10 MayI awoke before the rest of my party today and proceeded to search through what gear we had brought with us for something to eat. I made no atttempt to do so quietly so the men might be roused from bed and soon they were stretching and yawning and looking about dully. It was not long before we had awakened sufficiently to notice that our numbers had been reduced by one. The somewhat sullen paddler who I believe is the brother of the wife of the man they regard as something of the leader of their small band was nowhere to be seen. They called his name several times as we gathered the few palm fruits that lay in the immediate area. Receiving no response from our missing companion one of the men suggested that he had tried to return to the canoe before us. I was briefly concerned that he might take the vessel himself but was reassured by the others that it was too large for one man to handle alone.
Being, as it were, on a deadline we had no choice but to hoist our massive botanical prize to our shoulders and labor on. The plant seemed considerably more heavy today, probably because of our lack of good, sustaining food as well as lack of our sixth bearer. And, in the morning light, such as it was, the streaks on the bloom appeared brighter. The path back needed slight enlargement at times to allow our burden to pass and when we reached the clear portion of the trail it felt as though we flew compared to the preceding miles. When the bright window of the end of the trail came into view our hearts were lifted. I was further gladdened to see that our canoe was indeed still secured to the river bank but dismayed that the missing paddler was not in sight. His brother-in-law assured me that he had probably gone hunting and would find his own way home. I was skeptical but have learned that the peoples of this country have strange ways I shall never completely understand. As quickly as we could we loaded the plant into the canoe and I was pleased to see that its great bulk was not going to sink us!
Taking up the missing man's paddle I joined in propelling our craft into the the current. We soon fell into an easy rhythm that carried us smoothly past the overhanging trees and vines. Though we were going with the flow of the river now the broad, slow expanse that offered little resistance on our way upstream offered as little help as we went downstream. Still, the work was easy enough that I fell into a reverie after a short while I was startled from the quiet of my own thoughts by a loud shout from the riverbank. There I saw again the hunting party we'd encountered the day before. But this time, rather than greeting us with a smile they were shouting and pointing at us in a most agitated manner. My men were as surprised as I at the change in their character. We were even more shocked when first one and then the others began launching darts in our direction with their blowguns! So great was their fury that the usually precise aim I have observed in all hunters in these lands appeared to have left the men. Rather than sending us to meet our Maker the majority of the darts were striking the goliath flower. Not having our own weapons in hand and no time to retrieve them we resorted to lying flat in the boat and letting the current carry us around a bend in the river and away from our attackers.
We remained thus for nearly half an hour until we were reasonably confident we were safely away from the hunters. When we retook our seats and resumed paddling I asked the men what could have precipitated such an incident. They confessed to being quite astonished by it as they had enjoyed for many years a friendly peace that I described previously. They told me that because of the distance and the hysterical nature of the men's shouting that they could only make out a few words, one of which means "one who takes." They must have heard of me and my practice of collecting all manner of plants and animals. I was at once saddened by the realization that no matter how much time I spent among these people I would always remain a stranger, not one of them. Of course, I had never desired to assimilate into their culture. Returning to Caledon where I could study my specimens, write my papers, and move among the circles of educated, civilized people was always the plan. But I had allowed myself to believe the hospitality I had enjoyed among the natives reflected true friendship.
I put my self-indulgent thoughts aside and fixed my mind on the tasks ahead in arranging for taking my final leave of this entrancing, exotic country. We paddled on for several hours in a silence only broken occasionally by a passing flock of brilliantly plumed birds or the rattling buzz of the large dragonflies. As the sun sank behind the trees and the river darkened we discussed our plans for what I hoped would be our last night on the river. As though by some silent agreement we had been paddling closer to the bank away from the side where we had encountered the attacking hunters. Because it lay on the broad, outside curve of the river it lacked the sandy beaches the inner curve presented at intervals. Rather than cross to that side in search of a spot to drag the canoe ashore again, we decided to simply pull close to the near bank and tie up to one of the overhanging trees.
The smallest of the men, who had a perpetually cheerful and adaptable disposition, leapt the short distance to the bank and was able to clear a bit of ground large enough to build a small fire. The rest of the men had commenced fishing again and would pass each catch to him for roasting. Before it had become completely dark we had each eaten our fill of various finned delicacies. When I am home I shall make an attempt to cook whole some of the local trout that bless Caledon's streams in the manner the natives do here. Perhaps I might even tempt my guests to try these simple, smoky dishes as a diversion from their usual fare of poached fillets with delicate sauces.
After dousing his fire, the small man climbed back into the canoe with the rest of us as we bedded down for the night. He elected to sleep in the back next to the flower saying he enjoyed the fragrance but was deprived of it all day as we paddled into the breeze. Though the sky was moonless it was bright with stars. As I lay awake listening to the rising chorus of nighttime jungle sounds I watched as a bank of clouds slowly drifted in like a stately ship obscuring the twinkling lights. Closing my eyes I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
To this day I don't know how long we'd been sleeping when the commotion began. It was unimaginably dark so it must have been near midnight. I was awakened by a loud thud coming from the back of the canoe. "Ah! Little Chico has fallen out of bed!," cried one of the older men. "You'd better climb back or none of us will get any sleep!" More thumping and some rustling sounds ensued as "Chico" presumably restacked his bed of crates. Silence, except for the resumed snoring of the men and the stridulations of a thousand jungle insects, returned to our floating bunkhouse and I slept again.
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