tropical thunder-shower can
form no conception of what it is like. Imagine yourself to be standing
immediately under a large tank of warm water, and then further imagine
that the contents of this tank are suddenly capsized right on top of
you; multiply the quantity of falling water a million times, and suppose
the descent of the water to be continued for from three to six or seven
minutes, and you will then have an imperfect conception of the sort of
drenching that we received on the occasion of which I am now speaking.
The decks were flooded in an instant, and before I could wriggle into my
oil-skins I was soaked to the skin, and the warm water was washing above
my ankles with the roll of the schooner. The scuppers were wholly
inadequate to the occasion, and we were obliged to open the ports to get
rid of the water and prevent it from getting below. The downpour lasted
some four minutes or so, ceasing as abruptly and with as little warning
as it had commenced; but in that time it had beaten down the swell so
effectually that our motion was scarcely more perceptible than it would
have been in a well-sheltered roadstead; and the effect of the sudden
cessation of the noises that had been so recently sounding in our ears,
and of the crash of the downpour, was very weird and curious, the dead
silence now being broken only by an occasional faint creak or jar of
bulkhead or boom, and the loud gush and gurgle of the water pouring from
the scuppers.

The silence was of no long duration, however, for we had scarcely found
time to become sensible of it when a faint moaning sound arose in the
air, coming from no one knew where; and, presently, with a still louder
moan, a sudden, furious, scuffle of wind swept past us, causing our
reefed foresail to flap loudly, and was gone. The moanings grew louder
and more weird, sounding now on the port-quarter, now on the starboard
bow, then broad abeam, and anon high over our mastheads; it was clear
that small, partial currents of air were in violent motion all round us,
and that the crisis was at hand.

The Pirate Slaver--by Harry Collingwood

CHAPTER EIGHT.

CAUGHT IN A CYCLONE.

The watch below had been dismissed upon the completion of our work of
preparation, but not a man had left the deck, their anxiety to see and
know the worst of what was to befall having completely overcome their
usual propensity to make the utmost of every moment allotted to them for
necessary rest, a