HAMMOCK NIGHTS 215 



tramping of many feet ; in a land traversed only 

 by Indian trails I have listened to an overloaded 

 freight train toiling up a steep grade; I have 

 heard the noise of distant battle and the cries of 

 the victor and the vanquished. Hard by, among 

 the trees, I have heard a woman seized, have 

 heard her crying, pleading for mercy, have heard 

 her choking and sobbing till the end came in a 

 terrible, gasping sigh; and then, in the sudden 

 silence, there was a movement and thrashing 

 about in the topmost branches, and the flutter 

 and whirr of great wings moving swiftly away 

 from me into the heart of the jungle — the only 

 clue to the author of this vocal tragedy. Once, 

 a Pan of the woods tuned up his pipes — striking 

 a false note now and then, as if it were his whim 

 to appear no more than the veriest amateur ; then 

 suddenly, with the full liquid sweetness of his 

 reeds, bursting into a strain so wonderful, so 

 silvery clear, that I lay with mouth open to still 

 the beating of blood in my ears, hardly breathing, 

 that I might catch every vibration of his song. 

 When the last note died away, there was utter 

 stillness about me for an instant — nothing 

 stirred, nothing moved; the wind seemed to have 

 forsaken the leaves. From a great distance, as 



