The lightning ran over the face of the river like will-o'-the-wisps; the whole heaven was streaked continuously with it.
Suddenly the negroes leaped to their paddles and rowed with bent back, and wild staring eyes, as if possessed.

They were covered by the muzzle of Durnovo's revolver.
Behind the evil-looking barrel of blue steel, the half-caste's dripping face looked forth, peering into the terrific storm.

There was no question of fending off such torrents of rain, nor did he attempt it.

Indeed, he seemed to court its downfall.

He held out his arms and stretched forth his legs, giving free play to the water which ran off him in a continual stream, washing his thin khaki clothing on his limbs.
He raised his face to the sky, and let the water beat upon his brow and hair.
The roar of the thunder, which could be FELT, so great was the vibration of the laden air, seemed to have no fear for him.