Then came the hurricane, which fortunately was
so strong that it permitted no more rain to fall. The tall reeds were
beaten flat beneath its breath; the canoe was seized in its grip and
whirled round and round, then driven forward like an arrow. Only the
weight of the men and the water in it prevented it from oversetting.
Dense darkness fell upon them and although they could see no star, they
knew that it must be night. On they rushed, driven by that shrieking
gale, and all about and around them this wall of darkness. No one spoke,
for hope was abandoned, and if they had, their voices could not have
been heard. The last thing that Alan remembered was feeling Jeekie
dragging a grass mat over him to protect him a little if he could. Then
his senses wavered, as does a dying lamp. He thought that he was back in
what Jeekie had rudely called "City bucket shop," bargaining across the
telephone wire, upon which came all the sounds of the infernal regions,
with a financial paper for an article on a Little Bonsa Syndicate that
he proposed to float. He thought he was in The Court woods with Barbara,
only the birds in the trees sang so unnaturally loud that he could not
hear her voice, and she wore Little Bonsa on her head as a bonnet.
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