192 



ON SAFARI 



croaking of arboreal reptiles runs on like a lullaby. 

 Brilliant butterflies flit in sunny glades, but in the 

 forest there is little other sign of life. We saw no 

 game therein, save a chance bushbuck and the spoor 



TRUMPETER HOKNBILL. 



of very large pig. These, our men assured us, carried no 

 tusks. Of the bongo we saw not a sign. 



Although unseen, we were, liowever, conscious, by a 

 recurrent ringing clamour, that there existed living 

 creatures high above — practically in another world. 

 These strident outcries we at first attributed to eagles, 

 perhaps correctly. But presently we realised that other 

 feathered neighbours, hardly inferior in size, dwelt over- 



