A Terrific Tornado Which Has Been Lurking Growling About Then Sits
Down In The Forest And Bursts, Wrapping Us Up In A Lively Kind Of
Fog, With Its Thunder, Lightning, And Rain.
It was impossible to
hear, or make one's self heard at the distance of even a few paces,
because of the shrill squeal of the wind, the roar of the thunder,
and the rush of the rain on the trees round us.
It was not like
having a storm burst over you in the least; you felt you were in the
middle of its engine-room when it had broken down badly. After half
an hour or so the thunder seemed to lift itself off the ground, and
the lightning came in sheets, instead of in great forks that flew
like flights of spears among the forest trees. The thunder,
however, had not settled things amicably with the mountain; it
roared its rage at Mungo, and Mungo answered back, quivering with a
rage as great, under our feet. One feels here as if one were
constantly dropping, unasked and unregarded, among painful and
violent discussions between the elemental powers of the Universe.
Mungo growls and swears in thunder at the sky, and sulks in white
mist all the morning, and then the sky answers back, hurling down
lightnings and rivers of water, with total disregard of Mungo's
visitors. The way the water rushes down from the mountain wall
through the watercourses in the jungle just above, and then at the
edge of the forest spreads out into a sheet of water that is an inch
deep, and that flies on past us in miniature cascades, trying the
while to put out our fire and so on, is - quite interesting.
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