SEQUELS 277 



gone, the landscape had closed in, the wilderness 

 was shutting down. Nature herself was "letting 

 in the jungle." I felt like Rip Van Winkle, or 

 even more alien, as if the passing of time had 

 been accelerated and my longed-for leap had 

 been accomplished, beyond the usual ken of man- 

 kind's earthly lease of senses. 



All these astounding changes had come to pass 

 through the heat and moisture of a tropical year, 

 and under deliberate scientific calculation there 

 was nothing unusual in the alteration. I remem- 

 bered the remarkable growth of one of the labor- 

 atory bamboo shoots during the rainy season 

 twelve and a half feet in sixteen days, but that 

 was a single stem like a blade of grass, whereas 

 here the whole landscape was altered new birds, 

 new insects, branches, foliage, flowers, where 

 twelve short months past, was open sky above 

 low weeds. 



In the hollow root on the beach, my band of 

 crane-flies had danced for a thousand hours, but 

 here was a sound which had apparently never 

 ceased for more than a year perhaps five thou- 

 hand hours of daylight. It was a low, penetrat- 

 ing, abruptly reiterated beat, occurring about 

 once every second and a half, and distinctly audi- 



