Читать книгу Lolóma, or two years in cannibal-land. A story of old Fiji онлайн

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Having rested awhile I made a supreme effort, and clambered up the gnarled trunk of a withered old tree, about 12ft. high. From this elevation I could see no end to the labyrinth. As I descended, the night mist began to steam and wreath in loathy forms. As I viewed the stems and withes, with their endless webs of roots, choking out air and sky, I became a prey to the depressing influence of the horrid place. The premonitory symptoms of malarious fever were shuddering through my frame. I again lay down, reflecting that it was impossible to make a way in a straight line, even though I knew the proper direction, or had vigour enough remaining to advance at all. Turning my head wearily round, to my delight I caught a glimpse of blue sky through a little break in the vethos. Following this direction a few steps, I discovered that the reeds suddenly thinned down at this point, and in a few minutes I was out on lightly-timbered land, breathing the pure air of heaven once more.

The sun set all aglow on the sea-girt horizon, bathing the hill-tops in a ruddy light, which lasted but a few seconds. Darkness followed almost instantly, and heavy dews began to fall, compelling me to seek some sort of shelter. I crept back into the edge of the cover I had just left, and there slept the sleep of exhaustion.