In Wildest Africa ^ 



rays of the sun. But as at this time of the year the 

 sun hardly ever penetrated the thick bank of clouds, there 

 was a chance of seeing the elephants at a later hour and 

 in the bush. So every morning either I or one of my 

 scouts was posted on one of the hills — Kilepo especially — 

 to keep a sharp look-out. It needed three hours in the 

 dark and two in the daylight to get up the hill. It was 

 not a pleasant climb. We were always drenched to the 

 skin by the wet grass and bushes, and it was impossible 

 to light a fire to dry ourselves, for the animals would 

 certainly have scented it. We had to stay there in our 

 wet clothes, hour after hour, watching most carefully and 

 making the utmost of the rare moments when the mist 

 rolled away in the valley and enabled us to peer into 

 the thickets. It may seem surprising that we should 

 have found so much difficulty in sighting the elephants, 

 but one must remember that they emerge from their 

 mud-baths with a coating that harmonises perfectly with the 

 tree-trunks and the general environment, and are therefore 

 hard to descry. Besides, the conditions of light in the 

 tropics are very different from what we are accustomed 

 to in our own northern clime, and are very deceptive. 



When fortune was kind I could just catch a glimpse 

 during a brief spell of sunshine of a gigantic elephant's 

 form in the deep valley beneath. But only for a few 

 instants. The next moment there was nothing to be seen 

 save long vistas of damp green plants and trees. The 

 deep rain-channels stood out clear and small in the 

 landscape from where I stood. The mightiest trees 

 looked like bushes ; the hundred-feet-high trunks of 



530 



