My Encampment Was Well Chosen In This Romantic Spot.
It was a
place where you might live all your life without seeing a soul
except a wandering bee-hunter, or a native sportsman who had
ventured up from the low country to shoot an elk.
Surrounded on all sides but one with steep hills, my hunting
settlement lay snugly protected from the wind in a little valley.
A small jungle about a hundred yards square grew at the base of
one of these grassy hills, in which, having cleared the underwood
for about forty yards, I left the rarer trees standing, and
erected my huts under their shelter at the exact base of the
knoll. This steep rise broke off into an abrupt cliff about
sixty yards from my tent, against which the river had waged
constant war, and, turning in an endless vortex, had worn a deep
hole, before it shot off in a rapid torrent from the angle,
dashing angrily over the rocky masses which had fallen from the
overhanging cliff, and coming to a sudden rest in a broad deep
pool within twenty yards of the tent door.
This was a delicious spot. Being snugly hidden in the jungle,
there was no sign of my encampment from the plain, except the
curling blue smoke which rose from the little hollow. A plot of
grass of some two acres formed the bottom of the valley before my
habitation, at the extremity of which the river flowed, backed on
the opposite side by an abrupt hill covered with forest and
jungle.
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