I agreed to the straw.  My host led me to a sort of large open barn, a barn without walls, a seven-feet depth of hay and straw surmounted by a high roof on poles.

“If you feel cold, or if the rain comes in, just burrow down under the straw,” said the peasant.  “Very glad I am that you have come to me, that you have done me the honour.  Much better to ask hospitality than to sleep out.”

I quite agreed it was much better to sleep with man on such a night.  The lightnings were now all about—­never leaving a second’s pure darkness.  The thunder grew more powerful and rolled forward from three sides.

My host stood by me after I had lain down, a whole hour.  He was most hilarious, having partaken plentifully of festival fare.  He warned me repeatedly against sleeping on the ground, and advised me to find bark or withered branches to lie upon if I would not seek shelter with man.  The increasing storm did not seem to impress him in the slightest.  He was all agog to tell me his family history and to compare the state of agriculture in England with that in Russia.  Only when his sons came home and the heavy rain spots had begun to shower down upon him did he finally shake my hand, wish me well, cross himself, and stump off back to the house.

Three tall young men scrambled over me into the straw and buried themselves:  two laughed and talked, the other was silent and frightened.  There was no sleep.  The thunder grew louder and louder, and the lightning rushed over our faces like the sudden glare of a searchlight.  All four of us put our faces to the straw to shut out the light, and we tried to sleep.  But we knew that the tempest at its worst had yet to break.  Suddenly came a sharp premonitory crash just above us, near, astonishing.  One of the young men, who had just dozed off, woke up and scratched his head, saying—­

“The little bear has got into the maize.  Eh, brothers, this is going to be a big piece of work.”

Then a great wind broke out of the sky and tore through the forests like armies of wild beasts.  The trees within our view bent down as if they would break in two; the moon above them was overswept by the cloud.  When the moon’s light had gone the night became darker and the lightning brighter.  The framework of our shelter rocked to and fro in the gale and we felt as if upon the sea; the straw and the hay jumped up as if alive, and great lumps of thatch were rent out of the roof, showing the sky and letting in the rain.  I looked for the ruin of our shelter.

But the hurricane passed on.  The rain came in its place.  The great forty-day flood re-accomplished itself in an hour.  We heard the beat of the rain on the earth:  in ten minutes it was the hiss of the rain on the flooded meadows.  By the sulphurous illuminations we saw almost continuously the close-packed, drenching rain....  The wet came in.  We burrowed deep down into the straw and slept like some new sort of animal.