Wind began to whistle, trees to bend, lightnings
to play, thunder to sound. It grew. We stood in
blazing light, thunder almost burst our ears, a tree was riven
a bow-shot away. Great warm rain began to fall. We
could hardly stand against the wind. We were going under
mountainside with a splashing stream below us. Diego
Colon shouted, as he must to get above wind and thunder.
"Hurry! hurry! They know place." All began to run.
After a battle to make way at all, we came to a slope of loose,
small stones and vine and fern. This we climbed, passed
behind a jagged mass of rock, and found a cavern. A
flash lit it for us, then another and another. At mouth
it might be twenty feet across, was deep and narrowed
like a funnel. Panting, we threw ourselves on the cave
floor.
The storm prevailed through the rest of this day and far
into the night. "_Hurricane!_" said the Cubans. "Not great
one, little one!" But we from Spain thought it a great
enough hurricane. The rain fell as though it would make
another flood and in much less than forty days. We must
be silent, for wind and thunder allowed no other choice.
Streams of rain came into the cavern, but we found ledges
curtained by rock. We ate cassava cake and drank from a
runlet of water. The storm made almost night, then actual
night arrived. We curled ourselves up, hugging ourselves
for warmth, and went to sleep.
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