Chapter X: Part 10

“It was at this juncture that Mr. Monck Mason (whose voyage from
Dover to Weilburg in the balloon, “Nassau,” occasioned so much
excitement in 1837,) conceived the idea of employing the
principle of the Archimedean screw for the purpose of propulsion
through the air—rightly attributing the failure of Mr. Henson’s
scheme, and of Sir George Cayley’s, to the interruption of
surface in the independent vanes. He made the first public
experiment at Willis’s Rooms, but afterward removed his model to
the Adelaide Gallery.

“Like Sir George Cayley’s balloon, his own was an ellipsoid. Its
length was thirteen feet six inches—height, six feet eight
inches. It contained about three hundred and twenty cubic feet of
gas, which, if pure hydrogen, would support twenty-one pounds
upon its first inflation, before the gas has time to deteriorate
or escape. The weight of the whole machine and apparatus was
seventeen pounds—leaving about four pounds to spare. Beneath the
centre of the balloon, was a frame of light wood, about nine feet
long, and rigged on to the balloon itself with a network in the
customary manner. From this framework was suspended a wicker
basket or car.

“The screw consists of an axis of hollow brass tube, eighteen
inches in length, through which, upon a semi-spiral inclined at
fifteen degrees, pass a series of steel wire radii, two feet
long, and thus projecting a foot on either side. These radii are
connected at the outer extremities by two bands of flattened
wire—the whole in this manner forming the framework of the screw,
which is completed by a covering of oiled silk cut into gores,
and tightened so as to present a tolerably uniform surface. At
each end of its axis this screw is supported by pillars of hollow
brass tube descending from the hoop. In the lower ends of these
tubes are holes in which the pivots of the axis revolve. From the
end of the axis which is next the car, proceeds a shaft of steel,
connecting the screw with the pinion of a piece of spring
machinery fixed in the car. By the operation of this spring, the
screw is made to revolve with great rapidity, communicating a
progressive motion to the whole. By means of the rudder, the
machine was readily turned in any direction. The spring was of
great power, compared with its dimensions, being capable of
raising forty-five pounds upon a barrel of four inches diameter,
after the first turn, and gradually increasing as it was wound
up. It weighed, altogether, eight pounds six ounces. The rudder
was a light frame of cane covered with silk, shaped somewhat like
a battle-door, and was about three feet long, and at the widest,
one foot. Its weight was about two ounces. It could be turned
_flat_, and directed upwards or downwards, as well as to the
right or left; and thus enabled the æronaut to transfer the
resistance of the air which in an inclined position it must
generate in its passage, to any side upon which he might desire
to act; thus determining the balloon in the opposite direction.

“This model (which, through want of time, we have necessarily
described in an imperfect manner,) was put in action at the
Adelaide Gallery, where it accomplished a velocity of five miles
per hour; although, strange to say, it excited very little
interest in comparison with the previous complex machine of Mr.
Henson—so resolute is the world to despise anything which carries
with it an air of simplicity. To accomplish the great desideratum
of ærial navigation, it was very generally supposed that some
exceedingly complicated application must be made of some
unusually profound principle in dynamics.

“So well satisfied, however, was Mr. Mason of the ultimate
success of his invention, that he determined to construct
immediately, if possible, a balloon of sufficient capacity to
test the question by a voyage of some extent—the original design
being to cross the British Channel, as before, in the Nassau
balloon. To carry out his views, he solicited and obtained the
patronage of Sir Everard Bringhurst and Mr. Osborne, two
gentlemen well known for scientific acquirement, and especially
for the interest they have exhibited in the progress of
ærostation. The project, at the desire of Mr. Osborne, was kept a
profound secret from the public—the only persons entrusted with
the design being those actually engaged in the construction of
the machine, which was built (under the superintendence of Mr.
Mason, Mr. Holland, Sir Everard Bringhurst, and Mr. Osborne,) at
the seat of the latter gentleman near Penstruthal, in Wales. Mr.
Henson, accompanied by his friend Mr. Ainsworth, was admitted to
a private view of the balloon, on Saturday last—when the two
gentlemen made final arrangements to be included in the
adventure. We are not informed for what reason the two seamen
were also included in the party—but, in the course of a day or
two, we shall put our readers in possession of the minutest
particulars respecting this extraordinary voyage.

“The balloon is composed of silk, varnished with the liquid gum
caoutchouc. It is of vast dimensions, containing more than 40,000
cubic feet of gas; but as coal gas was employed in place of the
more expensive and inconvenient hydrogen, the supporting power of
the machine, when fully inflated, and immediately after
inflation, is not more than about 2500 pounds. The coal gas is
not only much less costly, but is easily procured and managed.

