The fresh and irregular breezes revolved with the sun at certain times of the year.

The hurricane whirled across its bowl, but never stopped.

There were no tides.

Its harbors and water-ways were never dry.

Its coasts and islands were often so close together that you could see from one to the other; its lands, beloved of heaven, were recipients of the sun's sweetest smiles.
Ferragut recalled the men who had plowed this sea in centuries so remote that history makes no mention of them.