. . . a canoe shot out of the shadow and approached us . . . Within it sat two Indians, . . . with picturesque nudeness that served only to set off the ornaments with which they had adorned themselves . . . They drew near us for a moment, only to greet us and turn away; and very soon, with splash of dipping paddles, they vanished in the dark.
These were the flowers of the forest. All the winding way from the sea the river walls had been decked with floral splendor. Gigantic blossoms that might shame a rainbow starred the green spaces of the wood; but of all we had seen or heard or felt or dreamed of, none has left an impression so vivid, so inspiring, so instinct with the beauty and the poetry and the music of the tropics, as those twilight mysteries that smiled upon us for a moment and vanished, even as the great fire-flies that paled like golden rockets in the dark.
Native nakedness left an impression on the young Charles, an impression which was to influence and entice him for the rest of his life.