The Storm
All this time the skies had smiled on the Swallows and the Amazons. There had been a few hours’ drizzling rain, a few hours of fog and that dark night of sordid burglary and high adventure. But day after day had been dry and clear and, even when there had been clouds, there had also been sunshine and wind to drive their shadows, chasing each other, over the bright heather and bracken of the hills. Now that it was time for the Swallows to go, there came a sudden change of weather to remind them that the summer too was near its end. All that last day there had been the heaviness of thunder in the air. There had been a stormy sunset and, though there had been but little wind, dark, angry clouds had lifted in the south until at night they shut out all the stars.
The storm broke with a sharp crash of thunder that woke the whole camp. With it came a sharp flickering light as bright as day. There was the wild shriek of a parrot, as if it were one of a flock screaming through the palm trees in a tropical hurricane. Then darkness and quiet. Then heavy drops of rain pattering down on the tents.
Titty woke, not comfortably, bit by bit, but with every bit of herself at once. She did not move, except to put out her hand and touch the parrot’s cage. “Susan,” she whispered.
“All right, Titty,” said Susan.
Roger in the captain’s tent sat up with a start and a shout. “He’s firing! He’s going to fire again!” He was back in the battle of Houseboat Bay and his voice died into a breathless “John!” as he woke to find himself in the dark.