‘Get some blankets round him, Shem. And hand me the usquebaugh.’

meticulous search

Ingyniers in the trench earth, earth uprearing, Gun-powder in the mynes, Pagans upblowing.

Occasionally, the sun pierces the clouds like a searchlight to illuminate a feature such as a farm, copse or stream, before being overwhelmed by an advancing shower. Wordsworth would have loved it!