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.