The Thunder Warned Us With Tremendous Explosions Just
Above Us, While The Lightning Flashed Almost At Our Feet With Blinding
Vividness.
A cold wind suddenly rushed through the hitherto calm air;
this is the certain precursor of rain in hot climates, the heavier cold
air of the rain-cloud falling into the stratum of warmer and lighter
atmosphere below.
It DID rain - in such torrents as only the inhabitants of tropical
countries can understand. "Cover up the gun-locks!" - and the pieces of
mackintosh for that purpose were immediately secured in their places.
Well, let it rain! - it is rather pleasant to be wet through in a country
where the thermometer is seldom below 92 degrees Fahr., especially when
there is no doubt of getting wet through - not like the wretched
drizzling rain of England, that chills you with the fear that perhaps
your great-coat is not waterproof, but a regular douche bath that would
beat in the crown of a cheap hat. How delightful to be really cool in
the centre of Africa! I was charmingly wet - the water was running out of
the heels of my shoes, which were overflowing; the wind howled over the
flood that was pouring through the hitherto dry gullies, and in the
course of ten minutes the whole scene had changed. It was no longer the
tropics; the climate was that of old England restored to me: the chilled
air refreshed me, and I felt at home again. "How delightful!" I
exclaimed, as I turned round to see how my followers were enjoying it.
Dear me! I hardly knew my own people. Of all the miserable individuals I
ever saw, they were superlative - they were not enjoying the change of
climate in the least - with heads tucked down and streams of water
running from their nasal extremities, they endeavoured to avoid the
storm. Perfectly thoughtless of all but self in the extremity of their
misery, they had neglected the precaution of lowering the muzzles of
their guns, and my beautiful No. 10 rifles were full of water. "Charming
day!" I exclaimed to my soaked and shivering followers, who looked like
kittens in a pond. They muttered something that might be interpreted
"What's fun to you is death to us." I comforted them with the assurance
that this was an English climate on a midsummer day. If my clothed Arabs
suffered from cold, where was my naked guide? He was the most pitiable
object I ever saw; with teeth chattering and knees knocking together
with cold, he crouched under the imaginary shelter of a large tamarind
tree; he was no longer the clean black that had started as my guide, but
the cold and wet had turned him grey, and being thin, he looked like an
exaggerated slate-pencil. Not wishing to discourage my men, I
unselfishly turned back just as I was beginning to enjoy myself, and my
people regarded me as we do the Polar bear at the Zoological Gardens,
who begins to feel happy on the worst day in our English winter.
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