But
the eager passengers had not counted on the whims and languor of tropic
peoples. When baggage had been unloaded and piled on the shore, the
boatmen were no longer in the mood to travel. They sat in the mud
beside their beached canoes. They smoked cigars in the doorways of
their thatched huts. They loafed and invited their souls.
At the thought that other men might be beating them to the gold, the frustrated Americanos raged up and down the beach. The one hotel was filled. Food was to be had only in the native huts. Minutes, hours were going by!
Then
began the competitive bidding for passage. Five dollars—eight
dollars—fifteen dollars apiece for passage to the head of the river—pronto! The natives began to take the cigars out of their mouths and consider.
