Just then the fishes reached the surface of the water. But they did not stay there long. A fearful storm was rising. Great black clouds hung low, almost touching the water.
The waves were white and ragged and lashed angrily. The medusæ had disappeared. Very gladly Pinocchio cuddled in his shell, and very happy he was when he found himself again at the bottom of the sea.
There all was calm. For, strange to say, even though the most terrible tempest may rage on the sea, deep down in it the water is always calm.
“How lucky it is that I did not start to swim,” thought Pinocchio. “I should have been killed surely.”
On and on the fishes went. But finally they became tired and stopped near a rock. Here were some of the most beautiful shells imaginable.
After resting awhile the fish continued their journey. Pinocchio went along happily.
For a time he seemed to have forgotten what danger he was in. He let himself be carried along without a thought of the future.
The party was now passing through the midst of a great number of eels. Who does not know an eel? Even Pinocchio knew them.
He might, however, have very easily mistaken a common eel for a conger eel, or for a burbot, sometimes called ling. It was this ignorance of his which led him into trouble.
To him the eels were all alike. So he pulled the tail of one, pinched another’s round body, or shook a third one by the nose. The poor things turned and struggled. But this only afforded greater fun for Pinocchio.