XXIX. 



THE LESSER KUDU. 



ABOUT eight o'clock, the evening of our first 

 ** day on the Swanee, the heat broke in a 

 tropical downpour. We heard it coming from 

 a long distance, like the roar of a great wind. 

 The velvet blackness, star hung, was troubled 

 by an invisible blurring mist, evidenced only 

 through a subtle effect on the subconsciousness. 

 Every leaf above us, in the circle of our firelight, 

 depended absolutely motionless from its stem. 

 The insects had ceased their shrilling ; the night 

 birds their chirping ; the animals, great and small, 

 their callings or their stealthy rustling to and fro. 

 Of the world of sound there remained only the 

 crackling of our fires, the tiny singing of the blood 

 in our ears, and that far-off portentous roar. 

 Our simple dispositions were made. Trenches 

 had been dug around the tents ; the pegs had 

 been driven well home ; our stores had been put 



