Vieing with these birds in splendour were several large bright-yellow flowers of the creeping-plants, which twined round the trees.  Some of these plants had white, spotted, and purple blossoms; and there was one splendid species, called by the natives the flor de Santa Anna—­the flower of St. Ann—­which emitted a delightful odour and was four inches in diameter.

Having traversed this part of the wood, they once more emerged upon the main stream of the Amazon.  It was covered with water-fowl.  Large logs of trees and numerous floating islands of grass were sailing down; and on these sat hundreds of white gulls, demurely and comfortably voyaging to the ocean; for the sea would be their final resting-place if they sat on these logs and islands until they descended several hundreds of miles of the great river.

“I wish,” said Martin, after a long silence, during which the travellers had been gazing on the watery waste as they paddled up stream—­“I wish that we could fall in with solid land, where we might have something cooked.  I’m desperately hungry now; but I don’t see a spot of earth large enough for a mosquito to rest his foot on.”

“We’ll jist have to take to farhina and wather,” remarked Barney, laying down his paddle and proceeding leisurely to light his pipe.  “It’s a blissin’ we’ve got baccy, any how.  Tis mesilf that could niver git on without it.”

“I wish you joy of it, Barney.  It may fill your mouth, but it can’t stop your hunger.”

“Och, boy, it’s little ye know!  Sure it stops the cravin’s o’ hunger, and kapes yer stumick from callin’ out for iver, till ye fall in with somethin’ to ate.”

“It does not seem to stop the mouth then, Barney, for you call out for grub oftener than I do; and then you say that you couldn’t get on without it; so you’re a slave to it, old boy.  I wouldn’t be a slave to anything if I could help it.”

“Martin, lad, ye’re gittin’ deep.  Take care now, or ye’ll be in mettlefeesics soon.  I say, ould black-face,”—­Barney was not on ceremony with the old trader,—­“is there no land in thim parts at all?”

“No, not dis night,”

“Och, then, we’ll have to git up a tree and try to cook somethin’ there; for I’m not goin’ to work on flour and wather.  Hallo! hould on!  There’s an island, or the portrait o’ wan!  Port your helm, Naygur! hard aport!  D’ye hear?”

The old man heard, but, as usual, paid no attention to the Irishman’s remarks; and the canoe would have passed straight on, had not Barney used his bow-paddle so energetically that he managed to steer her, as he expressed it, by the nose, and ran her against a mass of floating logs which had caught firmly in a thicket, and were so covered with grass and broken twigs as to have very much the appearance of a real island.  Here they landed, so to speak, kindled a small fire, made some coffee, roasted a few fish, baked several cakes, and were soon as happy and comfortable as hungry and wearied men usually are when they obtain rest and food.