50. As the days went on "they began to meet large patches of weeds, very green." "We must be near to land," said the sailors. "Perhaps some island," said the admiral; "but the continent we shall find further ahead." Another strange thing happened. That little compass, their only sure guide to Cathay, began to behave as if it too had lost its head over this foolhardy undertaking. The neighbors at home had warned them that the devil managed the compass; and this needle, never 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 Pinta swiftly shot ahead, expecting to sight the shore at any moment. "There must be islands all about us," thought the admiral; "but we will not stay for them now. Straight to the west!" 53. Still no land, for all the signs and eager watching. Leagues of undulating weeds, but no land! And the faint-hearted sailors grumble again. They fear that they never shall "meet in these seas with a fair wind to return to Spain." A head-wind heartens them, but it quickly flits off laden with kisses for Andalusian sweethearts; and again the east wind fills the sails and carries them away, and away, and away!