27^ JUNGLE PEACE 



nation. The trail ahead was either black, or a 

 solid sheet of light. Here and there in the 

 jungle on each side, where a tree had fallen, 

 or a flue of clear space led moonwards, the effect 

 was of cold electric light seen through trees in 

 city parks. When such a shaft struck down 

 upon us, it surpassed simile. I have seen old 

 paintings in Belgian cathedrals of celestial light 

 which now seems less imaginary. 



At last the silence was broken, and like the 

 first breath of the tradewind which clouds the 

 Mazaruni surface, the mirror of silence was 

 never quite clear again — or so it seemed. My 

 northern mind, stored with sounds of memory, 

 never instinctively accepted a new voice of the 

 jungle for what it was. Each had to go through 

 a reference clearing-house of sorts. It was like 

 the psychological reaction to words or phrases. 

 Any strange wail or scream striking suddenly 

 upon my ear instantly crystallized some vision 

 of the past — some circumstance or adventure 

 fraught with similar sound. Then, appreciably 

 as a second thought, came the keen concentra- 

 tion of every sense to identify this new sound, 

 to hear it again, to fix it in mind with its char- 

 acter and its meaning. Perhaps at some distant 



