s, after
washing their hands and rinsing their mouths at the riverside, betook
themselves to a cheerful repose _sub jove_, the locality offering no
reeds of the articulated species with which to construct a shelter.

The party, then, betook themselves to slumber with unusual
contentment, repeating the splendid supper in their dreams, with the
addition of every famous wine that Oporto and Rheims could dispense,
when they were awakened by a sudden and terrible storm. A waterspout
stooped over the forest and sucked up a mass of crackling branches.
The camp-fire hissed and went out in a fume of smoke. A continuity of
thunder, far off at first, but approaching nearer and nearer, kept up
a constant and increasing fusillade, to whose reports was soon added
the voice of the Cconi, lashed in its bed and bellowing like the sea.
The surprising tumult went on in a _crescendo_. The hardly-interrupted
charges of the lightning gave to the eye a strange vision of flying
woods and soaring branches. Startled, trembling and sitting bolt
upright, the adventurers asked if their last hour were come. The rain
undertook to answer in spinning down upon their heads drops that were
like bullets, and which for some time were taken for hail. Fearing to
be maimed or blinded as they sat, the party crowded together, placing
themselves back to back; and, unable to lay their heads under their
wings like the birds, sheltered them upon their knees under the
protection of their crossed arms. The fearful deluge of heated shot
lasted until morning. Then, as if in laughter, the sun came radiantly
out, the landscape readjusted its disheveled beauties, and the ground,
covered with boughs distributed by the whirlwind, greedily drank in
the waters from heaven. Soon there remained nothing of the memorable
tempest but the diamonds falling in measured cadence from the
refreshed and stiffened leaves.

Up to sunrise the unfortunates rested stoically silent, their knees in
their mouths, and receiving the visitation like a group of statuary.
The rain ceasing with the same promptitude with which it had risen,
they raised their heads and looked each other in the face, like the
enemies over the fire in Byron's _Dream_. Each countenance was blue,
and decorated with long flat locks of adhesive hair. The teeth of the
whole party were chattering like a concert of castanets. The sun, like
a practical joker, laughed ironically at the general picture.

The first hours of morni