We heard it coming from a long
distance, like the roar of a great wind. The velvet blackness, star
hung, was troubled by an invisible blurring mist, evidenced only through
a subtle effect on the subconsciousness. Every leaf above us, in the
circle of our firelight, depended absolutely motionless from its stem.
The insects had ceased their shrilling; the night birds their chirping;
the animals, great and small, their callings or their stealthy rustling
to and fro. Of the world of sound there remained only the crackling of
our fires, the tiny singing of the blood in our ears, and that far-off
portentous roar. Our simple dispositions were made. Trenches had been
dug around the tents; the pegs had been driven well home; our stores had
been put in shelter. We waited silently, puffing away our pipes.
The roaring increased in volume. Beneath it we began to hear the long,
rolling crash of thunder. Overhead the stars, already dimmed, were
suddenly blotted from existence. Then came the rain, in a literal
deluge, as though the god of floods had turned over an entire reservoir
with one twist of his mighty hand. Our fire went out instantly; the
whole world went out with it. We lay on our canvas cots unable to see a
foot beyond our tent opening; unable to hear anything but the insistent,
terrible drumming over our heads; unable to think of anything through
the tumult of waters. As a man's body might struggle from behind a
waterfall through the torrents, so our imaginations, half drowned,
managed dimly to picture forth little bits--the men huddled close in
their tiny tents, their cowled blankets over their heads.
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