The Dunegang into the Maelstrom

ÞE DUNEGANG INTO ÞE MAELSTROM

''By Edgar Allan Poe Went by Cascadia (þruced 1845)''

“Þe ways of God in Kind, as in His Will, are not as ure ways; nor are þe anlikenesses þat we frame any way fitting to þe greatness, wisdom, and unknowenliness of His works, whice hafe a depþ in hem greater þan þe well of Democritus.”
 * - Joseph Glanville

WE had nue reaced þe peak of þe hiest ridge. For sum minnits þe old man seemed too muce forspent to speak.

“Not long ago,” said he at lengþ, “and ice cood hafe wised þue on þis paþ as well as þe yungest of my suns; but, abute þree years sinse, þere befell on me a þing suce as nefer befell on a lifing man—or at least suce as no man efer oferlifed to tell of—and þe six stunds of deadly brow whice ice þen þoled hafe broken me up body and sowl. Þue reasowest me a full old man—but ice am not. It was less þan one day þat went þese hairs from a rafen black to white, to woken my lims, and to unstring my þews, so þat ice scake at þe least swink, and am fritened at a scadow. Knowest þue ice can hardly look ofer þis littel cliff wiþute becumming giddy?”

Þe “littel cliff,” upon whose edge he had so carelessly þrown himself dune to rest þat þe waitier deal of his body hung ofer it, while he was only kept from falling by þe hold of his elbow on its steep and slippery edge—þis “littel cliff” arose, a sceer unremmed hite of black scining rock, sum fifteen or sixteen hundred feet from þe world of crags beneaþ us. Noþing wood hafe costened me to wiþin six yards of its brim. In trewþ so deeply was ice fritened by þe pleely stead of my fellow, þat ice fell at full lengþ upon þe grund, clung to þe scrubs abute me, and dared not efen look upward at þe heafens—while ice fawt emtily to benim myself of þe þawt þat þe staddel itself of þe barrow were in plee from þe wraþ of þe winds. It was long before ice cood reasow myself into enuff dute to sit up and look ute into þe farl.

“Þue must yet ofer þese daydreams,” said þe scower, “for ice hafe brawt þee here þat þue mite hafe þe best mitely site of þe stow of þat befalling ice nemmened—and to tell þee þe hole tale wiþ þe splot rite under þine eye.”

“We are nue,” he went on, in þat sundering way whice scedded him—”We are nue nie upon þe Nornisce score—in þe eat-and-sixtieþ kerf of breadþ—in þe great land of Nordland and in þe dreary scire of Lofoden. Þe barrow upon whose top we sit is Helseggen, þe Cludy. Nue lift þyself up a littel hier—hold on to þe grass if þue feelest giddy—so—and look ute, beyond þe belt of mist beneaþ us, into þe sea.”

Ice looked disily, and beheld a wide main, whose waters wore suce a hew of bleck as to bring at onse to my mind þe Siler landlorers rake of þe Sea of Darkness. A full site more sorely lorn no faþoming of man can bird. To þe rite and left, as far as þe eye cood reace, þere lay utestreced, like walls of þe world, lines of ayfully black and beeteling cliffs, whose eard of gloom was but þe more mitily meted by þe swell whice reared hie up ayenst its white and gastly cop, huling and screeing forefer. Rite wiþer þe ridge upon whose peak we were set, and at a farl of sum fife or six miles ute at sea, þere was seenly a small, bleace-looking iland; or, more fitly, its stow was toknowenly þro þe wilderness of wafes in whice it was beclipt. Abute two miles nearer þe land, arose anoþer of smaller great, ately craggy and weast, and umbfanged at sundry betwixtfacks by a cluster of dark rocks.

Þe ansen of þe sea, in þe rimþ between þe more farlen iland and þe score, had sumþing full selcooþ abute it. Alþow, at þe time, so strong a wind was blowing landward þat a scip in þe farlen offing lay to under a twiribbed þrisail, and steadily dofe her hole hull ute of site, still þere was here noþing like a mean swell, but only a scort, cwick, wroþ, mixt beating of water in efery way—as well in þe teeþ of þe wind as oþerwise. Of foam þere was littel but for in þe naywist of þe rocks.

“Þe iland in þe farl,” picked up þe old man, “is cied by þe Norniscemen Vurrgh. Þe one midway is Moskoe. Þat a mile to þe norþward is Ambaaren. Yonder are Islesen, Hotholm, Keildhelm, Suarven, and Buckholm. Farþer off—between Moskoe and Vurrgh—are Otterholm, Flimen, Sandflesen, and Stockholm. Þesse are þe trew names of þe stows—but why it has been þawt needful to name hem at all, is more þan ayþer þue or ice can understand. Hearest þue anyþing? Seest þue any wend in þe water?”

