LOON-SHOOTING IN A THUNDER-STORM. 113 



tore through the air. The hghtning crinkled through 

 the fog ; white patches of froth and splasliing 

 drops of rain drifted over and fell into the hoat ; 

 while, as a bass to the wild minstrelsy of bursting 

 bolts, the dull, monotonous, roar of the storm, 

 whose heaA^-footed squadrons were charging over 

 the mountain's brow, rose with dread, augmenting 

 grandeur. The quivering of the frail boat told me 

 that John was vigorously plying his paddle ; and 

 in a moment we shot into the lily-pads, and, pull- 

 ing our boat ashore, turned it bottom side up and 

 crawled under it, just as the grayish sheet of plung- 

 ing water swept over us, and the floods came down. 

 There we lay, safely sheltered, regretting tlie 

 storm, and recounting the ludicrous passages of 

 the contest, imtil the water, gathering in a pool 

 beneath the boat, saturated oiir garments and 

 warned us to be moving. Suggesting to John that 

 " we had better not stay under that boat until it 

 floated off," we crawled out from under our tempo- 

 rary shelter ; which, John remarked, " had a good 

 roof, but a mighty poor cellar." Standing, as a pre- 

 liminary caution, long enough in the rain to get thor- 

 oughly wet, we prepared for the start. An uncut 

 carry for nearly two miles lay before us, the first 

 haK of which ran directly through a swamp, now 

 filled to overflowing with water. We had a tough 

 experience in getting through, which the reader 

 will find described in the next chapter. 



