“No. It’s only just beginning,” was the alarming response from Captain Andrews.
“I understand you now,” came from Mr. Jesson suddenly; “it’s a circular storm.”
“That’s it, sir. In a few minutes it will be blowing just as hard out of the west as a few minutes ago it was blowing from seaward.”
“We’d better put the craft about,” said Tom.
“Yes; bring her round as quick as you can,” said Jack. “Goodness! how queer this sudden calm feels.”
It was indeed an uncanny feeling. So still had the air become that a candle might have been lighted and its flame would hardly have flickered.
Through this stagnant atmosphere the Flying Road Racer was worked around till her bow was pointing seaward.
“Gracious!” exclaimed Tom, “if the wind doesn’t come from the quarter Captain Andrews expected we’ll be blown to bits.”
Jack said nothing. Any reply he might have made was, in fact, cut short at this moment by a moaning sound from the direction of the mountains. It was caused by the wind sweeping through the canyons and deep abysses that scared them.
“Put on full speed, Tom,” urged Jack; “the faster we are going when that wind strikes us the less chance there will be of our being ripped to bits.”