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From the black, smoke-veiled pit where the fire had burned it welled and echoed now a single heavenly voice, now a sweet chorus, and now an air-shaking thunder as of a hundred organs played to time.
In the midst of the spoon-drift we see, or we think we see, "La Junon" gliding like a phantom-ship towards the river mouth. The lightning seems to work its way into our eyes, the air-shaking thunder rolls and roars around our very ears; the oars are taken in utterly useless, the storm-wind sweeps the boat before it at full speed as though it had been a bit of straw.
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