Chapter Six.
Archie opens his Ears.
The mess dinner was over, and the officers were sitting back by one of the open windows, dreamily gazing out at the dark jungle and breathing in with a calm feeling of satisfaction the soft, comparatively cool air that floated up on the surface of the swift river.
It was very still, not a word having been spoken for some time; not a sound came from the native campong, while it was hard to believe that within touch of the mess-room there were the quarters of nearly three hundred men. But once in a while something like a whisper came from the jungle, suggesting the passing through its dense tangle of some prey-seeking, cat-like creature. But no one spoke; though, in a half-drowsy way, those seated by the window and a couple of dark figures outside in the veranda were straining their ears and trying to make out what caused the distant sounds. Then some one spoke:
“Asleep, Archie?”
“No. I was trying to make out what was that faint cry. Do you know, Down?”
“Didn’t hear any faint cry.”
“Listen, then.”
“Can’t. Deal too drowsy.—Lots of fire-flies out to-night.”