It was a source of consternation to the children that none of the grownups would recognise this “sea.” The sailors trod carelessly on the deepest oceans, refusing so much as to paddle with their hands. But it was equally irritating to the sailors when the children, either safe on an island or bearing down in a vessel of their own, would scream at them in a tone of complete conviction:

“You’re drowning! You’re drowning! O‑o‑oh, look out! You’re out of your depth there! The sharks’ll eat you!”

“O‑oh look! Miguel’s sinking! The waves are right over his head!”

That happens to be the one sort of joke sailors can’t enjoy. Even though the words were unintelligible, their gist⁠—eked out by the slightly malicious hints of the mate⁠—was not. If they steadily refused to swim, they at least took to crossing themselves fervently and continuously whenever they had to traverse a piece of open deck. For there was no way one could be certain that these brats were not gifted with second sight⁠— hijos de puntas!