The author, a down-and-out immigrant physician stranded in Rio, met the egocentric, self-styled safari leader, Stanislaus, who prevailed on him to plunge what savings he retained on a bird-hunting party in the jungle heart of Brazil. A timid, crocodile-fearing fellow Pole came along as assistant bearer and taxidermist. There was one paying paying safarist, an absurd amateur hunter, perpetually craving photographs of the trophies shot by his companions, and never satisfied with the victorious poses he could strike. The story is one of absurd bunglings, vivid glimpses of tropical life, continued wrangling, connivance and malice among members of the expedition. They shoot and stuff and capture countless heron, hawk and wild fowl; they master the art of swatting crocodiles; they sleep in beatific peace with a jaguar pacing back and forth below their hammocks. Heroism is unknown but foolhardiness and impetuous abandon fill the narrative. The author and his assistant come to personify the harried, morally shrivelled metropolitan at last free to embrace the callings of their inner selves. Trivial yet comical and sometimes touching and alluring. Might appeal to the would-be adventurer who hates the sight of blood.