It was to him a natural catastrophe such as had happened to the _Arangi_ when she was flung down reeling on her side by the shouting wind.

But, true to his nature, he did not crouch down under the shriek of that first shell.

On the contrary, he bristled his hair and snarled up with menacing teeth at whatever the thing was which was so enormously present and yet invisible to his eyes.
Nalasu crouched closer when the shell burst beyond, and Jerry snarled and rippled his hair afresh.

Each repeated his actions with each fresh shell, for, while they screamed no more loudly, they burst in the jungle more closely.

And Nalasu, who had lived a long life most bravely in the midst of perils he had known, was destined to die a coward out of his fear of the thing unknown, the chemically propelled missile of the white masters.