I would not give way to it, however, although I felt the
cold perspiration stand out upon my forehead. I would not arouse
the others. Worse and worse I grew, my pulse fluttered like
a dying man's, my nerves thrilled with the horrible sense of
impotent terror which anybody who is subject to nightmare will
be familiar with, but still my will triumphed over my fears,
and I lay quiet (for I was half sitting, half lying, in the bow
of the canoe), only turning my face so as to command a view of
Umslopogaas and the two Wakwafi who were sleeping alongside of
and beyond me.
In the distance I heard a hippopotamus splash faintly, then the
owl hooted again in a kind of unnatural screaming note {Endnote 4},
and the wind began to moan plaintively through the trees,
making a heart-chilling music. Above was the black bosom of
the cloud, and beneath me swept the black flood of the water,
and I felt as though I and Death were utterly alone between them.
It was very desolate.
Suddenly my blood seemed to freeze in my veins, and my heart
to stand still. Was it fancy, or were we moving? I turned my
eyes to look for the other canoe which should be alongside of
us. I could not see it, but instead I saw a lean and clutching
black hand lifting itself above the gunwale of the little boat.
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