When the eventful
evening arrived, and everything was in full swing, the weather, which had
been perfectly fine heretofore, broke up with the startling suddenness
which is peculiar to the Adriatic. The heavens opened, and to the
accompaniment of thunder and lightning the rain descended in torrents,
flooding the tents, quenching the illuminations, and reducing the whole
ground to a Slough of Despond. The guests naturally rushed for shelter
to the little inn, which was much too small to accommodate them. The
police made for the barrels of beer, and were soon incapable of keeping
order, and a mob of villagers who had assembled to witness the
festivities from without, broke through the barricades, made a raid
on the refreshment tent, smashed the dishes, and carried off all the
best things to eat and drink. Burton took it very philosophically; but
Isabel, overcome with vexation and disappointment, burst into tears.
The sight, however, of the raiders soon turned her grief to anger.
She pulled herself together, got a party of young braves, sallied forth
into the grounds, and made a rush for the tent. With her little band
she rescued all that was left of the food and drink, and then cleared
away the furniture in the lower part of the inn, told the band to play,
and set her guests dancing, while she rigged up an impromptu supper-
room in the garret. This spirited conduct soon restored the chaos to
something like order.
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