"Supposing we get a real howler," said Adrian, "we could make her fast to the bowsprit, you see, and just ride." It was while they were laughing over this brilliant idea that Crow saw the grey wall coming, and sprang to attention as it were, standing up--an alert grip on the tiller. It seemed to reach from the bank of blackness to the sea, and shut off the land like a blind. It was coming towards them--coming out to sea ushered by a noise like the rush of rapids--an immense volume of rain water, descending in lines straight as harp strings, and striking the level sea. It was very amazing, and Christobel gazed with awe; she had never seen anything quite like it, because a stretch of land has so many interruptions that you cannot see the _line_ as you can on miles of water. Besides, water striking water like that is a very wonderful thing, foam fringes the edge of it all along, hissing like a boiler. "This looks as though it meant to hurt our feelings--especially the dinghy’s," said Adrian cheerfully, "she isn’t used to bad manners." Crow shrank instinctively as the rush of the advancing thing enveloped the yawl. They were battered by such rain as she had never experienced before, yet once into it, all her dread was dispelled like a nightmare. Rain fell on the deck like the rattle of bullets, and in a minute the whole place was a wild wash of water pouring through scuppers, water streaming into the well, water heaving and lifting everything that could be pushed out of place. Crow held on to the tiller, but there was nothing doing in the sailing way--yet--nothing but water which seemed to nail them motionless by sheer weight. She glanced aside at the little boat, and saw her filling up swiftly--"Oh, poor dinghy," she gasped aloud--but there was no time to do anything, or even consider doing it, for something was coming at the back of the rain that asked for all her attention. A puff of strong, chill wind---- _Messenger_ leaned heavily to starboard, the flattened sea seemed to rise up in a line of foam under her quarter, water poured in at the streaming scuppers--and away she went--blinded--battered--drenched--away and away like a hunted creature flying for its life. Certainly five minutes passed before these two adventurers began to take stock of their situation. So far, they had just let drive, steering the only possible course, straight ahead. At the end of five minutes the force of the downpour began to abate, but the wind was increasing. As soon as speech was possible Adrian asked where she thought they were going? The skipper laughed rather tremulously--it had been a strenuous five minutes. "What about America? We might call on President Wilson. Please remember we can go where we please on the High Seas now! No more permits--no more ’out of bounds’. The question is, where can you get your hair cut?" "Anywhere will do between here and Land’s End," answered Adrian generously.