April 9th. We reached the Pararuma beach early in the morning where we found a camp of Indians, like those we had seen before. They had come to dig up the sand and harvest turtle eggs for their oil but unluckily they had arrived several days too late. The young turtles had broken out of their eggs before the Indians had set up camp. Crocodiles and garzas, a kind of white heron, had benefited from this mistake because they devour quantities of these young. They hunt at night as the young turtles do not break the surface of the sand until it is dark.

As we approached the coast the heat became stifling. A reddish mist covered the horizon. It was sunset but no sea breeze blew. We rested in the lonely farm called both Cambury and House of the Canarian (Casa del Isleìo). The hot-water river, along whose bank we traveled, became deeper. A 9-foot-long crocodile lay dead on the sand. We wanted to examine its teeth and the inside of its mouth, but having been exposed to the sun for weeks it stank so bad we had to climb back on to our horses.