By the route line on the map it will be seen that we were travelling nearly north along the edge of the marsh until at last we struck upon that branch of the Abana which passes near Haush Hamar; we camped by its mouth, on fine solid ground, to spend out Christmas Day, and the red ensign of England was soon hoisted on a high pole, to wave over as wild a spot as ever was seen. The river narrowed here to four or five yards across, with a deep and quiet stream. No jackals sang out now their usual lullaby we had nightly listened to before, but it is said that where larger beasts are near, the jackal does not cry, and I have generally found this to be true. The frogs owed no such tribute of silence, and their chant was from a thousand-throated chorus, each one croaking as loud as the quack of a duck.
No comments:
Post a Comment