"Nothing stirring above the ears," said he.
It is customary in books of travel to describe this part of the journey
somewhat as follows: "Skirting the low and uninteresting shores of
Africa we at length reached," etc. Low and uninteresting shores! Through
the glasses we made out distant mountains far beyond nearer hills. The
latter were green-covered with dense forests whence rose mysterious
smokes. Along the shore we saw an occasional cocoanut plantation to the
water's edge and native huts and villages of thatch. Canoes of strange
models lay drawn up on shelving beaches; queer fish-pounds of brush
reached out considerable distances from the coast. The white surf
pounded on a yellow beach.
All about these things was the jungle, hemming in the plantations and
villages, bordering the lagoons, creeping down until it fairly overhung
the yellow beaches; as though, conqueror through all the country beyond,
it were half-inclined to dispute dominion with old Ocean himself. It
looked from the distance like a thick, soft coverlet thrown down over
the country; following--or, rather, suggesting--the inequalities.
Through the glasses we were occasionally able to peep under the edge of
this coverlet, and see where the fringe of the jungle drew back in a
little pocket, or to catch the sheen of mysterious dark rivers slipping
to the sea. Up these dark rivers, by way of the entrances of these tiny
pockets, the imagination then could lead on into the dimness beneath the
sunlit upper surfaces.
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