* * * * *
The ship drifted slowly through the Sargasso Sea--that dead, sweltering
area of smooth waters and endless leagues of drifting seaweed.... Or we
lifted and sank on great, smooth swells ... the last disturbance of a
storm far off where there were honest winds that blew.
* * * * *
The prickly heat assailed us ... hundreds of little red, biting pimples
on our bodies ... the cook's fresh-baked bread grew fuzz in twenty-four
hours after baking ... the forecastle and cabin jangled and snarled
irritably, like tortured animals....
* * * * *
It was with a shout, one day, that we welcomed a good wind, and shot
clear of this dead sea of vegetable matter.
* * * * *
As we crossed the equator Father Neptune came on board ... a curious
sea-ceremony that must hark back to the Greeks and Romans....
The bow-legged sailmaker played Neptune.
He combed out a beard of rope, wrapped a sheet around his shoulders,
procured a trident of wood....
"Come," shouted one of the sailors to me, running up like a happy boy,
"come, see Neptune climbing on board."
The sail-maker pretended to mount up out of the sea, climbing over the
forecastle head--just as if he had left his car of enormous,
pearl-tinted sea-shell, with the spouting dolphins still hitched to it,
waiting for him, while he paid his respects to our captain.
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