known to point anywhere but north, now pointed west of north! Was the
devil steering them for hell? Heaven's fiery bolt had warned them;
they had not heeded, and now the devil was tampering with the compass.
Poor sailors! They looked fiercely on Columbus, and wished themselves
well out of this business. But the admiral faced the strange
occurrence quietly, though his heart may well have beat fearfully, and
proceeded to investigate its cause. He soon announced it. "It is the
north star that moves," he coolly informed the terrified men, "the
needle is always true." The admiral was certainly a marvelously wise
man, and the sailors said no more.

51. Eleven days out. No thickening of the sea yet, except with this
mass of floating weed. No darkness, except the darkness of night. No
nearer the sunset, and always at sunset-time that golden western path
across the water. Weeds, weeds--vast stretches of weeds; they must
betoken land; and a live crab discovered among them would surely seem
to indicate it. The sea is smooth, the air clear. It is like
"Andalusia in April, all but the nightingales," exclaims the admiral.
What would you give to hear a nightingale just now, brave-hearted
admiral, gazing into the moonlit infinity of silence that enspheres
you! You can not bear the crystal tension; go below to the relief of
the narrow room and the journal faithfully kept!

52. More signs of land. They kill tunnies--sure sign, say the sailors.
And all the signs are from the west, "where I hope the high God in
whose hand is all victory will speedily direct us to land," writes the
admiral. Even the faithless sailors begin to forget their sullen
disapproval, and the three ships race merrily to see which shall first
discover land. Great flocks of birds Alonzo Pinzon saw from the Pinta.
"This very night we shall reach land, I believe!" he exulted; and the