To find this spot in the night, and during the violent tempest, seemed an impossible task; but yet it must be attempted despite every danger, because such an opportunity might not present itself again for many days.
He made his way out through the ruined building, while his followers scampered in every direction to shelter their bodies from the rain (for a monkey is proverbially afraid of water), and crossed the road into the thicket without being perceived by any of the startled crowd.
There was not the slightest danger of meeting with one of his subjects during the journey unless the tempest should cease suddenly and Goliah send messengers in search of him; therefore he walked fearlessly forward after stopping behind the breastworks thrown up during the battle to arm himself with a stout stick, which would serve as a shovel in the task of grave-digging.
The rain descended in torrents. The wind howled and shrieked among the trees, bending them almost to the earth, or here and there uprooting some sturdy fellow who refused to bow his crest before the storm, while fragments of branches, falling in every direction, threatened destruction to the reckless traveler. The lightning-flashes which darted across the entire horizon, illuminating during a few seconds the thicket as with the glare of the noonday sun, served oftentimes to disclose danger in his path, and it was only from the frequency of these bolts of light that he was enabled to make his way with any knowledge of direction.
His own skin was dry, although that of his assumed character was heavy with water, and, save for the fatigue of rapid walking, he was even more comfortable than he would have been in a close room surrounded by his animal followers. The knowledge that he had left the apes behind served to arouse a feeling of exultation, and he bounded forward like a prisoner who suddenly sees the road to liberty open before him when he had fancied his term of confinement not yet half ended.
Each time the electric flash came he looked around eagerly in search of the mimosas, and more than once did he mistakenly believe he had arrived at the end of his journey.
The storm was still raging furiously when he finally found that for which he sought.
Fully two minutes had passed without lightning, and then, as a terrific peal of thunder was followed by a violent blaze, he saw directly before him, swaying to and fro in the wind, the bones of himself—or of his predecessor, whichever may be the correct term.
As a certain well-known author has said: “Man has three distinct characters. Himself as God knows him, himself as his fellows know him, and himself as he knows himself.” It was this second character which Philip wished to hide, and, under the above proposition, could rightfully be said to be burying his own skeleton.