A SAFARI AND WHAT IT IS 81 



night's hunting. The porters' tents are ranged in 

 a wide semicircle, and their camp-fires show little 

 groups of men squatting about them. Somewhere 

 one is playing a tin flute, another is playing a 

 French harp, and some are singing. It is a picture 

 never to be forgotten, and rich with a charm that 

 will surely always send forth its call to the restless 

 soul of the man who goes back to the city. 



Sometimes the evening program is different. 

 When one of us brings in some exceptional trophy 

 there is a great celebration, with singing and native 

 dances, and cheers for the Bwana who did the heroic 

 deed. The first lion in a camp is a signal for great 

 rejoicing and celebrating however, that is another 

 story the story of my first lion. 



At nine o'clock the tents are closed and all the 

 camp is quiet in sleep. Outside in the darkness the 

 askari paces to and fro, and the thick masses of 

 foliage stand out in inky blackness against the bril- 

 liant tropic night. We are far from civilization, 

 but one has as great a feeling of security as though 

 he were surrounded by chimneys and electric lights. 

 And no sleep is sweeter than that which has come 

 after a day's marching over sun-swept hills or 

 through the tangled reed beds where every sense 

 must always be on the alert for hidden dangers. 