We had nue been abute ten minnits upon þe top of Helseggen, to whice he had clumb from þe inland of Lofoden, so þat we had fanged no site of þe sea hent it had berst upon us from þe cop. As þe old man spoke, ice became aware of a great and slowly waxing lude, like þe moaning of a widegale herd of wesends upon an Americkisce wong; and at þe same britom ice ayetted þat what seamen name þe copping eard of þe sea beneaþ us, was swiftly wending into a farþ whice set to þe eastward. Efen while ice stared, þis farþ yat an ettinisce speed. Eace britom eked to its speed—to its headlong boldness. In fife minnits þe hole sea, as far as Vurrgh, was lasced into unrixenly wraþ; but it was between Moskoe and þe score þat þe main uproar held its sway. Here þe wide bed of þe waters, seamed and marked into a þusand fiting fleets, berst at onse into wood þroes—heafing, seeþing, hissing—wharfing in ettinische and untellenly eddies, and all whirling and difing on to þe eastward wiþ a speed whice water nefer elsewere nims oþer þan freefall.

In a few minnits more, þere came ofer þe site anoþer sweeping wend. Þe bred of þe sea grew sumwhat smooþer, and þe whirlpools, one by one, swinded, while great streaks of foam became suttel where none had been seen before. Þese streaks, at lengþ, spreading ute to a great farl, and faying togeþer, num unto hemselfes þe wharfing scriþing of þe sweþered eddies, and seemed to scape þe seed of anoþer more widegale. At onse—all at onse—þis fanged a sundry and suttel being, in a wharft more þan a mile in span. Þe edge of þe whirl was spelled by a broad belt of gleaming mist; but no drop of þis slipt into þe muþe of þe ayful flew, whose inside, as far as þe eye cood faþom it, was a smooþ, scining, and bleakblack wall of water, leant to þe liftline at a whem of sum fife-and-fifty kerfs, speeding swiftly umb and umb wiþ a swaying and sweltering scriþing, and sending forþ to þe winds an ayful stefen, half scree, half roar, suce as not efen þe mity waterfall of Niagara efer lifts up in its sussel to Heafen.

Þe barrow scook to its staddel, and þe rock rocked. Ice þrew myself upon mine anlet, and clung to þe þin grass in an orn of angness.

“Þis,” said ice at lengþ, to þe old man—”þis can be noþing else þan þe great whirlpool of þe Maelstrom.”

“So it is sumtimes named,” said he. “We Norniscemen call it þe Moskoestrom, from þe iland of Moskoe in þe midway.”

Þe mean rakes of þis whirlpool had by no means readied me for what ice saw. Þat of Jonas Ramus, whice is maybe þe fullest of any, cannot yeafe þe slitest begrip ayþer of þe þromfulness, or of þe brow of þe site—or of þe wild bewildering anyet of þe new whice mases þe beholder. Ice am not wiss from what lookute þe man ice write of howed it, nor at what time; but it cood nayþer hafe been from þe cop of Helseggen, nor in a storm. Þere are sum cwids of his rake, neferþeless, whice may be forþteed for hir small marks, alþow hir words are trewly mainless in yeafing an inþruce of þe wafing.

“Between Lofoden and Moskoe,” he says, “þe depþ of þe water is between six-and-þirty and forty faþoms; but on þe oþer side, toward Ver (Vurggh) þis depþ wanes so as not to aford a dafen fareld for a scip, wiþute þe plee of splitting on þe rocks, whice befalls efen in þe smiltest weaþer. When it is flood, þe stream runs up þe room between Lofoden and Moskoe wiþ a wild speed; but þe roar of its ruscing ebb to þe sea is seld efened by þe ludest and most dreadful waterfalls; þe lude being heard many miles off, and þe eddies or pits are of suce a widþ and depþ, þat if a scip cums wiþin its pull, it is wisly drawn in and born dune to þe bottom, and þere beat to bits ayenst þe rocks; and when þe water sleces, þe stiches þereof are þrown up ayen. But þese betwixtfacks of friþ are only at þe wend of þe ebb and flood, and in smilt weaþer, and last but a forþ of a stund, its heast eftcumming stepwise. When þe stream is ludest, and its wraþ hiþened by a storm, it is pleely to cum wiþin a Norway mile of it. Boats and scips hafe been born away by not warding ayenst it before hie were wiþin its reace. It likewise befalls often, þat whales cum too near þe stream, and are oferwhelmed by its heast; and þen it is unmitely to rece hir hulings and bellowings in hir bleadless fites to free hemselfes. A bear onse, fanding to swim from Lofoden to Moskoe, was fanged by þe stream and born dune, while he roared ayfully, so as to be heard on score. Great stocks of fir trees, after being drawn in by þe farþ, rise ayen broken and torn to suce a hoad as if bristels grew upon hem. Þis glewly scows þe bottom to be made up of craggy rocks, among whice hie are whirled to and fro. Þis stream is rixt by þe ebb and flood of þe sea—it being always hie and neþer water efery six stunds. In þe year 1645, early in þe morning of Sixtieþ Sunday, it weeded wiþ suce lude and strengþ þat þe stones helselfes of þe huses on þe score fell to þe grund.”