“For its introduction into common use for purposes of
aerostation, we are indebted to Mr. Charles Green. Up to his
discovery, the process of inflation was not only exceedingly
expensive, but uncertain. Two, and even three days, have
frequently been wasted in futile attempts to procure a
sufficiency of hydrogen to fill a balloon, from which it had
great tendency to escape, owing to its extreme subtlety, and its
affinity for the surrounding atmosphere. In a balloon
sufficiently perfect to retain its contents of coal-gas
unaltered, in quantity or amount, for six months, an equal
quantity of hydrogen could not be maintained in equal purity for
six weeks.

“The supporting power being estimated at 2500 pounds, and the
united weights of the party amounting only to about 1200, there
was left a surplus of 1300, of which again 1200 was exhausted by
ballast, arranged in bags of different sizes, with their
respective weights marked upon them—by cordage, barometers,
telescopes, barrels containing provision for a fortnight,
water-casks, cloaks, carpet-bags, and various other indispensable
matters, including a coffee-warmer, contrived for warming coffee
by means of slack-lime, so as to dispense altogether with fire,
if it should be judged prudent to do so. All these articles, with
the exception of the ballast, and a few trifles, were suspended
from the hoop overhead. The car is much smaller and lighter, in
proportion, than the one appended to the model. It is formed of a
light wicker, and is wonderfully strong, for so frail looking a
machine. Its rim is about four feet deep. The rudder is also very
much larger, in proportion, than that of the model; and the screw
is considerably smaller. The balloon is furnished besides with a
grapnel, and a guide-rope; which latter is of the most
indispensable importance. A few words, in explanation, will here
be necessary for such of our readers as are not conversant with
the details of aerostation.

“As soon as the balloon quits the earth, it is subjected to the
influence of many circumstances tending to create a difference in
its weight; augmenting or diminishing its ascending power. For
example, there may be a deposition of dew upon the silk, to the
extent, even, of several hundred pounds; ballast has then to be
thrown out, or the machine may descend. This ballast being
discarded, and a clear sunshine evaporating the dew, and at the
same time expanding the gas in the silk, the whole will again
rapidly ascend. To check this ascent, the only recourse is, (or
rather _was_, until Mr. Green’s invention of the guide-rope,) the
permission of the escape of gas from the valve; but, in the loss
of gas, is a proportionate general loss of ascending power; so
that, in a comparatively brief period, the best-constructed
balloon must necessarily exhaust all its resources, and come to
the earth. This was the great obstacle to voyages of length.

“The guide-rope remedies the difficulty in the simplest manner
conceivable. It is merely a very long rope which is suffered to
trail from the car, and the effect of which is to prevent the
balloon from changing its level in any material degree. If, for
example, there should be a deposition of moisture upon the silk,
and the machine begins to descend in consequence, there will be
no necessity for discharging ballast to remedy the increase of
weight, for it is remedied, or counteracted, in an exactly just
proportion, by the deposit on the ground of just so much of the
end of the rope as is necessary. If, on the other hand, any
circumstances should cause undue levity, and consequent ascent,
this levity is immediately counteracted by the additional weight
of rope upraised from the earth. Thus, the balloon can neither
ascend or descend, except within very narrow limits, and its
resources, either in gas or ballast, remain comparatively
unimpaired. When passing over an expanse of water, it becomes
necessary to employ small kegs of copper or wood, filled with
liquid ballast of a lighter nature than water. These float, and
serve all the purposes of a mere rope on land. Another most
important office of the guide-rope, is to point out the
_direction_ of the balloon. The rope _drags_, either on land or
sea, while the balloon is free; the latter, consequently, is
always in advance, when any progress whatever is made: a
comparison, therefore, by means of the compass, of the relative
positions of the two objects, will always indicate the _course_.
In the same way, the angle formed by the rope with the vertical
axis of the machine, indicates the _velocity_. When there is _no_
angle—in other words, when the rope hangs perpendicularly, the
whole apparatus is stationary; but the larger the angle, that is
to say, the farther the balloon precedes the end of the rope, the
greater the velocity; and the converse.

“As the original design was to cross the British Channel, and
alight as near Paris as possible, the voyagers had taken the
precaution to prepare themselves with passports directed to all
parts of the Continent, specifying the nature of the expedition,
as in the case of the Nassau voyage, and entitling the
adventurers to exemption from the usual formalities of office:
unexpected events, however, rendered these passports superfluous.

