HAMMOCK NIGHTS 215 
tramping of many feet; in a land traversed only 
by Indian trails I have listened to an overloaded 
freight train toiling up a steep grade; I have 
heard the noise of distant battle and the cries of 
the victor and the vanquished. Hard by, among 
the trees, I have heard a woman seized, have 
heard her crying, pleading for mercy, have heard 
her choking and sobbing till the end came in a 
terrible, gasping sigh; and then, in the sudden 
silence, there was a movement and thrashing 
‘about in the topmost branches, and the flutter 
and whirr of great wings moving swiftly away 
from me into the heart of the jungle—the only 
clue to the author of this vocal tragedy. Once, 
@ Pan of the woods tuned up his pipes—striking 
& false note now and then, as if it were his whim 
to appear no more than the veriest amateur; then 
suddenly, with the full liquid sweetness of his 
feeds, bursting into a strain so wonderful, so 
silvery clear, that I lay with mouth open to still 
the beating of blood in my ears, hardly breathing, 
that I might catch every vibration of his song. 
‘When the last note died away, there was utter 
stillness about me for an instant—nothing 
stirred, nothing moved; the wind seemed to have 
forsaken the leaves. From a great distance, as 
