“It’s a whirlwind!” yelled Sorrel. “Come into yonder hollow, cap’n!” and he caught hold of Gilbert and lifted him up. The hollow he mentioned was less than fifty feet away, yet to reach it in time was almost impossible, so swiftly did the tornado approach them. The air became black as night and was filled with cane, grass, and branches of trees. It struck the house in the clearing, and with a single mighty crash the structure went up into the air, to fall with another crash a hundred yards beyond.
Running with the tall Tennesseean, Ben pitched 225 into the hollow just as the first of the tornado hurled itself at them. Down came the mountaineer, but taking good care that Gilbert should not be hurt by his quick leap. Then all fell flat, with their faces to earth.
It was like some horrible nightmare to Ben,—the whistling wind and the strange humming, the blackness, and the whirling cane and tree limbs. In some places the ground was furrowed up as by a plough, and down on their heads came dirt and grass, and then a shower of stalks that buried them completely. And still the wind kept up, in a madder gallop than ever. Ben felt as if every moment was going to be his last.
The time was an age; yet by the watch it was not yet five minutes when the tornado had departed, leaving its track of ruin behind. But still the party of three under the cane-stalks lay still, wondering if it was safe to get up.
“Do yer calkerlate it’s over, cap’n?” came from Sorrel, after a painful pause.
“It appears to be, but there is no telling what such a thing will do next,” answered the young captain, as he pressed on the stalks over him, and got up. “Gilbert, are you hurt?”
“No,” came with a gasp. “But, Ben, that was—was a terror, wasn’t it?”
“It was, Gilbert, and something I never want to witness again.”
By this time Sorrel was also on his feet and hauling Gilbert into daylight. The cloud was gone, and the sun shone as brightly as ever. But at a great distance they saw the tornado sweeping up into the mountains.