The tents shook and rocked.

Men could hardly hear each other's voices above the storm, and even in the darkness of night the sheets of foam could be seen dashing up to the very walls of the castle.
Jack Archer and Dick Hawtry, who with two other midshipmen occupied a tent, sat listening awe-struck to the fury of the gale.

There was a gust fiercer than usual, accompanied by a crack like the sound of a pistol, followed by a stifled shout.
"There's a tent down!" Hawtry exclaimed, "and I shouldn't wonder--" He did not finish, for at the moment the pole of their own tent broke asunder like a pipe, and in an instant the four were buried beneath the folds of the canvas.

With much shouting and laughter they struggled to the entrance and made their way out.

Half the tents were already levelled to the ground, and ten minutes later not one remained standing.