Quatermain's Stories

The night was beautiful, and it would require somebody with more words on the tip of his longue than I have to describe properly the chastened majesty of those moonlit wilds. Away forever and forever, away to the mysterious north, rolled the great bush ocean over which the silence brooded. There beneath us a mile or more to the right ran the wide Oliphant, and mirrorlike flashed back the moon, whose silver spears were shivered on its breast, and then tossed in twisted lines of light far and wide about the mountains and the plain.