6 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



would rise, the voice of the leader quavering with 

 that wild rhythm which had come down to him, 

 a vocal heritage, through centuries of tom-toms 

 and generations of savages striving for emotional 

 expression. But the words were laughable or 

 pathetic. I was adjured to 



"Blow de mon down with a bottle of rum, 

 Oh, de mon — mon — ^blow de mon down." 



Or the jungle reechoed the edifying reitera- 

 tion of 



"Sardines — and bread — OH 1 

 Sardines — and bread. 

 Sardines — and bread — AND ! 

 Sardines — :and bread." 



The thrill that a whole-lunged chanty gives is 

 difficult to describe. It arouses some deep emo- 

 tional response, as surely as a military band, or 

 the reverberating cadence of an organ, or a sud- 

 denly remembered theme of opera. 



As my aquatic van drew up to the sandy 

 landing-beach, I looked at the motley array of 

 paddlers, and my mind went back hundreds of 

 years to the first Spanish crew which landed 

 here, and I wondered whether these pirates of 



