AFRICA 



rain squall started; lightening in the nearer shadows 

 to reveal half-guessed peaks; brightening unexpect- 

 edly into broad short bands of misty gray light 

 slanting from the gray heavens above to the sombre 

 tortured immensity beneath. It was such a thing 

 as Gustave Dore might have imaged to serve as 

 abiding place for the fierce chaotic spirit of the 

 African wilderness. 



I sat there for some time hugging my knees, wait- 

 ing for the men to come. The tremendous land- 

 scape seemed to have been willed to immobility. 

 The rain squalls forty miles or more away did not 

 appear to shift their shadows; the rare slanting 

 bands of light from the clouds were as constant as 

 though they were falling through cathedral windows. 

 But nearer at hand other things were forward. The 

 birds, thousands of them, were doing their best to 

 cheer things up. The roucoulements of doves rose 

 from the bushes down the face of the cliffs; the bell 

 bird uttered his clear ringing note; the chime bird 

 gave his celebrated imitation of a really gentlemanly 

 sixty-horse power touring car hinting you out of the 

 way with the mellowness of a chimed horn; the bottle 

 bird poured gallons of guggling essence of happiness 

 from his silver jug. From the direction of camp, 

 evidently jumped by the boys, a steinbuck loped 

 gracefully, pausing every few minutes to look back, 



^7 



