We suddenly fell to crying, and cried I know not how long.
Meanwhile the storm raged with augmented fury. We were obliged to
hold on to the ropes of the tent to prevent it blowing away. The
spray from the river leaped several yards up the rocks and clutched
at us malignantly. The very island trembled with the concussions of
the sea beating upon it, and at times I fancied that it had broken
loose from its foundation and was floating off with us. The
breakers, streaked with angry phosphorus, were fearful to look at.
The wind rose higher and higher, cutting long slits in the tent,
through which the rain poured incessantly. To complete the sum of
our miseries, the night was at hand. It came down abruptly, at
last, like a curtain, shutting in Sandpeep Island from all the
world.
It was a dirty night, as the sailors say. The darkness was
something that could be felt as well as seen--it pressed down upon
one with a cold, clammy touch. Gazing into the hollow blackness,
all sorts of imaginable shapes seemed to start forth from vacancy--
brilliant colors, stars, prisms, and dancing lights.
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