The weather of the Mozambique Channel was fairly good, although
subject to electric storms of the most terrible aspect, but
perfectly harmless. On the second evening after rounding Cape
St. Mary, we were proceeding, as usual, under very scanty sail,
rather enjoying the mild, balmy air, scent-laden, from
Madagascar. The moon was shining in tropical splendour, paling
the lustre of the attendant stars, and making the glorious Milky
Way but a faint shadow of its usual resplendent road. Gradually
from the westward there arose a murky mass of cloud, fringed at
its upper edges with curious tinted tufts of violet, orange, and
crimson. These colours were not brilliant, but plainly visible
against the deep blue sky. Slowly and solemnly the intruding
gloom overspread the sweet splendour of the shining sky, creeping
like a death-shadow over a dear face, and making the most
talkative feel strangely quiet and ill at ease. As the pall of
thick darkness blotted out the cool light, it seemed to descend
until at last we were completely over-canopied by a dome of
velvety black, seemingly low enough to touch the mast-heads. A
belated sea-bird's shrill scream but emphasized the deep silence
which lent itself befittingly to the solemnity of nature.
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