Out Of It,
Barely Twenty Miles Away, Rose Fernando Po To Its 10,190 Feet With
That Majestic Grace Peculiar To A Volcanic Island.
Immediately
below me, some 10,000 feet or so, lay Victoria with the forested
foot-hills of Mungo Mah Lobeh encircling it as a diadem, and Ambas
Bay gemmed with rocky islands lying before it.
On my left away S.E.
was the glorious stretch of the Cameroon estuary, with a line of
white cloud lying very neatly along the course of Cameroon River.
In one of the chasms of the mountain wall that I had come up - in the
one furthest to the north - there was a thunderstorm brewing,
seemingly hanging on to, or streaming out of the mountain side, a
soft billowy mass of dense cream-coloured cloud, with flashes of
golden lightnings playing about in it with soft growls of thunder.
Surely Mungo Mah Lobeh himself, of all the thousands he annually
turns out, never made one more lovely than this. Soon the white
mists rose from the mangrove-swamp, and grew rose-colour in the
light of the setting sun, as they swept upwards over the now purple
high forests. In the heavens, to the north, there was a rainbow,
vivid in colour, one arch of it going behind the peak, the other
sinking into the mist sea below, and this mist sea rose and rose
towards me, turning from pale rose-colour to lavender, and where the
shadow of Mungo lay across it, to a dull leaden grey.
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