It was a weird hour that next which was passed with the fire sending up volumes of smoke, followed by glittering sparks which rose rapidly and looked like specks of gold-leaf floating away over the river, red now as blood, now orange and gold, as the fire blazed higher and cast its reflections on the rapid stream.
The bright light had a singular attraction for the birds, which came skimming round and swooping through the dark smoke, small birds with bright wings, and large-headed owls with soft silent pinions; these latter every now and then adding their mournful cries to the harsh screeching, whirring, drumming, throbbing, and piping of bird, insect, and reptile which mingled with the fine, thin, humming ping of the mosquitoes and the mournful fluting of the frogs.
No one spoke for a time, the attention of three of the party being taken up by the novelty of their position and the noises of the forest, for though they had passed many nights on the river and listened to the cries on the farther shore, this was their first experience of being right in among these musicians of the night as they kept up their incessant din.
“Can you tell what every sound is that we hear, Shaddy?” whispered Rob at last.
“Nay, hardly; some on ’em of course,” said their guide. “You know many of them too already, though they get so mixed up it’s hard to pick out one from the other.”
“But that?” whispered Rob, as if he dared not raise his voice, and he started violently, for there was a splash close at hand.
“Didn’t mean that fish, did you, sir? That won’t hurt you here so long as you don’t walk overboard in your sleep.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that; I meant that bellowing noise. You heard it, didn’t you, Mr Brazier?”
There was no reply.
“Sleep,” said Shaddy gruffly.