"At six o'clock there were a white streak along the horizon in the no'theast, an' then the wind come, fust in little snorts, then in big puffs, an' last in a straight, howlin' gale. Cap'n Peleg Mahoney he hove the _Ham Bone_ to on the starb'rd tack, an' then the bloomin' old hooker commenced slidin' off to leeward like a tissue-paper kite, only there weren't no string to keep her from goin' furder an' furder. Cap'n Peleg Mahoney he were on deck most o' the night, an' he talked a great deal o' French, w'ich the same I are not goin' to repeat. An' Willum Smitzer, the fust mate, he talked Dutch, an' there were a reg'lar Franco-Prussian war o' words. Howsumever, it didn't kill the wind, fur that bloomin' gale blowed right on end fur putty nigh a week. An' at the end o' that time there were sich a sea runnin' as I don't perpose fur to tell ye about; cos w'y, I ain't goin' to say nothin' wot might dammidge my repitation as a puffickly truthful pusson. All I kin say are that w'en the _Ham Bone_ riz to one o' them seas we could hear the bottles o' soda fallin' over one another down in the hold, an' we had to lay flat down on the deck to keep from tumblin' off over the starn. That ain't no respectable weather fur to be out-doors in, but w'en the nearest port are more'n a capful o' degrees away, w'y, there ye are, an' there ye got to be, leastways till ye get blowed to s'm'otherwheres, an' that are wot. "O' course the _Ham Bone_ were hove to, but, bless ye! she made seven p'ints o' leeway, an' her drift were somethin' no human bein' could carkerlate. Waal, to git som'ers near to the crest o' this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye, at the end o' a week o' drivin' to leeward the lookout forrad sings out, "'Land ho!' "'Land! Pah!' sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, sez he. 'There ees not some land for one t'ousan' mile. Pouf!' "'Aber ja!' yells the fust mate, Willum Smitzer, him bein' a bloomin' Dutchman; 'das ist land, nicht war?' "The Cap'n he jumps to the lee bow, me a-follerin'. Waal, my son, ye 'ain't never seed nothin' like 't. The sea were full o' wegetables." "Full of vegetables?" exclaimed Henry. "Them's it. Onions an' beets an' pertaters an' queer fruits an' plants like cabbidges, only with leaves ten times as big, was a-floatin' on top o' the water. W'y, bless ye! a sea bruk over the starboard bow, bringin' one o' them there cabbidges with 't, an' it hit Willum Smitzer, an' knocked him down mos' beautiful fur to see. But that weren't the wust o' 't. Furder down to leeward we could see the waves a-breakin' in big hills o' spray on to some sort o' a beach that were dead flat. There weren't no hills nor nothin' behind it, but it looked jess like a perairie growed right out in the middle o' the sea. "'Wot 'n 'arth are it?' sez I to the Cap'n, sez I. "'Ze Saragossa Sea,' sez he to me, sez he. "'An' ef we gets in, how does we get out?' sez I. "'How I tell that?' sez he.