200 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



Perhaps it is atavistic this desire to rest and 

 swing in a hamaca. For these are not unlike 

 the treetop couches of our arboreal ancestors, 

 such a one as I have seen an orang-utan weave 

 in a few minutes in the swaying crotch of a tree. 

 At any rate, the hammock is not dependent upon 

 four walls, upon rooms and houses, and it par- 

 takes altogether of the wilderness. Its move- 

 ment is eeolian yielding to every breath of air. 

 It has even its own weird harmony for I have 

 often heard a low, whistling hum as the air rushed 

 through the cordage mesh. In a sudden tropical 

 gale every taut strand of my hamaca has seemed 

 a separate, melodious, orchestral note, while I 

 was buffeted to and fro, marking time to some 

 rhythmic and reckless tune of the wind playing 

 fortissimo on the woven strings about me. The 

 climax of this musical outburst was not without 

 a mild element of danger sufficient to create 

 that enviable state of mind wherein the sense of 

 security and the knowledge that a minor catas- 

 trophe may perhaps be brought about are 

 weighed one against the other. 



Special, unexpected, and interesting minor 

 dangers are also the province of the hamaca. 

 Once, in the tropics, a great fruit fell on the 



