They pointed it to heaven, and the water descended upon the people in the form of an equinoctial storm.

They pointed it downwards, and sent the water in rushing streams that took people off their feet, or caught them about the waist line, and doubled them up.
Not one of them would loosen his grip upon the hose, not one of them thought to turn the water off.

You might have concluded they were struggling with some primeval force of nature.

In forty-five seconds, so George said, who was timing it, they had swept that circus bare of every living thing except one dog, who, dripping like a water nymph, rolled over by the force of water, now on this side, now on that, still gallantly staggered again and again to its feet to bark defiance at what it evidently regarded as the powers of hell let loose.
Men and women left their machines upon the ground, and flew into the woods.

From behind every tree of importance peeped out wet, angry heads.
At last, there arrived upon the scene one man of sense.