THE LOWER BENCHES 



river, just outside the edge of the river forest. The 

 big trees sent their branches out over us very far 

 above, while a winding path led us to the banks 

 of the river where was a dingle like an inner room. 

 After dark we sat with V. at our little campfire. 

 It was all very beautiful — the skyful of tropical 

 stars, the silhouette of the forest shutting them out, 

 the velvet blackness of the jungle flickering with 

 fireflies, the purer outlines of the hilltops and dis- 

 tant mountains to the left, the porters' tiny fires 

 before the little white tents; and in the distance, 

 from the direction of V.'s boma, the irregular throb 

 of the dance drum and the occasional snatch of 

 barbaric singing borne down on the night wind 

 from where his Wakambas were holding an rCgoma, 

 A pair of ibis that had been ejected when we made 

 camp contributed intermittent outraged and raucous 

 squawks from the tiptop of some neighbouring tree. 



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