SEQUELS 277 



gone, the landscape had closed in, the wilderness 

 was shutting down. Nature herself was "letting 

 in the jungle." I felt like Rip Van Winkle, or 

 even more alien, as if the passing of time had 

 been accelerated and my longed-for leap had 

 been accomplished, beyond the usual ken of man- 

 kind's earthly lease of senses. 



All these astounding changes had come to pass 

 through the heat and moisture of a tropical year, 

 and under deliberate scientific calculation there 

 was nothing unusual in the alteration. I remem- 

 bered the remarkable growth of one of the labor- 

 atory bamboo shoots during the rainy season — 

 twelve and a half feet in sixteen days, but that 

 was a single stem like a blade of grass, whereas 

 here the whole landscape was altered — new birds, 

 new insects, branches, foliage, flowers, where 

 twelve short months past, was open sky above 

 low weeds. 



In the hollow root on the beach, my band of 

 crane-flies had danced for a thousand hours, but 

 here was a sound which had apparently never 

 ceased for more than a year — perhaps five thou- 

 hand hours of daylight. It was a low, penetrat- 

 ing, abruptly reiterated beat, occurring about 

 once every second and a half, and distinctly audi- 



