Antonio and the first mate both went up to have a look.
“That is the terrible Sea of Sargasso,” said Antonio. “God alone can help us if we get ingulfed in that.”
Boats were had out now, and all the afternoon struggled to keep the ship away.
But thickest darkness fell, and the boats were hoisted.
They would resume their efforts next day. No sooner, however, did the sun appear than, to their horror, they found the thick, dark sea of weeds closing rapidly in all around them.
The explanation is easy; they had drifted far into a huge gulf or bay, and the horns thereof had now closed up behind them.
“Who enters here leaves hope behind.”
This they well might have said, for by noon there was no blue water to be seen even from the masthead, nothing but the brown-black sea, close aboard of them the dark trailing weeds, lifting their folds on the water till it seemed a veritable ocean of great sea-snakes.
It was probably the first time since sailing away from Merrie England that our heroes had seen Captain Antonio dull and depressed. He retired to his cabin complaining of not feeling over well, and remained there alone for three long hours.
Then while still dozing a soft little hand was laid in his, and a sweet girlish voice said sympathisingly—