Tibbs climbed up one of the posts--or “masts,” as he called them--to keep a look-out for land ahead. And Kiddiwee steered the ship with a large piece of seaweed. “We shall be there in almost no time at this rate,” said Coppertop gleefully, watching the foaming trail they were leaving behind. “Will you?” cried a spiteful voice in her ear, as a little gust of wind shot by. Coppertop shivered! It sounded unpleasantly like the Clerk of the Weather. “_Will you?_” came the voice again. And this time it arose to a scream. And a sharp gust of wind lashed the sea-spray in her face. “Storm brewing!” called out Tibbs, from the masthead. “Furl the sails!” The other two ran to carry out the orders, folding up the curtains against the bed-posts as fast as they could. But they were just too late! In that moment the full force of the gale burst upon them. It wrenched the curtains from their hands and tore them to shreds! It blew Tibbs from the main-mast, and whirled him far up into the air! It beat upon the sea till the waves rose up in anger, and the peaceful ocean became a fury of troubled waters! The old Bed struggled bravely to keep her head above the waves, but she could not be expected to swim in such a gale. After floating about helplessly for some time, she slowly sank beneath the angry sea. Coppertop clung to the bulgy pillow, which floated like a raft, and Kiddiwee took refuge upon one of the carved bed-posts, which had been broken off by the first blast of the gale, and floated away on the waves. Soon the great mountains of water hid them from each other, and Coppertop was all alone. CHAPTER XI. WAOMBA--MOTHER OF THE WEST LAND After a while the gale died down as suddenly as it began. The sea grew calm once more, and the sun shone out brightly. Coppertop dried her wings in the warm sunlight, and leaving the pillow upon which she floated, flew up into the golden air. She looked eagerly round for Tibbs and Kiddiwee, but they were nowhere to be seen. And Coppertop felt too broken-hearted and sad even to cry. Far away in the distance she espied a peak of land, showing blue above the horizon. And not caring very much whether she reached it or not, she flew in that direction. But as she drew nearer her spirits rose. “After all,” she said to herself, “even that horrid old Clerk of the Weather wouldn’t dare to drown them! ’Maginary brothers can’t be drowned, I’m positively sure they can’t. But where are they? I do love them so! And I shall never find the December day by myself.” So she pondered wearily, until she reached the West Land, and beheld a great mountain, with a queer tablecloth of cloud upon it, as though it were laid for a feast of giants. This looked so strange and interesting that she flew towards it. “I wonder,” thought Coppertop, “if it is laid for the West Wind’s breakfast? It will be most disappointing if I miss him!”