BACK IN THE JUNGLES AGAIN 181 



What the feeling would be in the night, alone down below 

 at the foot of the grass clumps, I have never tried. There 

 are various reasons why one would not try it perhaps. But 

 from the back of the elephant the grass ji-iigle at night, on a 

 moonlight night, is a most eerie place to be in. The tall 

 white heads look ghostly under the moonbeams, a filmy 

 white mist is usually floating just above the jungle, and 

 the night birds, owls and their kin, flitting silently by or 

 with a sudden squawk of terror are uncanny. Great night 

 beetles drone by with humming sound and moths of a size 

 which appears gigantic flap up out of the depths, often 

 considerably disturbing one's serenity by blundering into 

 the face. A variety of queer cries rise on the still air 

 cries of the night jungle folk which sound more like the 

 unearthly shrieks of mortals in pain, setting one's nerves on 

 edge, than natural cries and calls. Fine, it must be admitted, 

 very fine, are the grass jungles at night but not to be com- 

 pared with their glorious beauty by day. 



And so I thought on the night of our arrival in camp that 

 September. For immediately after dinner I ordered up an 

 elephant intending to have an hour's stroll through the 

 grass jungles before bed. My companion, stretched at 

 length in an arm-chair with a cigar between his lips, thought 

 I was mad, as did the much-disgusted mahout, who had to 

 quit the camp fire and the circle of talkative servants to 

 accompany me. But then neither of them had been away 

 from the jungles for over a year and a half and could not be 

 expected to understand or sympathize with my frame 

 of mind. 



We had no adventures that night. I do not think that 

 the mahout was out for any if he could help it. I left the 

 route to him, merely telling him that I wanted to be out 

 a good hour. For myself the pleasure at finding myself 

 back again in a real big jungle after so long an absence was 

 sufficient for the present and, as I sat swaying on the pad, 

 perched up behind the mahout, I drank in with gusto the 

 smell of the jungle, malarious though it was, and listened to 

 the well-known night sounds with keen interest. 



And so to bed and a dreamless sleep. 



The next morn soon after dawn and before the sun had 

 climbed above the hills we were engaged on a substantial 

 chota hazri in the verandah. In front lay the small clearing 

 which was dignified by the name of the bungalow compound 



