The dry sun was shining down, like a burning-glass, into the centre of this ant's nest, where every thing was rolling on, as it had been doing for hours before, no one apparently anticipating any unusual occurrence; but in an instant the tornado that had passed us reached _them_, whirled the trash baskets off the negroes' heads nearest us, and up went whole bundles of canes bodily into the air, and negro hats and jackets; indeed, every thing that would rise, and ruffling the garments of the black ladies most unceremoniously, notwithstanding all their endeavours to preserve their propriety, so that they looked like large umbrellas reversed, the shanks, in most cases, being something of the stoutest. Before it took effect in the hollow, every thing was in motion; by the time it passed over, every thing it did not take with it _was fixed to the spot_, as if by the wand of an enchanter. Negroes were clinging to the bamboos of the cattle pens; cattle and mules were standing as rigid as statues, gathered on their haunches, with their forelegs planted well and firmly out, the better to resist the effects of the wind. The mill had instantly stopped, and all was silent. But the instant Quashie recovered his surprise, and every thing had become calm again in the mill-yard, there arose _such_ a cackling, shouting, and laughter, and lowing of kine, and _skreiching_ of mules, as Rory Macgregor would have said, as baffles all description. The course of the tornado, after passing over the mill-yard, continued to be distinctly marked, by the different substances it carried up and whirled round in its vortex, keeping them suspended in the air by its violent centrifugal motion; I especially remember the effect it had on a grove of cocoa-nut trees. It took them by the tops, which it tossed fiercely with a wide circular motion, tearing their long leaves up into the sky like hair, as if some invisible spirit was trying to shake the fruit down from the tormented trees. As it neared a field where a number of people were at work, one of the house servants, rubbing his black paws, whispered to his neighbour in my hearing, "Softly, now--maybe it will whip away busha"--a thing he, to all appearance, would not have broken his heart about. Next morning, at breakfast, I stumbled on the following announcement in the newspaper I had just taken up:-- "_Lucie--such a date._ "Last evening the Kingston trader, the Ballahoo, anchored in Negril bay. She had been cut out by two piratical vessels, a felucca and a schooner, from Montego bay, on such a day; and after having been in possession of the pirates for a week, during which the Spanish passengers were compelled to disclose where their money (the only thing taken) was concealed, she was _politely_ given up to them and the crew.