At last they were so many miles from land that the Twins took frequent soundings with their lead, and the Sailor, who consulted his compass very often, growled to the watch:
“Keep a sharp look-out, you lubber!”
And their plans all would have gone well, and they would have reached Dragonfel’s enchanted country as they intended, if something entirely unexpected had not happened.
About six bells, as the Sailor reckoned, a sudden storm came up.
It was a terrible storm, the worst in the memory of the oldest inhabitant. The Sailor who was most weather-wise of all could not understand it. But Dragonfel could have done so had he wished, for the storm had been manufactured at his request by Vulcan, and it was just as good a sample of what could be done in a hurry as the Brownies’ raft.
Suddenly the sky grew black, and the stars were blotted out. Then almost instantly came a mighty rush and roar of wind, and the seas ran mountain-high.
“Avast, you lubbers!” roared the Sailor. “Take a reef in your shirts and jackets!”
Lightning lit up almost incessantly gloomy, frowning caverns in the clouds, and the peals of thunder were deafening. The rain poured down on them in sheets, but still the wind howled and raged with unabating fury, and they tossed up and down like a cockleshell.