On þe depþ of þe water, ice cood not see hue þis cood hafe been kenned at all in þe naywist of þe whirlpool. Þe “forty faþoms” must be only in þe deals of þe fleet nie upon þe score ayþer of Moskoe or Lofoden. Þe depþ in þe middel of þe Moskoestrom must be unmetenly greater; and no better seeþing of þis is needful þan can be yetten from efen þe sidelong peep into þe newelness of þe whirl whice may be had from þe hiest crag of Helseggen. Looking dune from þis steepel upon þe huling Flegeþon beneaþ, ice cood not help smirking at þe ofoldness wiþ whice þe good Jonas Ramus writes, as a þing hard of beleef, þe tales of þe whales and þe bears; for it seemed to me, in trewþ, a selfsuttel þing, þat þe greatest scip of þe line in all þe world, cumming wiþin þe sway of þat deadly pull, cood fite it as littel as a feaþer þe ist, and must swind bodily and at onse.

Þe fands to rece þe wunder—sum of whice, ice mun, seemed to me beleefenly enuff in writing—nue wore a full sundry and bitesum anlet. Þe begrip meanly told is þat þis, as well as þree smaller whirlpools among þe Ferroe Ilands, “hafe no oþer inting þan þe blows of wafes rising and falling, at ebb and flood, ayesnt a ridge of rocks and scelfes, whice haþers þe water so þat it þrows itself like a waterfall; and þus þe hier þe flood rises, þe deeper þe fall must be, and þe kindly utecum of all is a great eddy or whirlpool, þe great suck of whice is known well þro lesser fands.”—Þese are þe words of þe Brittisce Kenbook. Kircer and oþers faþom þat in þe middel of þe fleet of þe Maelstrom is a newelness boring þe þoþer, and utefaring in sum full farlen deal—þe Helsing Sea being sumwhat wisly beclept in one writ. Þis ween, idel in itself, was þe one wiþ whice, as ice stared, my faþoming most readily þweared; and, bringing it up to my scower, ice was raþer amased to hear him say þat, alþow it was þe ween almost holey scared by þe Norniscemen, it neferþeless was not his own. As to þe former begrip he andetted his unmite to understand it; and here ice þweared wiþ him—for, huefer wiss it seemed in writing, it becums altogeþer unfaþomenly, and efen witless, amid þe þunder of þe newelness.

“Þue hast had a good look at þe whirl nue,” said þe old man, and if þue wilst creep umb þis crag, so as to yet in its lee, and deaden þe roar of þe water, ice will tell þee a tale þat will win þee ofer þat ice awt to know sumþing of þe Moskoestrom.”

Ice set myself as he wisced, and he went on.

“Myself and my two broþers onse owned a fiscing smack of abute sefenty tuns birden, wiþ whice we were wont to fisce among þe ilands beyond Moskoe, nearly to Vurrgh. In all heast eddies at sea þere is good fiscing, at þe rite times, if man has only þe dute to fand it; but among þe hole of þe Lofoden fiscermen, we þree were þe only men who made an often bisiness of going ute to þe ilands, as ice tell þee. Þe wonly grunds are a great way neþer dune to þe suþeward. Þere fisce can be had all stunds, wiþute muce plee, and þerefore þese steads are cosen oft. Þe best splots ofer here among þe rocks, huefer, not only yeeld þe most sundering, but in far greater fulþ; so þat we often had in a lone day, what þe more harehearted of þe craft cood not gaþer in a week. In sooþ, we made it a þing of reckless neeþing—þe deadly plee standing instead of swink, and dute answering for fee.

