That night, never to be forgotten by me, we were kept entirely within doors, by a deluging rain. The winds shrieked through the groaning trees. The thunder rolled in constant and awe inspiring reverberations. The lightning kept the tent in a continuous blaze. Thoroughly protected, we were silenced by the awful voice of the tempest. A storm is never so grand as to the occupants of a tent in a wild forest, one seems then so close to Him who rides the winds and speaks in the roar of the thunder.
Just as nature seemed wearied of the intense exertion, the old mastiff sprang up with a growl and rushed toward the tightly closed tent door.
The curtain was drawn aside, when he sprang out into the night, and was soon in pursuit of some wild animal, evidently of considerable size, for we heard its flying tread in the darkness. When the storm abated, Jim reported that a fine mess of bass we had caught just before dark had been stolen. Mrs. Felden expressed regret, for several of the fish had been taken by her. Jack laughingly offered to go down to the Rock at day break, and bring back a mess in time for breakfast at seven.
When I awoke, the next morning the sun was quite high in the heavens. Mrs. Felden and Jim were already out, and evinced some impatience, because Jack had not returned with the promised breakfast. When seven o'clock came, the wife sent the old man to call her husband home, fish or no fish.
"Tell him," said she, "that the storm has made us ravenous."
When Jim also failed to return in due time, Mrs. Felden became alarmed and asked me to follow him. I set out, and although the ground was sopping wet, she joined me, in spite of my gentle remonstrances. We soon met Jim hurrying towards us. His face was of an ashen hue.
"Where is Jack, Jim—Oh where is my husband?" shrieked the mistress, as she rushed past the negro toward the water.
The man caught her arm, "Stop Miss Rita, stop Miss Rita, fer de Lord sake stop. I'll tell you, Miss Rita, please stop."
She tried to tear herself from his grasp. "Oh my God, he's dead—my husband is dead. Tell me—Jim, where is my husband?"
The negro forced her down on a boulder, and catching her hand covered it with tears and kisses. "Miss Rita, my dear Misses, be good an' I'll tell you all." She attempted in vain to arise, for a powerful arm held her firmly, but gently back.