CHAPTER XVII.
"Zur tiefen Ruh, wie er sich auch gefunden.
* * * * * * Sein Geist ist's, der mich ruft." _Wallenstein's Tod_.
Not the least troublesome part of our enlarged kit was the collection of gay-plumaged birds.

Their preservation was by no means complete, and I continued it at sea.

But between climate and creatures, the destructiveness of the tropics is distracting to the collector, and one or two of my finest specimens fell into heaps of mangled feathers, dust, and hideous larvae under my eyes.

It was Dennis O'Moore's collection.

He and his engineer friend were both good shots, and they had made an expedition on purpose to get these birds for Alister.