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On January 21st we made a long and tedious march, rising all the time among slippery rocks along precipices, or sinking in swampy mud on the narrow trail. Picturesque waterfalls of great height were visible in volcanic vents, some square, others crescent-shaped, on the face of the mountain. The torrents, swollen by the heavy rains, were difficult to cross, my mules on several occasions being nearly swept away by the foaming current. We sank in deep red slush and in deep holes filled with water, but continued all the time to ascend a gentle but continuous incline. We travelled that day from six o'clock in the morning until six o'clock in the evening, rain pouring down upon us all the time. We were simply smothered in mud from head to foot.

After the first day or two the voyage on the launch was tedious. One got tired of the endless conversation and of listening to the bargaining. The perpetual drinking which had to be witnessed was of little interest to a teetotaller. One seldom saw money change hands, all being done by barter, the merchandise we had on board being exchanged chiefly for rubber. Even so far up the river civilization had well set in, and great caution was needed in buying balls of rubber. It was advisable to split them in two before purchase, as they generally contained all kinds of rubbish instead of pure coagulated latex.

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