We kept þe smack in a cofe abute fife miles hier up þe score þan þis; and it was ure tite, in good weaþer, to milk þe fifteen minnits slack to sail þwares þe main fleet of þe Moskoestrom, far abufe þe pool, and þen drop dune upon harbor sumwhere near Otterholm, or Sandflesen, where þe eddies are not so heast as elsewhere. Here we formerly bided hent nearly time for slack water ayen, when we wayed and made for home. We nefer set ute upon þis fareld wiþute a steady side wind for going and cumming—one þat we felt wiss wood not truck us before ure eftcumming—and we seld misreckoned upon þis ord. Twise, þroute six years, we were made to bide all nite at anker for þere being a dead still, whice is a seldseen þing indeed abute here; and onse we had to bide on þe grunds nearly a week, starfing to deaþ, owing to a storm whice blew up scortly after ure lending, and made þe fleet too heast to be þawt of. Upon þis siþe we scood neferþeless hafe been drifen ute to sea, (for þe whirlpools þrew us umb and umb so heastly, þat, at lengþ, we fuled ure anker and dragged it) if it had not been þat we drifted into one of þe untellenly side farþs—here today and gone tomorrow—whice drofe us under þe lee of Flimen, where, þankfully, we brawt up.

Ice cood not tell þee þe twentieþ deal of þe hardscips we yained ‘on þe grunds’—it is a bad splot to be in, efen in good weaþer—but we made scift always to run þe paþ of þe Moskoestrom itself wiþute bale; alþow many times my heart has been in my muþe when we were a minnit or so behind or before þe slack. Þe wind sumtimes was not as strong as we þawt it at starting, and þen we made raþer less way þan we cood wisce, while þe farþ made þe smack unsteerenly. My eldest broþer had a sun eateen years old, and ice had two strong knafes of mine own. Þese wood hafe been of great help at suce times, in manning þe sweeps, as well as afterward in fiscing—but, sumhue, alþow we put ureselfes in plee, we had not þe heart to let þe yunger do þe same—for, after all is said and done, it was an ayful plee, forsooþ.

It is nue wiþin a few days of þree years sinse what ice am going to tell þee befell. It was on þe tenþ day of Afterliþe, 18XX, a day whice þe folk of þis deal of þe world will nefer foryet—for it was one in whice blew þe most ayful ist þat efer came ute of þe heafens. And yet all þe morning, and indeed hent late in þe afternoon, þere was a friþful and steady whiþ from þe suþewest, while þe sun scone britely, so þat þe oldest seaman among us cood not hafe forseen what was to follow.

Þe þree of us—my two broþers and myself—had gone ofer to þe ilands abute two in þe afternoon, and had soon nearly loaded þe smack wiþ good fisce, whice, we all said, were more rife þat day þan we had efer known hem. It was sefen, by my wace, when we wayed and started for home, so as to make þe worst of þe Strom at slack water, whice we knew wood be at eat.

We set ute wiþ a fresce wind on ure starboard forþ, and for sum time spanked along at a great speed, nefer dreaming of plee, for indeed we saw not þe slitest grund to þink it. All at onse we were nimmen aback by a strong wind from ofer Helseggen. Þis was most selcooþ—sumþing þat had nefer befell on us before—and ice began to feel a littel uneaþ, wiþute trewly knowing why. We put þe boat on þe wind, but cood make no headway at all for þe eddies, and ice was abute to put forþ eftcumming to þe cofe, when, looking astem, we saw þe hole liftline scruded wiþ a sundry copperhewed clude þat rose wiþ þe most amasing speed.

In þe meantime þe wind þat had headed us off fell away, and we were dead adrift, listing abute in efery whice way. Þis hoad of þings, huefer, lasted not long enuff to yeafe us time to þink abute it. In less þan a minnit þe storm was upon us—in less þan two þe heafens were fully oferspread—and what wiþ þis and þe drifing mist, it became at onse so dark þat we cood not see eace oþer in þe smack.”

Such an ist as þen blew it is witless to fand recing. Þe oldest seaman in Norway nefer went þro any þing like it. We had let ure sails go by þe run before it cleferly num us; but, at þe first blow, boþ ure masts went by þe board is if hie had been sawn off—þe mainmast nimming wiþ it my yungest broþer, who had lasced himself to it for sickerhood.

