hung, it was as if a weight of many tons had been lifted from our
shoulders.

The saw-mill was without side-walls; consisted only of a sheet-iron
roof and floors, on the former of which the storm pounded with a roar
that made only the sign language feasible. It was now as if we were
surrounded on all sides by solid walls of water and forever shut off
from the outer world--if indeed that had survived. Sheets of water
slashed in further and further across the floor. We took to huddling
behind beams and under saw-benches--the militant storm hunted us out
and wetted us bit by bit. "The Admiral" and I tucked ourselves away on
the 45-degree eye-beams up under the roaring roof. The angry water
gathered together in columns and swept in and up to soak us.

At the end of an hour the downpour had increased some hundred per cent.
It was as if an express train going at full speed had gradually doubled
its rapidity. That was the day when little harmless streams tore
themselves apart into great gorges and left their pathetic little
bridges alone and deserted out in the middle of the gulf. That was the
famous May twelfth, 1912, when Ancon recorded the greatest rainfall in
her history,--7.23 inches, virtually all within three hours. Three of
us were ready to surrender and swim home through it. But there was "the
Admiral" to consider. He was dressed clear to his scarf-pin--and Panama
tailors tear horrible holes in a police salary. So we waited and dodged
and squirmed into closer holes for another hour; and grew steadily
wetter.

Then at length dusk began to fall, and instead of slacking with the day
the fury of the storm increased. It was then that "the Admiral"
capitulated, seeing fate plainly in league with his tailor; and
wigwagging the decision to us beside him, he led the way down the
stairs and dived into the world awash.

Wet? We had not taken the third step before we were streaming like fire
hose. There was nearly an hour of it, splashing knee-deep through what
had been when we came out little dry sandy hollows; steering by guess,
for the eye could make out nothing fifty yards ahead, even before the
cheese-thick darkness fell; bowed like nonogenarians under the burden
of water; staggering back and forth as the storm caught us crosswise or
the earth gave way under us. "The Admiral's" patent-leather shoes--but
why go into painful details? Those who were in Panama on that memorable
afternoon can picture it all for themselves, an