It began around four in the morning, a roaring wind that wakened them and flapped the canvas around their ears. It developed in a steady sequence of gusts that increased in strength so that by five the tent was wrenching at the guy-ropes and the single central pole was bending with the strain of holding the rain-sodden canvas in place.
"The whole tent is going to collapse," Lieutenant Elliot grabbed hold of the pole in alarm. "Here, Windrush, give me a hand here!"
Jack watched for a second, threw on his jacket and greatcoat against the cold and joined Elliot. Immediately he grappled the pole; he felt the pressure of the wind threatening to rip the entire edifice down.
"It"s stormy!" Jack had to shout above the increasing howl.
The wind cracking the canvas above his head drowned Elliot"
