The Voices of the Wilderness 



they rise in scattered flight from their resting-places, a 

 sound that impresses itself strongly and distinctly on the 

 ear, more than that of any other bird I know, as the 

 " Klack-klack-klack " of the rising woodcock strikes the 

 ear of the sportsman in Germany. 



The wonderful flight of the velt-fowl, their calls 

 and cries, their hurry and bustle, afforded me ever new 

 interest. It always seemed to me as though the wide 

 wilderness here sent out its lovingly guarded favourite 

 children as envoys, with the mission ot making it known 

 that even now, in this dull, barren time, life has not 

 died out even in the most remote deserts. So I see 

 and hear them once more in fancy, beautiful, timid, and 

 full of the joy of life. It is thus their countless millions 

 enliven the wastes of Africa, as well as the endless tundra 

 marshes of Asia. 



Deep, long-drawn-out notes, like those of musical 

 glasses, ring in my ears. The brooding noonday heat 

 is round me. The sun is in the zenith, and hardly 

 another sound is to be heard all around. The wilderness 

 lies before me in the hot glowing sunlight as if dead. 

 My weary bearers have given themselves up to a dozing 

 sleep, at the place where I have at last halted, after a 

 march of many hours with a few companions. 



Before me is a miniature mountain-world lighted up 

 by the dazzling sunbeams. There is a mass of precipitous 

 rocks, so characteristic of the Masai- Xyika district, that 

 stretches away into the distance. The Candelabra 

 Euphorbias spread out their strange forms against the 

 light, in grotesque clumps, and seem to me to make 



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