The first rattle of the machine guns, at 7: 10 in the evening, roused around me the varied voices and faces of fear.

``Sounds exactly like last time.'' The young man spoke steadily enough, but all at once he looked grotesquely unshaven. The middle-aged man said over and over, ``Why did I come here, why did I come here.'' Then he was sick. Amid the crackle of small arms and automatic weapons, I heard the thumping of mortars. Then the lights went out.

This was my second day in Vientiane, the administrative capital of Laos, and my thoughts were none too brave. Where was my flashlight? Where should I go? To my room? Better stay in the hotel lobby, where the walls looked good and thick.

Chinese and Indian merchants across the street were slamming their steel shutters. Hotel attendants pulled parked bicycles into the lobby. A woman with a small boy slipped in between them. ``Please,'' she said, ``please.'' She held out her hand to show that she had money.

The American newspaperman worried about getting to the cable office. But what was the story? Had the Communist led Pathet Lao finally come this far? Or was it another revolt inside Vientiane?

``Let's play hero,'' I said. ``Let's go to the roof and see.''

By 7: 50 the answer was plain. There had been an eclipse of the moon. A traditional Lao explanation is that the moon was being swallowed by a toad, and the remedy was to make all possible noise, ideally with firearms.