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 
of very large pig. These, our men assured us, carried no 
tusks. Of the bongo we saw not a sign. 
Although unseen, we were, however, 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- 
