The International Monthly, Volume 4, No. 1, August, 1851Various
History
The International Monthly, Volume 4, No. 1, August, 1851
Various
Art, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- History -- Periodicals
But the beautiful was now exchanged for the sublime, when that scene
appeared lit up suddenly and awfully by lightning, which now
momentarily exchanged a sheet of intensely dazzling blue light, with a
darkness horrible to endure--a light which showed the many streams of
water, which now appeared like ribbons over the smooth slabs of rock
that lay on the slope of the hills, and gave a microscopic accuracy of
outline to every object,--exchanged as suddenly for a darkness which
for the moment might be supposed the darkness of extinction--of utter
annihilation,--while the crash of thunder overhead rolled over the
echoes of the hills, "I am the Lord thy God."
The hut, made in a hurry, was not thatched (as it might have been),
and the half-dried foliage which covered it collected drops only to
pour down continuous streams from the stem of every twig.
So much for sitting up for tigers! will most of my readers exclaim,
and laugh at the monomaniac who would subject himself to such misery;
but the thorough-bred Shikaree is game and stanch to the backbone, and
will not be stopped by a night's wetting. For myself, I can only say
in extenuation, that I was born on the 12th of August.
A heavy and continuous down-pour soon showed its effects, and although
I had lots of big coats, and was not altogether unprepared for such an
emergency, an hour had not elapsed before I was obliged to confess
myself tolerably wet through. The matress just collected the water and
made a good hip-bath, for there was no other seat. The nullah,
heretofore as I have described, was now a turbid stream of red water,
which falling over a slab of rock into the small basin before
mentioned, kept up an unceasing din. Tired and disgusted, I rolled a
doubled blanket, although saturated with water, tight round me, and
was soon warm and asleep. About two o'clock in the morning the clouds
broke and the rain ceased; the boiling stream ran down to half its
size, and a concert of thousands of frogs, bass, tenor, and treble,
kept up a monotonous croaking enough to wake the dead.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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