Outside there was a sound of multitudinous little patterings. They had been
coming, I was aware, for a long time, and in my sleep they had first become
audible. I sat there nervously wide awake as though I had not slept at all.
It seemed to me that my breathing came with difficulty, and that there was
a great weight upon the surface of my body. In spite of the hot night, I
felt clammy with cold and shivered. Something surely was pressing steadily
against the sides of the tent and weighing down upon it from above. Was it
the body of the wind? Was this the pattering rain, the dripping of the
leaves? The spray blown from the river by the wind and gathering in big
drops? I thought quickly of a dozen things.

Then suddenly the explanation leaped into my mind: a bough from the poplar,
the only large tree on the island, had fallen with the wind. Still half
caught by the other branches, it would fall with the next gust and crush
us, and meanwhile its leaves brushed and tapped upon the tight canvas
surface of the tent. I raised a loose flap and rushed out, calling to the
Swede to follow.

But when I got out and stood upright I saw that the tent was free. There
was no hanging bough; there was no rain or spray; nothing approached.

A cold, grey light filtered down through the bushes and lay on the faintly
gleaming sand. Stars still crowded the sky directly overhead, and the wind
howled magnificently, but the fire no longer gave out any glow, and I saw
the east reddening in streaks through the trees. Several hours must have
passed since I stood there before watching the ascending figures, and the
memory of it now came back to me horribly, like an evil dream. Oh, how
tired it made me feel, that ceaseless raging wind! Yet, though the deep
lassitude of a sleepless night was on me, my nerves were tingling with the