An important member of our party was Alfredo Castillo, a boy thirteen or fourteen years of age, who joined us of his own volition and refused to leave. As we were moving from Rivas he accosted us and inquired whether we wished to hire a boy. Upon receiving a reply in the negative he calmly relieved Mr. Powell of his rifle and trudged along with us, no amount of persuasion sufficing to relieve us of his presence. At supper time he appeared in the mess tent, waited upon table, washed the dishes afterwards, prepared our beds, and vanished, only to reappear in the morning, energetic, capable, and absolutely impervious to sarcasm. In the course of two or three days he had become indispensable to us, and we put his name upon the payroll, much to his satisfaction. He was a bright little fellow, whose mournful black eyes greatly belied his disposition, and few were the days when no amusement was afforded by his mischievous pranks and droll sayings. His encounter with a pig, who, wandering around in the darkness, nearly ran over the sleeping boy; his ignominious retreat, au naturel, to the friendly shelter of our tent; his mighty threats of vengeance, changing to shrill squeaks of alarm upon the unexpected reappearance of the offending quadruped; and his subsequent elaborate explanation, formed one of the most amusing incidents of our camp life.

About the middle of the month we received visits from the chief engineer and the disbursing officer, and it became necessary for me to go frequently to town upon business connected with the party. The road used by horsemen between San Pablo and Rivas passes through a comparatively poor part of the country, almost uninhabited and densely timbered. The trail, for it is little else, is difficult to follow, because the frequent detours made by horsemen and carretas in the rainy season, to avoid bad places, have resulted in the formation of a multitude of paths so interlaced as to constitute a veritable labyrinth. During the month which we passed at San Pablo I never succeeded in following the same path twice, and upon one occasion I went so far astray that I barely reached camp before dark. The country traversed was particularly pretty at that season, several varieties of flowering trees being in full bloom and forming pyramids of brilliant pink and yellow, which contrasted finely with the all-encircling background of green. Tangled thickets and forest glades alternated with sun-backed llanos besprinkled with calabash trees (Crescentia alata), from the fruit of which native women carve drinking cups of quaint design.

In Rivas the military authorities were busy recruiting, and we frequently saw squads of sol

diers returning from successful man-hunts with the unwilling victims tied together in their midst. Laborers from our party were sometimes seized, but a vigorous protest to the commandante always procured their release.

On the nineteenth of the month the commissioners, who had been to Managua to pay their respects to the President of the Republic, reached Rivas, accompanied by Mr. Menocal and a party of American engineers and contractors who were travelling through the canal belt. They came out to camp several times, and I took the commissioners over the line, while Mr. Menocal, chief engineer of the Canal Company, devoted himself principally to the contractors. The lower valley of the Rio Las Lajas is gently rolling, partially wooded country. It was easily inspected from a canoe on the river and in the course of a ride along a lane which we had cut; but in the valley of Guiscoyal Creek, about two miles from the lake, the growth of scrub was so dense that it was practically impossible to leave the picket line, which crossed and recrossed the little stream repeatedly. All went well for a time, and we rode along contentedly in single file, but at last a crossing was reached where steep cut banks and muddy creek bed brought us to an abrupt halt. We might have continued on foot, and returned for our horses instead of pressing on to

Rivas as had been planned; or we might have abandoned our inspection for the day, and attacked the line subsequently from the other end; but neither of these alternatives satisfied the commissioners, who courageously insisted upon turning into the jungle and attempting to force a passage around the bend of the creek which barred our progress. The result was as I had anticipated. Within half an hour we were hopelessly entangled in the brush, and could neither advance nor retreat, torn clothes and inflamed countenances bearing witness that thorns and "pica-pica" had done their best to guard the forest fastnesses. I finally dismounted and fought my way with hands and machete to the main picket line, upon which I emerged scratched, bleeding, and exhausted, after half an hour's hard work. Fortunately the transit party was near, and I soon organized a relief expedition of four macheteros who cut a way for us to the Rivas road, not far distant. I have always considered that trip a piece of good fortune, since it strongly impressed the participants with a sense of the difficulties under which we labored, and satisfactorily explained the long duration of our work.

On the fifth of February, our survey having reached a point nearly four miles from the lake, we moved to a place called Espinal, on the summit of the continental divide. The car

retas which had been engaged arrived at daybreak, and after a hurried breakfast we struck camp, loaded tents and equipment, and started off. Thirty-odd men, and several women who had come to pounce, vulture-like, upon anything left behind, followed like a small army behind the creaking ox-carts. We wound along through shady lanes, and finally emerged upon a great llano, or plain, baked in the sun until it had cracked in every direction, and dotted with calabash trees. Following this plain across the road from Rivas to San Juan del Sur, we plunged again into woods, and finally stopped in a small clearing containing a little hacienda and a well. Tents were soon erected, cots slung, and a reel of barbed wire to which we had unexpectedly fallen heirs was strung around the camp to keep cattle at a respectful distance. Although we were upon the summit of the divide, the ground was exceedingly flat. During the rainy season this ground becomes so saturated with water as to be almost impassable.

The long expected "revolution" materialized early in the month. Hostilities began at San Juan del Sur, twelve or fourteen miles from camp, on Sunday the sixth of February, and during the following night we could hear the sound of bugles from the "telegraph road" along which troops were being pushed to the front. Monday there was heavy cannonading