What is technically called the "ox-eye," the "egg of the
tornado," appeared in a fragment of space, glistening below the
gloomy rain-arch. The wind ceased to blow; every sound was hushed
as though Nature were nerving herself, silent for the throe, and
our looks said, "In five minutes it will be down upon us." And
now it comes. A cold blast smelling of rain, and a few drops or
rather splashes, big as gooseberries and striking with a blow,
are followed by a howling squall, sharp and sudden puffs,
pulsations and gusts; at length a steady gush like a rush of
steam issues from that awful arch, which, after darkening the
heavens like an eclipse, collapses in fragmentary torrents of
blinding rain. In the midst of the spoon-drift we see, or we
think we see, "La Junon" gliding like a phantom-ship towards the
river mouth. The lightning seems to work its way into our eyes,
the air-shaking thunder rolls and roars around our very ears; the
oars are taken in utterly useless, the storm-wind sweeps the boat
before it at full speed as though it had been a bit of straw.
Selim and I sat with a large mackintosh sheet over our hunched
backs, thus offering a breakwater to the waves; happily for us,
the billow-heads were partly cut off and carried away bodily by
the raging wind, and the opened fountains of the firmament beat
down the breakers before they could grow to their full growth.
Otherwise we were lost men; the southern shore was still two
miles distant, and, as it was, the danger was not despicable.
These tornadoes are harmless enough to a cruiser, and under a
good roof men bless them. But H.M.S. "Heron" was sunk by one, and
the venture of a cranky gig laden a fleur d'eau is what some call
"tempting Providence."

Stunned with thunder, dazzled by the vivid flashes of white