THE STORM.
So absorbed had Enola and Onrai been in their talk that the storm had
been forgotten for the moment. But it had not abated but had rather
grown fiercer and blacker, until now it was so dark that objects only a
short distance away could not be seen. The elephants could be heard
stalking through the garden, and occasionally their huge bodies and also
the zebras would be lit up by the lurid lightning. But the wind had died
down to almost a calm a few moments before, and nothing had broken the
stillness of the night but the sharp peals of thunder which would follow
the brilliant lightning.
But as Onrai spoke, a rumbling was heard, not like distant thunder, but
less distinct, like the rattling of a distant railway train, the sound
being regular but growing louder each moment. The others of the party
now joined Enola and Onrai, and the attendants grouped themselves about
the terrace. There was no fear depicted on their faces, or shown in
their actions, but there was the greatest wonderment. This was something
unheard of, a storm like this promised to be, in the heart of the dry
season; still fear was unknown to them, or that fear which is caused by
a possibility of bodily suffering. They simply wondered and did not even
try to make out the mystery.
Now the elephants seemed to scent danger, for they would sniff the air
and then give out that peculiar cry. The zebras had gathered together in
one part of the garden and would neigh in a pitiful manner as if
expecting danger. The rumbling grew louder and more distinct and now
sounded like the falling of many trees. The heavens were lurid with
flash after flash of lightning, this lending a fearfulness to the scene
which was awful. Now the elephants came up quite near to the terrace as
if trying to find a place of refuge, and standing together with their
backs turned toward the storm waited for the worst. Then the trees gave
out a gentle wail as they were touched with the first breath of the
wind; then they began to sway and groan as if in mortal agony. Each
moment the wind grew more fierce, the lightning more vivid, the rumbling
more deafening.
“Is this not unusual, Onrai?” asked Mr. Graham.
“It has never before happened at this time of the year,” said Onrai. “At
this season we never expect rain and depend wholly on the heavy dews to
moisten our vegetation.”
“It seems to be very fierce. Are your storms all like this?” asked Mr.
Bruce.
“We have very hard storms accompanied by very strong winds, but I have
never seen, or heard anything like this. Listen; is it not growing
worse?” and Onrai’s face for the first time looked troubled.
“Yes, very much worse,” said Harry, “and I would advise that we all go
inside the villa.”
“No, Harry,” said Enola, “let us remain outside until driven in. The
sight is too grand to lose.”
“I am willing to remain but it is much safer inside during a storm like
this,” said Harry.
Now the noise drowned their voices and conversation was given up. The
air seemed full of electricity; the flesh tingled with it; the nostrils
inhaled it and a copperish taste was left in the mouth.
“Look,” shouted Enola, “what is that fearful mass approaching, and hear
that terrible sound. It is like the dashing of thousands of waves
against the rocks, or the tearing asunder of mighty mountains.”
This was true; and now in the lurid lightning could be seen the dark
clouds flying over Mother Earth, crushing all in its way. On the left of
the villa was an open space, probably five miles broad, and on the far
edge of this, as Enola spoke, could be seen the black cloud approaching.
It seemed to take everything in its course and now the air was filled
with all kinds of debris; huge logs of wood and even large boulders were
seen flying through the air. It was a seething, hurling mass, made more
awful by the ear-piercing noise and the continuous lightning.
“A cyclone,” shouted Mr. Graham, but his voice could hardly be heard
above the fearful din. “Hasten,” he continued, “into the house,” and
leading his wife by one hand and Nellie by the other he hurried toward
the entrance.
Onrai took Enola by the arm and was hurrying with all speed toward the
large arch, when Enola, looking at the elephants, saw Gip looking
pitifully at her and extending his trunk toward her as if begging her to
help him. “Poor Gip,” she said, and freeing herself from Onrai’s
retaining arm, she walked to the edge of the terrace and patted the
elephant on the trunk stretched toward her.
“Come Enola or it will be too late,” said Onrai. But it was even then
too late, for Enola had leaned too far over the edge and losing her
balance, fell to the lawn beneath. The distance was not great and Enola
was not hurt, so she picked herself up and started for the steps leading
to the terrace. But the wind had now grown so fierce she could hardly
keep an upright position, and before she realized it she was being
hurried forward with a speed which almost took her feet from under her.
On by the steps she sped, unable to battle against the wind and force
her way up these.
Gip had followed her, wonderingly at first, but at last, seeming to
realize her peril, quickened his pace and just as the wind was about to
hurl her to the ground, he grasped her about the waist with his powerful
trunk and turned toward the terrace again; but the awful wind was even
stronger than this mighty animal, and he was losing ground each step.
