his men by proving that the wind did not always blow from the east and
that the sea was not always calm.

But there were soon other causes of alarm. The compass varied strangely,
and what hope for them was there if this, their only guide, proved
faithless? They ran into vast meadows of floating seaweed, the Sargasso
Sea, and it seemed certain that the ships would soon be so entangled
that they could move neither backward nor forward. Still Columbus pushed
steadily on, and his men's terror and angry discontent deepened until
they were on the verge of mutiny; various plots were hatched and it was
evident that affairs would soon reach a crisis.

One can guess the Admiral's thoughts as he paced the poop of his ship on
that last night, pausing from time to time to strain his eyes into the
darkness. Picture him to yourself--a tall and imposing figure, clad in
that gray habit of the Franciscan missionary he liked to wear; the face
stern and lined with care, the eyes gray and piercing, the high nose and
long chin telling of a mighty will, the cheeks ruddy and freckled from
life in the open, the white hair falling about his shoulders. Picture
him standing there, a memorable figure, whose hour of triumph was at
hand. He knew the desperate condition of things--none better; he knew
that his men were for the most part criminals and cowards; at any
moment they might rise and make him prisoner or throw him overboard.
Well, until that moment, he would hold his ship's prow to the west! For
twenty years he had labored to get this chance; he would rather die than
fail.

And then, suddenly, far ahead, he saw a light moving low along the
horizon. It disappeared, reappeared, and then vanished altogether. The
lookout had also seen it, and soon after, as the moon rose, a gun from