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Nocturnal Life of Animals.—A Night on the
Apure.—Below the mission of Santa Barbara de Arichuna we
passed, says Humboldt, the night as usual, in the open air,
on a sandy flat, on the banks of the Apure, skirted by the
impenetrable forest. We had some difficulty in finding dry
wood to kindle the fires with which it is here customary to
surround the bivouac, as a safeguard against the attacks of
the jaguar. The air was bland and soft, and the moon
shone brightly. Several crocodiles approached the bank,
and I have observed that fire attracts these creatures as it
does our crabs and many other aquatic animals. The oars
of our boats were fixed upright in the ground to support our
hammocks. Deep stillness prevailed, only broken at in-
tervals by the blowing of the fresh-water dolphins. After
eleven o’clock, such a noise began in the contiguous forest,
that for the remainder of the night all sleep was impossible.
The wild cries of animals rung through the woods. Among
the many voices which resounded together the Indians
could only recognize those which, after short pauses, were
heard singly. There was the monotonous plaintive cry of
the aluates (howling monkeys), the whining, flute-like notes
of the small sapajous, the grunting murmur of the striped
nocturnal ape (Nyctipithecus trivirgatus, which I was the
first to describe), the fitful roar of the great tiger, the cu-
guar or maneless American lion, the peccary, the sloth, and
a host of parrots, perraquas (Ortalides), and other pheasant-
like birds. Whenever the tigers approached the edge of the
forest, our dog, who before had barked incessantly, came
howling to seek protection under the hammocks. Sometimes
the cries of the tiger resounded from the branches of a tree,
and was then always accompanied by the plaintive piping
tones of the apes, who were endeavouring to escape from
the unwonted pursuit. If one asks the Indians why such
a continuous noise is heard on certain nights, they answer,
with a smile, that “the animals are rejoicing in the beautiful
moonlight, and celebrating the return of the full moon.” To
me, the scene appeared rather to be owing to an accidental,
long-continued, and gradually increasing conflict among
the animals. Thus, for instance, the jaguar will pursue
the peccaries and the tapirs, which, densely crowded to-
gether, burst through the barrier of tree-like shrubs which
opposes their flight. Terrified at the confusion, the monkeys
on the tops of the trees join their cries with those of the
larger animals. This arouses the tribes of birds who build
their nests in communities, and suddenly the whole animal
world is in a state of commotion. Further experience
taught us that it was by no means always the festival of
moonlight that disturbed the stillness of the forest, for we
observed that the voices were loudest during violent storms
of rain; or when the thunder echoed and the lightning
flashed through the depths of the woods. The good natured
Franciscan monk who (notwithstanding the fever from
which he had been suffering for many months) accompanied
us through the cataracts of Atures and Maypures to San
Carlos, on the Rio Negro, and to the Brazilian coast, used
to say, when apprehensive of a storm at night, “May Heaven
grant a quiet night both to us and to the wild beasts of the
forest!”