RA INS AT A DIS ABABA 171 



The Light Rains at Adis Ababa 



Last night at 6.15 we were sitting, three of us, in the large Cawn- 

 pore reception-tent, reading by the last few minutes of light. The 

 usual evening thunderstorm raged round the neighbouring hills, but 

 seemed disposed to pass to the south of us. Suddenly the wind, which 

 had been blowing from the east, changed round to due south, bringing 

 with it torrents of rain. The usual " light rains," we thought, which 

 at this time of the year fall daily at Adis Ababa ; but this time more 

 than usually disagreeable, as the doors of our tents and tuculs are 

 turned to the south, to avoid the prevailing east or north-east wind. 

 The Honorary Attache was told off to hold the tent-door together, 

 until the lightning increased and struck so near, that Harrington feared 

 the pole might be struck, and the staff diminished in consequence. 

 The door was tied together as well as possible, and we sat in the 

 darkness and waited. The wind continued to increase and the rain 

 turned into hail ; water streamed under the walls of the tent, the trench 

 proving insufficient to carry it off, and the floor became a crimson 

 marsh, all the colour coming out of the carpet at once. 



From time to time the Honorary Attache shot anxious glances 

 through the door at his small green tent, which was pitched at the far 

 end of the compound. Some light-hearted persons had last night 

 loosened the pegs, and it was held by one corner, waving like a green 

 pocket-handkerchief in the storm. 



The thunder, which now crashed and rumbled without intermission, 

 added to the noise made by the hailstones — the size of pigeon-eggs — 

 driven by the terrific wind against the canvas, produced a deafening din. 

 Every second the lightning flashed, and we kept well away from the 

 tent-poles, wondering which would go first, and where. The Honorary 

 Attache — a militiaman, and consequently military minded — explained 

 to us that the upper part of a broken tent-pole, falling with jagged end 

 to the earth, impelled by the weight of a tight wet tent, would be, if it 

 hit you, almost as pleasant as a bursting shell. Presently the end pole 

 toppled over, without however cracking, so that we were still forced to 

 only imagine its similarity to a bursting shell. Harrington and I rushed 

 to support the centre - pole, which was tottering. The Honorary 

 Attache had disappeared. Presently frantic yells arose from out the 

 tangled mass of waving wet canvas which filled the upper end of the 



