He pointed to the westward and as his three friends gazed in the direction he had indicated they soon saw the cause of all the commotion. Far off on the western horizon appeared a cloud. That in itself was no special reason for alarm, but it was a very peculiar looking cloud. It was grayish-black in color and shaped like a funnel. Long ragged strips had separated themselves from the main body and hung like long wisps from the sky.
“Do you think it’s a tornado?” exclaimed John, in a low voice.
“I don’t know, String,” said Pop. “It looks bad though, doesn’t it?”
“It does to me all right,” said Fred grimly. “The captain must think it is pretty serious too from all the preparations that are being made.”
“They’re taking in some of the sails,” remarked Grant.
“I’m glad of that,” exclaimed Fred. “When that storm hits us I don’t want any more canvas spread than is necessary.”
“Perhaps it won’t hit us,” said George hopefully.
“You’re an optimist, Pop, I’m afraid,” said Fred. “I think it’ll hit us all right.”
“The breeze is going down,” said John suddenly.
“It surely is,” agreed Grant. “The lull before the storm.”