at last failed and a severe fever came on. The commander's answer was very
polite. He remarked, he regretted much to say that he had received orders
to allow no stranger to enter the frontier, and this being the case he
hoped I would not consider him as uncivil: "however," continued he, "I have
ordered the soldier to land you at a certain distance from the fort, where
we can consult together."