“The inflation was commenced very quietly at daybreak, on
Saturday morning, the 6th instant, in the Court-Yard of Weal-Vor
House, Mr. Osborne’s seat, about a mile from Penstruthal, in
North Wales; and at 7 minutes past 11, every thing being ready
for departure, the balloon was set free, rising gently but
steadily, in a direction nearly South; no use being made, for the
first half hour, of either the screw or the rudder. We proceed
now with the journal, as transcribed by Mr. Forsyth from the
joint MSS. of Mr. Monck Mason, and Mr. Ainsworth. The body of the
journal, as given, is in the hand-writing of Mr. Mason, and a P.
S. is appended, each day, by Mr. Ainsworth, who has in
preparation, and will shortly give the public a more minute, and
no doubt, a thrillingly interesting account of the voyage.

“THE JOURNAL.

“_Saturday, April the 6th_.—Every preparation likely to embarrass
us, having been made over night, we commenced the inflation this
morning at daybreak; but owing to a thick fog, which encumbered
the folds of the silk and rendered it unmanageable, we did not
get through before nearly eleven o’clock. Cut loose, then, in
high spirits, and rose gently but steadily, with a light breeze
at North, which bore us in the direction of the British Channel.
Found the ascending force greater than we had expected; and as we
arose higher and so got clear of the cliffs, and more in the
sun’s rays, our ascent became very rapid. I did not wish,
however, to lose gas at so early a period of the adventure, and
so concluded to ascend for the present. We soon ran out our
guide-rope; but even when we had raised it clear of the earth, we
still went up very rapidly. The balloon was unusually steady, and
looked beautifully. In about ten minutes after starting, the
barometer indicated an altitude of 15,000 feet. The weather was
remarkably fine, and the view of the subjacent country—a most
romantic one when seen from any point,—was now especially
sublime. The numerous deep gorges presented the appearance of
lakes, on account of the dense vapors with which they were
filled, and the pinnacles and crags to the South East, piled in
inextricable confusion, resembling nothing so much as the giant
cities of eastern fable. We were rapidly approaching the
mountains in the South; but our elevation was more than
sufficient to enable us to pass them in safety. In a few minutes
we soared over them in fine style; and Mr. Ainsworth, with the
seamen, was surprised at their apparent want of altitude when
viewed from the car, the tendency of great elevation in a balloon
being to reduce inequalities of the surface below, to nearly a
dead level. At half-past eleven still proceeding nearly South, we
obtained our first view of the Bristol Channel; and, in fifteen
minutes afterward, the line of breakers on the coast appeared
immediately beneath us, and we were fairly out at sea. We now
resolved to let off enough gas to bring our guide-rope, with the
buoys affixed, into the water. This was immediately done, and we
commenced a gradual descent. In about twenty minutes our first
buoy dipped, and at the touch of the second soon afterwards, we
remained stationary as to elevation. We were all now anxious to
test the efficiency of the rudder and screw, and we put them both
into requisition forthwith, for the purpose of altering our
direction more to the eastward, and in a line for Paris. By means
of the rudder we instantly effected the necessary change of
direction, and our course was brought nearly at right angles to
that of the wind; when we set in motion the spring of the screw,
and were rejoiced to find it propel us readily as desired. Upon
this we gave nine hearty cheers, and dropped in the sea a bottle,
enclosing a slip of parchment with a brief account of the
principle of the invention. Hardly, however, had we done with our
rejoicings, when an unforeseen accident occurred which
discouraged us in no little degree. The steel rod connecting the
spring with the propeller was suddenly jerked out of place, at
the car end, (by a swaying of the car through some movement of
one of the two seamen we had taken up,) and in an instant hung
dangling out of reach, from the pivot of the axis of the screw.
While we were endeavoring to regain it, our attention being
completely absorbed, we became involved in a strong current of
wind from the East, which bore us, with rapidly increasing force,
towards the Atlantic. We soon found ourselves driving out to sea
at the rate of not less, certainly, than fifty or sixty miles an
hour, so that we came up with Cape Clear, at some forty miles to
our North, before we had secured the rod, and had time to think
what we were about. It was now that Mr. Ainsworth made an
extraordinary, but to my fancy, a by no means unreasonable or
chimerical proposition, in which he was instantly seconded by Mr.
Holland—viz.: that we should take advantage of the strong gale
which bore us on, and in place of beating back to Paris, make an
attempt to reach the coast of North America. After slight
reflection I gave a willing assent to this bold proposition,
which (strange to say) met with objection from the two seamen
only. As the stronger party, however, we overruled their fears,
and kept resolutely upon our course. We steered due West; but as
the trailing of the buoys materially impeded our progress, and we
had the balloon abundantly at command, either for ascent or
descent, we first threw out fifty pounds of ballast, and then
wound up (by means of a windlass) so much of the rope as brought
it quite clear of the sea. We perceived the effect of this
manoeuvre immediately, in a vastly increased rate of progress;
and, as the gale freshened, we flew with a velocity nearly
inconceivable; the guide-rope flying out behind the car, like a
streamer from a vessel. It is needless to say that a very short
time sufficed us to lose sight of the coast. We passed over
innumerable vessels of all kinds, a few of which were endeavoring
to beat up, but the most of them lying to. We occasioned the
greatest excitement on board all—an excitement greatly relished
by ourselves, and especially by our two men, who, now under the
influence of a dram of Geneva, seemed resolved to give all
scruple, or fear, to the wind. Many of the vessels fired signal
guns; and in all we were saluted with loud cheers (which we heard
with surprising distinctness) and the waving of caps and
handkerchiefs. We kept on in this manner throughout the day, with
no material incident, and, as the shades of night closed around
us, we made a rough estimate of the distance traversed. It could
not have been less than five hundred miles, and was probably much
more. The propeller was kept in constant operation, and, no
doubt, aided our progress materially. As the sun went down, the
gale freshened into an absolute hurricane, and the ocean beneath
was clearly visible on account of its phosphorescence. The wind
was from the East all night, and gave us the brightest omen of
success. We suffered no little from cold, and the dampness of the
atmosphere was most unpleasant; but the ample space in the car
enabled us to lie down, and by means of cloaks and a few
blankets, we did sufficiently well.

