Before forcing their way into the leafy tunnel, they had taken down
the awning, but now, after having broken away many branches, they
refixed the canvas roof and drew the mosquito-curtains round, after
which they sought out and killed all the insect pests that remained
within the nets. There was no danger in showing a light, and
accordingly the lantern was hung amidships, the spirit-lamp lit, to
prepare a nourishing and at the same time "filling" soup. They made
a hearty meal, got into warmer clothing, oiled the rifle-barrels,
arranged their rugs, and prepared for the night, which came on them
with a rush, heralded by the noise of birds seeking their accustomed
roosting-places. Such an uproar the boys had not before heard. It
seemed as if the Zoological Gardens had emptied its noisiest
inhabitants. Parrots flew across the river, every one talking at
the top of its voice, while colonies of ibis croaked out the news of
the day in gruff, discordant notes; cranes flying laboriously, with
long legs trailing, emitted their deep "honks;" frogs lifted up
their voices from out the reeds, and at intervals came the booming
cry of the shovel-beaked bittern, and the harsh, baboon-like bark of
the green-crested toucan. The noise of the home-going of the winged
multitudes ceased as the night drew its black mantle over the river.

Out of the spell of silence there grew presently other voices, soft
whisperings, deep sighings; mysterious sounds telling of things
stealthy and oppressed by the stillness; abrupt splashings that
startled by their suddenness: grunts, rumblings, and the roar of
bull crocodiles. It must not, however, be supposed that there was a
continuous succession of sounds. Each noise had its own place, and
there would be often long intervals between one sound and another.

Venning, who had the first watch, found this out. He would hear a