But since we had spread our blankets, the persistent waters had soaked down and through.

The thousand-foot roof had a sprung a leak.
Three separate and distinct streams of water ran as from spigots.

I lowered my torch.

The canvas tarpaulin shone with wet, and in its exact centre glimmered a pool of water three inches deep and at least two feet in diameter.
"Well, I'll be," I began.

Then I remembered those three wending their way along a wet and disagreeable trail, happy and peaceful in anticipation of warm blankets and a level floor.