Somewhere below in the bowels of the earth rumbled an underground
river with a noise like distant thunder. This cavernous roar far below
and the twittering whisper of the swallows far overhead, combined to
add much to the mysteriousness of these wonderful caves.
On the ground in the guano I picked up several eggs, unbroken. How
they could fall that distance and yet not get smashed is hard to
understand, unless it is that they fell in the soft guano on their
ends. We were told that when a man fell from the top he was smashed
literally into jelly. I also picked up a few birds which had been
stunned when flying against the rocks. This saved me from shooting any.
Spread out on the ground in the cave and also drying outside, raised
from the ground on stakes, were coil after coil of rattan ropes and
ladders used for collecting the nests. These always have to be new
each season, and are first carefully tested. The ladders are made
of well twisted strands of rattan with steps of strong, hard wood,
generally "bilian."
On our return to the village we bathed in a shady stream of clear
water, the banks of which I noted were composed chiefly of guano. In
the afternoon we started off in search of the upper eaves.
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