LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDEK- STORM. Ill 



protest at the abuse. The gloom grew darker. 

 The wind, in quick, nervous puffs, broke over the 

 mountain, and where it touched the lake lifted 

 the spray high into the air. A few plunging drops 

 of rain smote the water and boat like bullets. 

 The hot lightning fairly hissed through the murky 

 atmosphere above us ; so sharp, so bright, so close, 

 that the lake at times seemed as on fire, burning 

 with a blue, ghastly light. The thunder was inces- 

 sant. The dwellers in lowland countries know 

 nothing what thunder is amid the hills. No single 

 clap or peal was there, but rush and roar continu- 

 ous, and crackling bolts and rumble and jar. Across 

 the lake, over our heads, the volleys went. The 

 mountain eastward, receiving a bolt against its 

 sides, would roll it back, while the mountain op- 

 posite, catching the mighty boom as players do a 

 ball, would hurl it sharply home. And so the wild 

 play went on. Mountain besieging mountain, hill 

 pelting hill ; while we, amid the deepening gloom 

 and tumult, swept hither and thither, keeping sight 

 of the loon, whose rises were frequent and breath 

 nearly gone. 



" John," said I, shouting so he could hear me amid 

 the confusion, — " John, pull for the shore ; it 's 

 time to go." 



" Give her one more," said John ; " here she rises, 

 over your left " ; and as the smoke from the dis- 

 charge floated up, split by a gust, John shouted : 