Ure boat was þe litest feaþer of a þing þat efer sat upon water. It had a full efen þilling, wiþ only a small hace near þe buw, and þis hace it had always been ure won to close tite when abute to fare þe Strom, by way of forewit ayenst þe copping seas. But for þis umbstandness we scood hafe sunk to þe bottom at onse—for we lay fully beried for sum britoms. Hue my elder broþer atwinded forwird ice cannot say, for ice nefer had a bire to find ute. For my deal, as soon as ice had let þe foresail run, ice þrew myself flat on þe þilling, wiþ my feet ayenst þe narrow gunnel of þe buw, and wiþ my hands grasping a ringbolt near þe foot of þe foremast. It was sceer feeling þat scied me to do þis—whice was untweenly þe best þing ice cood hafe done—for ice was too muce flurried to þink.

For sum britoms we were fully underwater, as ice say, and all þis time ice held my breaþ, and clung to þe bolt. When ice cood stand it no longer ice þrew myself upon my knees, still keeping hold wiþ my hands, and þus yat my head free. Soon ure littel boat yafe herself a scake, as a dog in cumming ute of þe water, and þus rid herself, in deal, of þe seas. Ice was nue fanding to yet þe better of þe swoon þat had cum ofer me, and to gaþer mine anyets so as to see what was to be done, when ice felt sumbody grasp my arm. It was my elder broþer, and my heart leapt for win, for ice was wiss þat he was oferboard—but þe next britom all þis win was went into brow—for he put his muþe nie to my ear, and rooped ute þe word ‘Moskoestrom’!

No man efer will know what my feelings were at þat britom. Ice scook from head to foot as if ice had had þe heastest fit of fefer. Ice knew what he meant by þat one word well enuff—ice knew what he wisced to make me understand. Wiþ þe wind þat nue drofe us on, we were bund for þe whirl of þe Strom, and noþing cood neer us!

Þue ayettest þat in faring þe Strom fleet, we always went a long way up abufe þe whirl, efen in þe smiltest weaþer, and þen had to bide and wace carefully for þe slack—but nue we were drifing rite upon þe pool itself, and in suce an ist as þis! ‘To be wiss,’ ice þawt, ‘we scall yet þere rite abute þe slack—þere is sum littel hope in þat’—but in þe next britom ice cursed myself for being so lacking of wit as to dream of hope at all. Ice knew full well þat we were doomed, had we been ten times a ninety gun scip.

By þis time þe first wraþ of þe ist had spent itself, or maybe we felt it not so muce, as we blew before it, but at all befallings þe seas, whice at first had been kept dune by þe wind, and lay flat and foaming, nue yat up into sceer barrows. A sundry wend, too, had cum ofer þe heafens. Umb in efery heading it was still as black as pice, but nearly oferhead þere berst ute, all at onse, a sinwelt rift of open lift—as sceer as ice efer saw—and of a deep brite hewn—and þro it þere blased forþ þe full moon wiþ a sceen þat ice nefer before knew her to wear. Sce lit up efery þing abute us wiþ þe greatest scedding—but, o God, wat a site it was to lite up!

Ice nue made one or two fands to speak to my broþer—but, in sum way whice ice cood not understand, þe din had so waxt þat ice cood not make him hear but a word, alþow ice rooped at þe top of my stefen in his ear. Soon he scook his head, looking as wan as deaþ, and held up one of his fingers, as if to say ‘listen’!

At first ice cood not make ute what he meant—but soon an atel þawt scone upon me. Ice dragged my wace from its fob. It was not going. Ice looked at its anlet by þe moonlite, and þen berst into tears as ice flung it far away into þe sea. It had run dune at þe sefenþ stund! We were behind þe time of þe slack, and þe whirl of þe Strom was at full wraþ!

When a boat is well bilt, well trimmed, and not deep laden, þe wafes in a strong wind, when sce is going great, seem always to slip from beneaþ her—whice seems full ferly to a landsman—and þis is what is called riding, in sea speece. Well, so far we had ridden þe swells full cleferly; but nue an ettinisce sea befell on and fanged us, and bore us wiþ it as it rose—up—up—as if into þe heafens. Ice wood not hafe beleefed þat any wafe cood rise so hie. And þen dune we came wiþ a sweep, a slide, a dife, þat made me feel sick and disy, as if ice was falling from sum lifty barrowtop in a dream. But while we were up ice had þrown a cwick look abute—and þat one look was all enuff. Ice saw ure rite stow in an eyeblink. Þe Moskoestrom whirlpool was abute a forþ of a mile dead ahead—but no more like þe eferyday Moskoestrom, þan þe whirl as þue seest it nue is like a millrease. If ice had not known where we were, and what we had to foredeem, ice scood not hafe acknowed þe stead at all. As it was, ice unwillsumly closed mine eyes in brow. Þe lids clenced hemselfes togeþer as if in a ram.

