“But, sir, where may we not drift to? We are but a wreck; we haven’t a spare spar to rig a jury main or mizen mast, and the rudder is useless.”
“The rudder we must try to unship,” said Antonio, “hoist on deck, and see to.”
“That will be an all but impossible task, for we have no mizen to reeve block and tackle to.”
And so it proved.
They were, indeed, little more than a helpless floating wreck.
The Zingara was drifting northwards, her latitude about 22° north, and western longitude about 30°.
An attempt was made for several days to steer the vessel by means of boats ahead. This was hard work; yet it might have been successful, and they might have eventually found themselves in the track of ships, had a breeze sprung up.
They appeared, however, to be in a region of calms.
In very truth, they were drifting into that great ocean backwater, the Sargasso Sea, which I speak of in my Preface.
The Sea of Sargasso might be described as a kind of meadow-land of floating weeds, as large at times as half Europe, but often divided into canals that are continually opening and closing.