ve--the
misty impenetrability of the atmosphere was appalling. I do not say
"darkness," for as yet it was not really dark. I could still see the
dial of my watch clearly enough to read the time. But darkness was
falling fast--"falling," for it seemed to come from above: mostly it
rises--from out of the shadows under the trees--advancing, fighting back
the powers of light above.

One of the horses, I think it was Peter, coughed. It was plain they felt
chilly. I thought of my lights and started with stiffening fingers
to fumble at the valves of my gas tank. When reaching into my trouser
pockets for matches, I was struck with the astonishing degree to which
my furs had been soaked in these few minutes. As for wetness, the fog
was like a sponge. At last, kneeling in the buggy box, I got things
ready. I smelt the gas escaping from the burner of my bicycle lantern
and heard it hissing in the headlight. The problem arose of how to light
a match. I tried various places--without success. Even the seat of my
trousers proved disappointing. I got a sizzling and sputtering flame, it
is true, but it went out before I could apply it to the gas. The water
began to drip from the backs of my hands. It was no rain because it did
not fall. It merely floated along; but the droplets, though smaller,
were infinitely more numerous than in a rain--there were more of them
in a given space. At last I lifted the seat cushion under which I had a
tool box filled with ropes, leather straps and all manner of things that
I might ever be in need of during my nights in the open. There I found
a dry spot where to strike the needed match. I got the bicycle lantern
started. It burned quite well, and I rather admired it: unreasoningly
I seemed to have expected that it would not burn in so strange an
atmosphere. So I carefully rolled a sheet of letter paper into a fairly
tight roll, working with my back to the fog and under the shelter of my
big raccoon coat. I took a flame from the bicycle light and sheltered
and nursed it along till I thought it would stand the drizzle. Then I
turned and thrust the improvised torch into the bulky reflector case of
the searchlight. The result was startling. A flame eighteen inches high
leaped up with a crackling and hissing sound.

The horses bolted, and the buggy jumped. I was lucky, for inertia
carried me right back on the seat, and as soon as I had the lines in
my hands again, I felt that the horses did not really mean i