It cood not hafe been more þan two minnits afterward hent we felt þe wafes swiftly sweþer, and were beclipt in foam. Þe boat made a scarp half wend to larboard, and þen scot off in its new heading like a þunderbolt. At þe same britom þe roaring lude of þe water was fully druned in a kind of scrill scree—suce a lude as man mite faþom yeafen ute by þe pipes of many þusand steamscips letting off hir steam all togeþer. We were nue in þe belt of wafes þat always hems þe whirl; and ice þawt, indeed, þat anoþer britom wood þrow us into þe newelness—dune whice we cood see only unsuttely for þe amasing speed wiþ whice we were born along. Þe boat seemed not to sink into þe water at all, but to glide like a liftbubbel upon þe bred of þe flood. Her starboard side was next þe whirl, and on þe larboard arose þe world of sea we had left. It stood like a great wriþing wall between us and þe liftline.

It may seem ferly, but nue, when we were in þe chafels hemselfes of þe maw, ice felt more steady þan when we were only nearing it. Hafing made up my mind to hope no more, ice rid myself of a great deal of þat brow which unmanned me at first. Ice ween it was wanhope þat strung my þews.

It may look like yelping—bat what ice tell þue is trewþ—ice began to þink on hue þromly a þing it was to swelt in suce a way, and hue witless it was for me to þink of so worþless a þing as mine own life, in site of so wunderful an atewing of Gods mite. Ice beleefe indeed þat ice blusced in scame when þis þawt went þro my mind. After a littel while ice became fanged wiþ þe keenest firwit abute þe whirl itself. Ice trewly felt a wisce to rose its depþs, efen at þe bloot ice was going to make and my main gnorn was þat ice cood nefer tell my old fellows on score abute þe runes ice scood see. Þese, no twee, were sundry faþomings to hold a mans mind in suce plee—and ice hafe often þawt sinse, þat þe wharfings of þe boat umb þe pool mite hafe made me a littel liteheaded.

Þere was anoþer deal of þe umbstandness whice often beeted my weeld of self; and þis was þe stopping of þe wind, whice cood not reace us in ure anward stead—for, as þue sawest þyself, þe belt of wafes is far neþer þan þe mean seaflore, and þis latter nue reared abufe us, a hie, black, barrowisce ridge. If þue hast nefer been at sea in a heafy wind, þue canst form no begrip of þe masing of mind brawt by þe wind and mist togeþer. Hie blind, deafen, and coke þee, and nim away all þrake of deed or þawt. But we were nue, in a great deal, rid of þese harryings—rite as warrows fordeemed to deaþ in witern are atiþed small yalses, forbidden hem while hir doom is yet unwiss.

Hue often we made þe umbgang of þe belt it is unmitely to say. We wharfed umb and umb for what seemed a stund, flying raþer þan floating, yetting stepwise more and more into þe middel of þe whirl, and þen nearer and nearer to its ayful inner edge. All þis time ice had nefer let go of þe ringbolt. My broþer was at þe stem, holding on to a small emty water bidden whice had been sickerly lasced under þe coop of þe stem, and was þe only þing onboard þat had not been swept ofer when þe storm first num us. As we neared þe edge of þe pit he let go his hold upon þis, and made for þe ring, from whice, in þe sussel of his fear, he fanded to pull my hands, as it was not great enuff to aford us boþ a sicker grasp. Ice nefer felt deeper gnorn þan when ice saw him fand þis deed—alþow ice knew he was a madman when he did it—his mind lost þro sceer frite. Ice cared not, huefer, to kneat þis wiþ him. Ice knew it cood make no sced weþer ayþer of us held on at all; so ice let him hafe þe bolt, and went astem to þe bidden. Þis þere was no great hardscip in doing; for þe smack flew umb steadily enuff, and upon an efen ceal—only swaying to and fro, wiþ þe great sweeps and swelters of þe whirl. Hardly had ice sickered myself in my new stead, when we yafe a wild reel to starboard, and rusced headlong into þe newelness. Ice whoastered a hurried bead to God, and þawt all was ofer.

As ice felt þe sickening sweep of þe dunegang, ice had, wiþute þinking, titened my hold upon þe coop, and closed mine eyes. For sum britoms ice dared not open hem—while ice weened fast forwird, and wundered þat ice was not already in my deaþ þroes wiþ þe water. But britom after britom went by. Ice still lifed. Þe anyet of falling had ended; and þe scriþing of þe scip seemed muce as it had been before, while in þe belt of foam, oþer þan þat sce nue lay more along. Ice gaþered dute, and looked onse ayen upon þe site.

