The Scene Was Divinely Lovely; On Every Side Out Of The
Formless Gloom Rose The Peaks Of The Sierra Del Cristal.
Lomba-
ngawku on the further side of the river surrounded by his companion
peaks, looked his grandest, silhouetted hard against the sky.
In
the higher valleys where the dim light shone faintly, one could see
wreaths and clouds of silver-gray mist lying, basking lazily or
rolling to and fro. Olangi seemed to stretch right across the
river, blocking with his great blunt mass all passage; while away to
the N.E. a cone-shaped peak showed conspicuous, which I afterwards
knew as Kangwe. In the darkness round me flitted thousands of fire-
flies and out beyond this pool of utter night flew by unceasingly
the white foam of the rapids; sound there was none save their
thunder. The majesty and beauty of the scene fascinated me, and I
stood leaning with my back against a rock pinnacle watching it. Do
not imagine it gave rise, in what I am pleased to call my mind, to
those complicated, poetical reflections natural beauty seems to
bring out in other people's minds. It never works that way with me;
I just lose all sense of human individuality, all memory of human
life, with its grief and worry and doubt, and become part of the
atmosphere. M'bo, I found, had hung up my mosquito-bar over one of
the hard wood benches, and going cautiously under it I lit a night-
light and read myself asleep with my damp dilapidated old Horace.
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