I had always intended,ever since my conversation with Mr.T.about the Malstrom,to have called in at Loffoden Islands on our way south,and ascertain for myself the real truth about this famous vortex.To have blotted such a bugbear out of the map of Europe,if its existence really was a myth,would at all events have rendered our cruise not altogether fruitless.But,since leaving Spitzbergen,we had never once seen the sun,and to attempt to make so dangerous a coast in a gale of wind and a thick mist,with no more certain knowledge of the ship's position than our dead reckoning afforded,was out of the question,so about one o'clock in the morning,the weather giving no signs of improvement,the course I had shaped in the direction of the island was altered,and we stood away again to the southward.This manoeuvre was not unobserved by Wilson,but he mistook its meaning.
Having,I suppose,overheard us talking at dinner about the Malstrom,he now concluded the supreme hour had arrived.He did not exactly comprehend the terms we used,but had gathered that the spot was one fraught with danger.Concluding from the change made in the vessel's course that we were proceeding towards the dreadful locality,he gave himself up to despair,and lay tossing in his hammock in sleepless anxiety.At last the load of his forebodings was greater than he could bear,he gets up,steals into the Doctor's cabin,wakes him up,and standing over him--as the messenger of ill tidings once stood over Priam--whispers,"SIR!""What is it?"says Fitz,thinking,perhaps,some one was ill."Do you know where we are going?""Why,to Throndhjem,"answered Fitz.
"We were going to Throndhjem,"rejoins Wilson,"but we ain't now--the vessel's course was altered two hours ago.
Oh,Sir!we are going to Whirlpool-to WHIRL-RL-POOO-L!
Sir!"in a quaver of consternation,--and so glides back to bed like a phantom,leaving the Doctor utterly unable to divine the occasion of his visit.
The whole of the next day the gale continued.We had now sailed back into night;it became therefore a question how far it would be advisable to carry on during the ensuing hours of darkness,considering how uncertain we were as to our real position.As I think I have already described to you,the west coast of Norway is very dangerous;a continuous sheet of sunken rocks lies out along its entire edge for eight or ten miles to sea.
There are no lighthouses to warn the mariner off;and if we were wrong in our reckoning,as we might very well be,it was possible we might stumble on the land sooner than we expected.I knew the proper course would be to lie to quietly until we could take an observation;but time was so valuable,and I was so fearful you would be getting anxious.The night was pretty clear.High mountains,such as we were expecting to make,would be seen,even at night,several miles off.According to our log we were still 150miles off the land,and,however inaccurate our calculation might be,the error could not be of such magnitude as that amounted to.To throw away so fair a wind seemed such a pity,especially as it might be days before the sun appeared;we had already been at sea about a fortnight without a sight of him,and his appearance at all during the summer is not an act DE RIGUEUR in this part of the world;we might spend yet another fortnight in lying to,and then after all have to poke our way blindfold to the coast;at all events it would be soon enough to lie to the next night.Such were the considerations,which--after an anxious consultation with Mr.Wyse in the cabin,and much fingering of the charts,--determined me to carry on during the night.
Nevertheless,I confess I was very uneasy,Though I went to bed and fell asleep--for at sea nothing prevents that process--my slumbers were constantly agitated by the most vivid dreams that I ever remember to have had.Dreams of an arrival in England,and your coming down to meet us,and all the pleasure I had in recounting our adventures to you;then suddenly your face seemed to fade away beneath a veil of angry grey surge that broke over low,sharp-pointed rocks;and the next moment there resounded over the ship that cry which has been the preface to so many a disaster--the ring of which,none who have ever heard it are likely to forget--"Breakers ahead!"In a moment I was on deck,dressed--for it is always best to dress,--and there,sure enough,right ahead,about a mile and a half off,through the mist,which had come on very thick,I could distinguish the upward shooting fluff of seas shattering against rocks.No land was to be seen,but the line of breakers every instant became more evident;at the pace we were going,in seven or eight minutes we should be upon them.Now,thought I to myself,we shall see whether a stout heart beats beneath the silk tartan!
