You will notice, reader, that hope was already throwing its glamour over the poor lad’s mind. He dearly loved nature, but while being dragged away as a prisoner, although some parts of the country through which he passed had been charming enough, he could not bear to gaze on their beauty while he was a slave.
Flowers grew in abundance on many parts of the plains; they grew in patches, in beds of gorgeous colour, here, there, and everywhere—pale blue, dark blue, yellow, crimson, and modest brown; they carpetted the ground, and even trailed up over and beautified the stunted scrub bushes. As Burns hath it, these flowers—
“Sprang wanton to be pressed.”
At another time their sunlit glory would have dazzled him, now they had seemed to mock him in his misery, and he had crushed them under foot.
Great birds sailed majestically and slowly overhead, or flew with that lazy indifference peculiar to some of the African species, ascending some distance, then letting themselves fall again, putting no more exertion into the action of flight than was absolutely necessary, but sauntering along through the air, as it were. Never mind, they were happy, and Harry had hated them because they were so happy—and free. Long after the caravan had left the coast, sea-birds even came floating round them.
“Come away, Harry!” they seemed to scream. “Come away—away—away!”
They were happy too. Oh, he had thought, if he could only be as free, and had their lithesome, lissom wings!
Monster butterflies like painted fans, browns, vermilions, and ultramarines hovered indolently over the flowers. How they appeared to enjoy the sunshine!
Even the bronzy green or black beetles that moved about among the grass or over the bare patches of ground had something to do, something to engross their minds, thoroughly to the exclusion of every other consideration in life.
As for the lovely sea-green lizards with broad arrows of crimson on their shoulders, they simply squatted, panting, on stones, or lay along reed-stalks, making the very most of life and sunshine; while as for the giant cicadas, their happiness considerably interfered with the business of their little lives, because they were so very, very, very happy that they had to stop about every two minutes to sing.