“P.S. (by Mr. Ainsworth.) The last nine hours have been
unquestionably the most exciting of my life. I can conceive
nothing more sublimating than the strange peril and novelty of an
adventure such as this. May God grant that we succeed! I ask not
success for mere safety to my insignificant person, but for the
sake of human knowledge and—for the vastness of the triumph. And
yet the feat is only so evidently feasible that the sole wonder
is why men have scrupled to attempt it before. One single gale
such as now befriends us—let such a tempest whirl forward a
balloon for four or five days (these gales often last longer) and
the voyager will be easily borne, in that period, from coast to
coast. In view of such a gale the broad Atlantic becomes a mere
lake. I am more struck, just now, with the supreme silence which
reigns in the sea beneath us, notwithstanding its agitation, than
with any other phenomenon presenting itself. The waters give up
no voice to the heavens. The immense flaming ocean writhes and is
tortured uncomplainingly. The mountainous surges suggest the idea
of innumerable dumb gigantic fiends struggling in impotent agony.
In a night such as is this to me, a man _lives_—lives a whole
century of ordinary life—nor would I forego this rapturous
delight for that of a whole century of ordinary existence.

“_Sunday, the seventh_. [Mr. Mason’s MS.] This morning the gale,
by 10, had subsided to an eight or nine—knot breeze, (for a
vessel at sea,) and bears us, perhaps, thirty miles per hour, or
more. It has veered, however, very considerably to the north; and
now, at sundown, we are holding our course due west, principally
by the screw and rudder, which answer their purposes to
admiration. I regard the project as thoroughly successful, and
the easy navigation of the air in any direction (not exactly in
the teeth of a gale) as no longer problematical. We could not
have made head against the strong wind of yesterday; but, by
ascending, we might have got out of its influence, if requisite.
Against a pretty stiff breeze, I feel convinced, we can make our
way with the propeller. At noon, to-day, ascended to an elevation
of nearly 25,000 feet, by discharging ballast. Did this to search
for a more direct current, but found none so favorable as the one
we are now in. We have an abundance of gas to take us across this
small pond, even should the voyage last three weeks. I have not
the slightest fear for the result. The difficulty has been
strangely exaggerated and misapprehended. I can choose my
current, and should I find _all_ currents against me, I can make
very tolerable headway with the propeller. We have had no
incidents worth recording. The night promises fair.

