exclaimed at the same
time.

The Hindus smiled, but did not answer us. The Takur smoked his gargari
as peacefully as if he was deaf.

There was a short interval, after which the invisible orchestra
started again with renewed energy. The sounds poured and rolled in
unrestrainable, overwhelming waves. We had never heard anything like
this inconceivable wonder. Listen! A storm in the open sea, the wind
tearing through the rigging, the swish of the maddened waves rushing
over each other, or the whirling snow wreaths on the silent steppes.
Suddenly the vision is changed; now it is a stately cathedral and the
thundering strains of an organ rising under its vaults. The powerful
notes now rush together, now spread out through space, break off,
intermingle, and become entangled, like the fantastic melody of a
delirious fever, some musical phantasy born of the howling and whistling
of the wind.

Alas! the charm of these sounds is soon exhausted, and you begin to feel
that they cut like knives through your brain. A horrid fancy haunts our
bewildered heads; we imagine that the invisible artists strain our
own veins, and not the strings of imaginary violins; their cold breath
freezes us, blowing their imaginary trumpets, shaking our nerves and
impeding our breathing.

"For God's sake stop this, Takur! This is really too much," shouted
the colonel, at the end of his patience, and covering his ears with his
hands. "Gulab-Sing, I tell you you must stop this."

The three Hindus burst out laughing; and even the grave face of the
Takur lit up with a merry smile. "Upon my word," said he, "do you really
take me for the great Parabrahm? Do you think it is in my power to stop
the wind, as if I were Marut, the lord of the storms, in person. Ask for
something easier than the instantaneous uprooting of all these bamboos."

"I beg your pardon; I thought these strange sounds also were some kind
of psychologic influence."

"So sorry to disappoint you, my dear colonel; but you really must think
less of psychology and electrobiology. This develops into a mania
with you. Don't you see that this wild music is a natural acoustic
phenomenon? Each of the reeds around us--and there are thousands on this
island--contains a natural musical instrument; and the musician, Wind,
comes here daily to try his art after nightfall--especially during the
last quarter of the moon."

"The wind!" murmured the colonel. "Oh, yes! But this music begins to
change