“We’ve been wondering—didn’t know what to make of them.”
“They’re nothing—only the precursors of the storm. Look beyond! Don’t you see a coal-black cloud spreading over the sky? That’s what you have to dread. I don’t wish to cause you unnecessary alarm: but I tell you, there’s death in yonder shadow! It’s in motion, and coming this way. You have no chance to escape it, except by speed. If you do not make haste, it will be too late. In ten minutes’ time you may be enveloped, and then—quick, sir, I entreat you! Order your drivers to hurry forward as fast as they can! The sky—heaven itself—commands you!”
The planter did not think of refusing compliance, with an appeal urged in such energetic terms. The order was given for the teams to be set in motion, and driven at top speed.
Terror, that inspired the animals equally with their drivers, rendered superfluous the use of the whip.
The travelling carriage, with the mounted men, moved in front, as before. The stranger alone threw himself in the rear—as if to act as a guard against the threatening danger.
At intervals he was observed to rein up his horse, and look back: each time by his glances betraying increased apprehension.
Perceiving it, the planter approached, and accosted him with the inquiry:
“Is there still a danger?”
“I am sorry to answer you in the affirmative,” said he: “I had hopes that the wind might be the other way.”
“Wind, sir? There is none—that I can perceive.”