Bravely he battled, holding Enola far above his head, his trunk
encircling her body just tightly enough to keep her from slipping
through its folds. His great body now began to sway in the gale and it
looked for a moment as if both elephant and Enola would be picked up and
swept into the fearful, swirling holocaust overhead.
Gip knew his danger, so turning his back to the storm he hurried on with
it. At first he traveled only in a trot as if reluctant to give up to
the power of the storm, but his pace grew faster and faster as this
fearful power asserted itself, until he was flying over the ground, he
seemed to no longer touch the ground so rapid was his pace. He had
thrown Enola over on his back so that she could rest her limbs, but he
still kept a firm hold on her with his trunk, and they kept up the mad
rush together. The air was filled with debris of all kinds and Enola was
afraid to open her eyes for fear of being blinded. On they rushed, the
elephant keeping up the mad pace before the wind. One moment it would be
as black as Erebus; the next the lightning’s glare would break through
the dirt filled atmosphere. It was a seething mass, a hurricane sweeping
all before it; twisting trees from their roots or snapping their huge
trunks like straws; sucking up great quantities of water as it crossed
inlets of the lake; picking up in its mighty grasp cows, sheep, deer,
zebra and all other animals excepting the huge elephants, whose great
weight kept them from being carried from earth.
Enola was lying flat on Gip’s back, he holding her there as if he
understood that she would be drawn from his grasp if he allowed her to
sit up for even a moment. Grandly the noble beast fought against the
fearful storm; the awful pace had now kept up so long he was fast giving
out, and Enola could feel his grasp growing weaker, and feel the weary
limbs give way when they would strike the earth; his breath came quick
and he was gasping like a dying human being; but he kept on fighting,
still fighting that enemy which was each moment getting the best of his
efforts.
He stumbled and fell to his knees, but he was up again in an instant and
hurrying before the wind; again he fell, and this time his huge body lay
flat on its side, but he had held Enola aloof and she had been only
slightly jarred. A groan escaped the noble beast as he tried to regain
his feet. “Brave Gip!” said Enola, as she patted him on the trunk. “Once
more, Gip, just once more, my noble friend, and we may yet escape.” Gip
made a supreme effort, and regained his feet. The thought now occurred
to Enola that if she could guide the elephant out of this current of
wind which was hurrying them on to destruction, they might yet be saved.
She had seen the attendants touch the elephants on the right or left
side of the head when wanting them to move in either direction, and she
determined to try it. Reaching her hand out as far as she could, she was
just able to touch the right ear of the elephant.
She struck this with her open hand, saying, “Try it, Gip, good Gip,” and
Gip, with strength nearly gone, turned as much to the right as possible,
and beating against the strong wind, hurried on as fast as his weakened
condition would allow him. In thus beating against the storm in an
oblique direction, it brought them in a direct line with the flying
debris, and Enola began to be bruised by the sticks and small stones
which filled the air. She could hardly breathe either, for the dust and
dirt which were swept up by the swirling current. She tried to protect
her face with her hands, but these were soon raw and bleeding with the
sand blast. Her eyes were filled with dirt, and her throat was dry and
parched with the inhalation of the dirt-filled atmosphere.
She was suffering fearful agonies, and her suffering was growing worse
every moment; she tried to hold her face closer to the elephant’s back,
but she was too weak now to make any exertion at all. On the great,
brave beast moved, his body swaying with the wind, and each minute
looking as if he must give up the struggle. Now the fury of the storm
seemed to have grown worse, and the next instant it seemed to be
abating. This would give hope to the suffering girl and to the animal,
and a moment’s breathing space in which they could recuperate slightly
and prepare for a renewed effort.
It was just after one of these momentary spells of comparative quiet,
that Gip, reeling and almost falling, had tried to pull himself together
for another trial. His massive body seemed almost rigid as he stopped
for a moment and braced himself; he half released his hold on Enola, and
she, almost exhausted, felt that the grand fortitude of the animal and
his sublime strength had given way, and that hope was indeed gone. But
no; Gip shook all over; and, his nerves again relieved, made a last
effort to go on. Painfully he strode on, never for a moment leaving the
course which Enola had started him on.
The air seemed to grow thicker with sand and dust, while above them and
all about them were flying logs, trees and stones. Enola was bruised and
bleeding and she was on the point of fainting, when she opened her eyes
for a moment, and just in time to see a huge tree fly through the air,
and strike Gip fairly on the side of the head. Down he went like a shot,
carrying Enola with him, but still holding her in his trunk. He had made
a brave fight and lost.