NOTEBOOK
capped—wooded densely to summits, save where lava
passed—One 4200 ft.—other 5400 ft. look higher—very
beautiful with their solid crown of clouds and rising
abruptly from water—coffee, cattle, tobacco, corn—all
sorts of ranches on them—raise everything with no
trouble—splendid temperature.
Changed boats and started down lovely San Juan
River, at 4 A.M. saluting old Fort San Carlos with 3
whistles—Bank full—spots of grass—trees like cypress—
blossoming trees—trees so festooned with vines that they
look like vine-clad towers of ancient fortresses—great
tree-ferns and tall graceful clumps of bamboo—all man-
ner of trees and bushes and all so woven together with a
charming lacework of vines that a monkey can't climb
through.
On first San Juan River steamer man at companion-
way said: "None but first cabin allowed up here—you
first cabin?" with a most offensive emphasis—and let a
whole sluice of steerage pass unchallenged—quite a
compliment to my personal appearance.
On the second river boat challenged me faithfully and
passed the other first cabin unchallenged.
Mark Twain had been ranked as a "dresser"
on the River, but apparently did not consider
it worth while to array himself for travel.
Town of Castillo where we walked 300 yards and
changed boats below rapids—old romantic doby castle
of a fort on top of steep grass dome, 200 ft. high—14
houses under hill and dense vine-clad foliage appearing
beyond.
Native thatched houses—coffee, eggs, bread, cigars, and
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