Nefer scall ice foryet þe anyets of aye, brow, and wunder wiþ whice ice looked abute me. Þe boat seemed to be hanging, as if by drycraft, midway dune, upon þe inside wall of a flew widegale in felly, great in depþ, and whose utterly smooþ walls mite hafe been þawt rafenflint, but for þe bewildering speed wiþ whice hie spun abute, and for þe gleaming and gastly briteness hie scot forþ, as þe beams of þe full moon, from þat sinwelt rift amid þe cludes whice ice hafe already reced, streamed in a flood of golden wolder along þe black walls, and far away dune into þe inmost halks of þe newelness.

At first ice was too muce mased to how anyþing trewly. Þe mean berst of ayful mearþ was all þat ice beheld. When ice bootened myself a littel, huefer, my site fell þawtlessly duneward. In þis way ice cood yet an unhindered site, from þe way in whice þe smack hung on þe sloped bred of þe pool. Sce was full upon an efen ceal—þat is to say, her þilling lay in line wiþ þat bred of þe water—but þis latter sloped at a whem of more þan fife-and-forty kerfs, so þat we seemed to be lying upon ure beamends. Ice cood not help ayetting, neferþeless, þat ice had littel more hardscip in keeping my hold and footing in þis stead, þan if we had been upon a dead flat; and þis, ice ween, was owing to þe speed at whice we wharfed.

Þe beams of þe moon seemed to seece þe bottom itself of þe newel bite; but still ice cood make ute noþing suttel, owing to a þick mist in whice eferyþing þere was beclipt, and ofer whice þere hung a þromly rainbow, like þat narrow and tottering bridge whice Sarakens say is þe only paþway between Time and Eferness. Þis mist, or anip, was no twee broken nue and þen by þe clascing of þe great walls of þe flew, as hie all met togeþer at þe bottom—but þe yell þat went up to þe Heafens from ute of þat mist, ice dare not fand to rece.

Ure first slide into þe newelness itself, from þe belt of foam abufe, had born us a great farl dune þe slope; but ure farþer dunegang was by no means efen. Umb and umb we swept—not wiþ any strait scriþing—but in disying swings and tugs, þat sent us sumtimes only a few hundred yards—sumtimes nearly þe hole umbgang of þe whirl. Ure way duneward, at eace wharfing, was slow, but ayettenly.

Looking abute me upon þe wide weasten of flowing black on whice we were þus born, ice ayetted þat ure boat was not þe only þing in þe halse of þe whirl. Boþ abufe and beneaþ us were seenly stices of scips, great heaps of bilding timber and stocks of trees, wiþ many smaller þings, suce as deals of idisce, broken boxes, tuns and stafes. Ice hafe already reced þe unkindly firwit whice had nimmen þe stead of my former frite. It seemed to grow upon me as ice drew nearer and nearer to my dreadful doom. Ice nue began to wace, wiþ a ferly grip, þe sundry þings þat floated wiþ us. Ice must hafe been mad—for ice efen sawt lake in foretelling þe speeds of hir sundry dunegangs toward þe foam beneaþ. ‘Þis fir tree,’ ice fund myself at one time saying, ‘will wisly be þe next þing þat nims þe ayful dife and swinds,’—and þen ice was let dune to find þat þe wreck of a Duce ceaping scip ofernum it and went dune before. At lengþ, after making many scots of þis kind, and being belirted in all—þis trewþ—þe trewþ of my set misreckoning—set me upon a paþ of þawt þat made my lims scake ayen, and my heart beat heafily onse more.

