At a brook of the sweetest water, purling over the cleanest and
brightest of golden sands, we filled the canteens, this being the
last opportunity for some time. Forest walks are thirsty work
during the hot season; the air is close, fetid, and damp with
mire; the sea-breeze has no power to enter, and perspiration
streams from every pore. After heavy rains it is still worse, the
surface of the land is changed, and paths become lines of dark
puddles; the nullahs, before dry, roll muddy, dark-brown streams,
and their mouths streak the sea with froth and scum. Hardly a
living object meets the eye, and only the loud, whirring flight
of some large bird breaks the dreary silence. The music of the
surf now sounded like the song of the sea-shell as we crossed
another rough prism of stone and bush, whose counter-slope fell
gently into a sand-flat overgrown with Ipomaa and other bright
flowering plants. After walking about an hour (equal to 2.50
miles) between south and south-west, we saluted the pleasant
aspect of
with a general cheer. Northwards lay
Point Ipizarala, southways Nyonye, both looking like tree-clumps
rising from the waves.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152