But soon we had something to think of besides the view. The
tumultuous assemblage of dark, dense clouds, resting upon the
river-surface in our rear, formed line or rather lines, step upon
step, and tier on tier. While the sun shone treacherously gay, a
dismal livid gloom palled the eastern sky, descending to the
watery horizon; and the estuary, beneath the sable hangings which
began to depend from the cloud canopy, gleamed with a ghastly
whitish green. Distant thunders rumbled and muttered, and flashes
of the broadest sheets inclosed fork and chain lightning; the
lift-fire zigzagged in tangled skeins here of chalk-white
threads, there of violet wires, to the surface of earth and sea.
Presently nimbus-step, tier and canopy, gradually breaking up,
formed a low arch regular as the Bifrost bridge which Odin
treads, spanning a space between the horizon, ninety degrees
broad and more. The sharply cut soffit, which was thrown out in
darkest relief by the dim and sallow light of the underlying sky,
waxed pendent and ragged, as though broken by a torrent of storm.
What is technically called the "ox-eye," the "egg of the
tornado," appeared in a fragment of space, glistening below the
gloomy rain-arch.
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