It was not a new brow þat þus rined me, but þe dawn of a more whetting hope. Þis hope arose in deal from min, and in deal from anward ayetting. Ice cied to mind þe great sundering of floatworþy anwork þat strewed þe score of Lofoden, hafing been drawn in and þen þrown forþ by þe Moskoestrom. By far þe greater tale of þe þings were scattered in þe greatest way—so worn and ruffened as to hafe þe ansen of being stuck full of spelds—but þen ice munned þat þere were sum of hem whice were not wemmed at all. Nue ice cood not rece þis sced but by weening þat þe ruffened þings were þe only ones whice had been holey drawn in—þat þe oþers had infared þe whirl at so late a time of þe tide, or for sum inting, had fallen so slowly after infaring, þat hie reaced not þe bottom before þe wend of þe flood came, or of þe ebb, as þe time mite be. Ice þawt it mitely, in ayþer fall, þat hie mite þus be whirled up ayen to þe hite of þe seas bred, wiþute undergoing þe orlay of þose whice had been drawn in earlier, or swifter. Ice made, also, þree waity underyettings. Þe first was, þat, as a mean ea, þe greater þe bodies were, þe swifter hir dunegang—þe oþer, þat, between two bodies of efen great, þe one a trendel, and þe oþer of any oþer scape, þe greater in duneward speed was þe trendel—þe þird, þat, between two þings of efen great, þe one sinwelt, and þe oþer of any oþer scape, þe sinwelt one was drawn in þe more slowly. Sinse my atwinding, ice hafe had many mootings wiþ an old teacer of þe scire; and it was from him þat ice learned þe brooking of þe words ‘sinwelt’ and ‘trendel’ in þis way. He reced to me—alþow ice hafe foryetten þe recing—hue what ice underyat was, indeed, þe kindly utecum of þe scapes of þe floating stices—and scowed me hue it befell þat a sinwelt þing, swimming in a whirlpool, yafe more wiþering to its suck, and was drawn in wiþ greater hardscip þan a body of efen great, of any scape whatsoefer.

Þere was one starteling deal of þe umbstandness whice went a great way in drifing þese underyettings, and making me umbhow to make good of hem, and þis was þat, at efery wharfing, we went by sumþing like a tun, or else þe yard or þe mast of þe scip, while many of þese þings, whice had been at þe same depþ as us when ice first opened my eyes upon þe wunders of þe whirlpool, were nue hie up abufe us, and seemed to hafe scriþen but littel from hir form stead.

Ice no longer diþered on what to do. Ice made to lasce myself sickerly to þe water bidden upon whice ice nue held, to sniþe it free from þe þilling, and to þrow myself wiþ it into þe water. Ice drew my broþers heed by beckons, put my finger to þe floating tuns þat came near us, and did eferyþing in my mite to make him understand what ice was abute to do. Ice þawt at lengþ þat he understood my plot—but, wheþer þis was þe fall or not, he scook his head hopelessly, and werned to leafe his stead by þe ringbolt. It was unmitely to reace him; þe plite at hand brooked no stalling; and so, wiþ bitter tears, ice left him to his orlay, fastened myself to þe tun by means of þe lascings whice fastened it to þe þilling, and þrew myself wiþ it into þe sea, wiþute anoþer britoms diþering.

Þe utecum was rite what ice had hoped it mite be. As it is myself who nue tell þee þis tale—as þy see þat ice atwinded indeed—and as þue knowest already þe way in whice þis atwinding befell, and must þerefore foresee all þat ice hafe farþer to say—ice will bring my tale cwickly to end. It mite hafe been a stund, or þereabute, after my leafing þe smack, when, hafing wharfed to a great farl beneaþ me, it made þree or fore wild spins in swift row, and, bearing my lufed broþer wiþ it, dofe headlong, at onse and forefer, into þe dwolm of foam beneaþ. Þe bidden to whice ice was fayed sunk full littel farþer þan half þe farl between þe bottom of þe maw and þe splot at whice ice leapt oferboard, before a great wend befell in þe eard of þe whirlpool. Þe slope of þe sides of þe widegale flew became slitely less and less steep. Þe wharfings of þe whirl grew, stepwise, less and less heast. By steps, þe foam and þe rainbow swinded, and þe bottom of þe maw seemed slowly to uprise. Þe heafens were tort, þe winds had gone dune, and þe full moon was setting britely in þe west, when ice fund myself on þe bred of þe sea, in full site of þe scores of Lofoden, and abufe þe splot where þe pool of þe Moskoestrom had been. It was þe stund of þe slack—but þe sea still heafed in barrowisce wafes from þe rines of þe ist. Ice was born heastly into þe fleet of þe Strom, and in a few minnits was hurried dune þe score into þe ‘grunds’ of þe fiscermen. A boat picked me up—forspent from weariness—and (nue þat þe plee was gone) speeceless from þe min of its brow. Þose who drew me on board were my old fellows and daily mets—but hie knew me no more þan hie wood hafe known a wayfarer from þe underworld. My hair whice had been rafen black þe day before, was as white as þue seest it nue. Ice told hem my tale—and hie beleefed it not. Ice tell it nue to þee—and ice can hardly hite þue to put more troþ in it þan put þe merry fiscermen of Lofoden.”