A JUNGLE BEACH 107 
in an eternal dance. And so, in some ordained 
way, he will fulfil his destiny and I acquire merit. 
To write of sunrises and moonlight is to com- 
mit literary harikiri; but as that terminates life, 
so may I end this. And I choose the morning 
and the midnight of the sixth of August, for 
reasons both greater and less than cosmic. Early 
that morning, looking out from the beach over 
the Mazacuni, as we called the union of the two 
great rivers, there was wind, yet no wind, as the 
sun prepared to lift above the horizon. The great 
soft-walled jungle was clear and distinct. Every 
reed at the landing had its unbroken counter- 
part in the still surface. But at the apex of 
the waters, the smoke of all the battles in the 
world had gathered, and upon this the sun slowly 
concentrated his powers, until he tore apart the 
cloak of mist, turning the dark surface, first to 
oxidized, and then to shining quicksilver. In- 
stantaneously the same shaft of light touched the 
tips of the highest trees, and as if in response 
to a poised baton, there broke forth that wonder 
of the world—the Zoroastrian chorus of tens of 
thousands of jungle creatures. . 
Over the quicksilver surface little individual 
