I shall
never forget that walk up and down the steepest tracks, where in some
places a slip would have meant a fall far down into a gorge below. If
Vic was to be believed, I was the first white man to try that track,
and I would not like to recommend it to any others. Deep ravines, that
if one could only have spanned with a bridge one could have crossed in
five minutes or less, took us fully an hour to go down and up again,
and I could never have got down some of them except for being able
to hang on to bushes, trees and long grass. Whenever we passed a
Negrito hut we took a short rest. My Negritos, however, wanted to
make it a long one, as they seemed to be very fond of yarning, and
when I insisted on their hurrying on, Vic got frightened and declared
they might clear out and leave us, which would certainly have been
a misfortune. At length we arrived at a chief's hut, where we had
arranged to spend the night. It was situated at the top of a tall,
grassy peak, from which I got a wonderful view of the surrounding
country: steep wooded gorges and precipices surrounded us on all
sides, and in the distance the flat country from whence we had come,
and far far away the sea looked like glistening silver. The flat
country presented an extraordinary contrast to the rugged mountains
which surrounded me.
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