Read "The Courts of the Morning" by John Buchan online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
On the evening of August 19th the rain, which had fallen all day, ceased, and a thin fog oozed out of the ground. By six o'clock night had fallen and a small wind had risen, and, since the sky was heavily overcast, the darkness was soon like the bottom of a cellar. The moon would not rise for an hour or two, and, unless the weather changed, it would give little light.
At the foot of the sea-ravine, in a log hut above the jetty, the coast garrison was preparing supper. Behind was a short space of flat ground, much of which had been cleared, but a grove of dead fan-palms remained, whose withered leaves rustled and creaked in the wind. It was a noisy spot, for the torrent after its breakneck descent drove through the boulders of the beach in a fury of loud white waters. In that sheltered bay the sea was calm, but the stream made a perpetual clamour as of beating surf.