P.S. [By Mr. Ainsworth.] I have little to record, except the fact
(to me quite a surprising one) that, at an elevation equal to
that of Cotopaxi, I experienced neither very intense cold, nor
headache, nor difficulty of breathing; neither, I find, did Mr.
Mason, nor Mr. Holland, nor Sir Everard. Mr. Osborne complained
of constriction of the chest—but this soon wore off. We have
flown at a great rate during the day, and we must be more than
half way across the Atlantic. We have passed over some twenty or
thirty vessels of various kinds, and all seem to be delightfully
astonished. Crossing the ocean in a balloon is not so difficult a
feat after all. _Omne ignotum pro magnifico. Mem:_ at 25,000 feet
elevation the sky appears nearly black, and the stars are
distinctly visible; while the sea does not seem convex (as one
might suppose) but absolutely and most unequivocally
_concave_.(*1)

“_Monday, the 8th_. [Mr. Mason’s MS.] This morning we had again
some little trouble with the rod of the propeller, which must be
entirely remodelled, for fear of serious accident—I mean the
steel rod—not the vanes. The latter could not be improved. The
wind has been blowing steadily and strongly from the north-east
all day and so far fortune seems bent upon favoring us. Just
before day, we were all somewhat alarmed at some odd noises and
concussions in the balloon, accompanied with the apparent rapid
subsidence of the whole machine. These phenomena were occasioned
by the expansion of the gas, through increase of heat in the
atmosphere, and the consequent disruption of the minute particles
of ice with which the network had become encrusted during the
night. Threw down several bottles to the vessels below. Saw one
of them picked up by a large ship—seemingly one of the New York
line packets. Endeavored to make out her name, but could not be
sure of it. Mr. Osborne’s telescope made it out something like
“Atalanta.” It is now 12, at night, and we are still going nearly
west, at a rapid pace. The sea is peculiarly phosphorescent.

“P.S. [By Mr. Ainsworth.] It is now 2, A.M., and nearly calm, as
well as I can judge—but it is very difficult to determine this
point, since we move _with_ the air so completely. I have not
slept since quitting Wheal-Vor, but can stand it no longer, and
must take a nap. We cannot be far from the American coast.

“_Tuesday, the_ 9_th_. [Mr. Ainsworth’s MS.] _One, P.M. We are in
full view of the low coast of South Carolina_. The great problem
is accomplished. We have crossed the Atlantic—fairly and _easily_
crossed it in a balloon! God be praised! Who shall say that
anything is impossible hereafter?”

The Journal here ceases. Some particulars of the descent were
communicated, however, by Mr. Ainsworth to Mr. Forsyth. It was
nearly dead calm when the voyagers first came in view of the
coast, which was immediately recognized by both the seamen, and
by Mr. Osborne. The latter gentleman having acquaintances at Fort
Moultrie, it was immediately resolved to descend in its vicinity.
The balloon was brought over the beach (the tide being out and
the sand hard, smooth, and admirably adapted for a descent,) and
the grapnel let go, which took firm hold at once. The inhabitants
of the island, and of the fort, thronged out, of course, to see
the balloon; but it was with the greatest difficulty that any one
could be made to credit the actual voyage—_the crossing of the
Atlantic_. The grapnel caught at 2, P.M., precisely; and thus the
whole voyage was completed in seventy-five hours; or rather less,
counting from shore to shore. No serious accident occurred. No
real danger was at any time apprehended. The balloon was
exhausted and secured without trouble; and when the MS. from
which this narrative is compiled was despatched from Charleston,
the party were still at Fort Moultrie. Their farther intentions
were not ascertained; but we can safely promise our readers some
additional information either on Monday or in the course of the
next day, at farthest.

This is unquestionably the most stupendous, the most interesting,
and the most important undertaking, ever accomplished or even
attempted by man. What magnificent events may ensue, it would be
useless now to think of determining.

(*1) _Note_.—Mr. Ainsworth has not attempted to account for this
phenomenon, which, however, is quite susceptible of explanation.
A line dropped from an elevation of 25,000 feet, perpendicularly
to the surface of the earth (or sea), would form the
perpendicular of a right-angled triangle, of which the base would
extend from the right angle to the horizon, and the hypothenuse
from the horizon to the balloon. But the 25,000 feet of altitude
is little or nothing, in comparison with the extent of the
prospect. In other words, the base and hypothenuse of the
supposed triangle would be so long when compared with the
perpendicular, that the two former may be regarded as nearly
parallel. In this manner the horizon of the æronaut would appear
to be _on a level_ with the car. But, as the point immediately
beneath him seems, and is, at a great distance below him, it
seems, of course, also, at a great distance below the horizon.
Hence the impression of _concavity_; and this impression must
remain, until the elevation shall bear so great a proportion to
the extent of prospect, that the apparent parallelism of the base
and hypothenuse disappears—when the earth’s real convexity must
become apparent.

MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE

Qui n’a plus qu’un moment a vivre N’a plus rien a dissimuler.

—Quinault—Atys.

Of my country and of my family I have little to say. Ill usage
and length of years have driven me from the one, and estranged me
from the other. Hereditary wealth afforded me an education of no
common order, and a contemplative turn of mind enabled me to
methodize the stores which early study very diligently garnered
up.—Beyond all things, the study of the German moralists gave me
great delight; not from any ill-advised admiration of their
eloquent madness, but from the ease with which my habits of rigid
thought enabled me to detect their falsities. I have often been
reproached with the aridity of my genius; a deficiency of
imagination has been imputed to me as a crime; and the Pyrrhonism
of my opinions has at all times rendered me notorious. Indeed, a
strong relish for physical philosophy has, I fear, tinctured my
mind with a very common error of this age—I mean the habit of
referring occurrences, even the least susceptible of such
reference, to the principles of that science. Upon the whole, no
person could be less liable than myself to be led away from the
severe precincts of truth by the ignes fatui of superstition. I
have thought proper to premise thus much, lest the incredible
tale I have to tell should be considered rather the raving of a
crude imagination, than the positive experience of a mind to
which the reveries of fancy have been a dead letter and a
nullity.

After many years spent in foreign travel, I sailed in the year
18— , from the port of Batavia, in the rich and populous island
of Java, on a voyage to the Archipelago of the Sunda islands. I
went as passenger—having no other inducement than a kind of
nervous restlessness which haunted me as a fiend.

Our vessel was a beautiful ship of about four hundred tons,
copper-fastened, and built at Bombay of Malabar teak. She was
freighted with cotton-wool and oil, from the Lachadive islands.
We had also on board coir, jaggeree, ghee, cocoa-nuts, and a few
cases of opium. The stowage was clumsily done, and the vessel
consequently crank.

We got under way with a mere breath of wind, and for many days
stood along the eastern coast of Java, without any other incident
to beguile the monotony of our course than the occasional meeting
with some of the small grabs of the Archipelago to which we were
bound.

One evening, leaning over the taffrail, I observed a very
singular, isolated cloud, to the N.W. It was remarkable, as well
for its color, as from its being the first we had seen since our
departure from Batavia. I watched it attentively until sunset,
when it spread all at once to the eastward and westward, girting
in the horizon with a narrow strip of vapor, and looking like a
long line of low beach. My notice was soon afterwards attracted
by the dusky-red appearance of the moon, and the peculiar
character of the sea. The latter was undergoing a rapid change,
and the water seemed more than usually transparent. Although I
could distinctly see the bottom, yet, heaving the lead, I found
the ship in fifteen fathoms. The air now became intolerably hot,
and was loaded with spiral exhalations similar to those arising
from heat iron. As night came on, every breath of wind died away,
an more entire calm it is impossible to conceive. The flame of a
candle burned upon the poop without the least perceptible motion,
and a long hair, held between the finger and thumb, hung without
the possibility of detecting a vibration. However, as the captain
said he could perceive no indication of danger, and as we were
drifting in bodily to shore, he ordered the sails to be furled,
and the anchor let go. No watch was set, and the crew, consisting
principally of Malays, stretched themselves deliberately upon
deck. I went below—not without a full presentiment of evil.
Indeed, every appearance warranted me in apprehending a Simoom. I
told the captain my fears; but he paid no attention to what I
said, and left me without deigning to give a reply. My
uneasiness, however, prevented me from sleeping, and about
midnight I went upon deck. As I placed my foot upon the upper
step of the companion-ladder, I was startled by a loud, humming
noise, like that occasioned by the rapid revolution of a
mill-wheel, and before I could ascertain its meaning, I found the
ship quivering to its centre. In the next instant, a wilderness
of foam hurled us upon our beam-ends, and, rushing over us fore
and aft, swept the entire decks from stem to stern.

The extreme fury of the blast proved, in a great measure, the
salvation of the ship. Although completely water-logged, yet, as
her masts had gone by the board, she rose, after a minute,
heavily from the sea, and, staggering awhile beneath the immense
pressure of the tempest, finally righted.

By what miracle I escaped destruction, it is impossible to say.
Stunned by the shock of the water, I found myself, upon recovery,
jammed in between the stern-post and rudder. With great
difficulty I gained my feet, and looking dizzily around, was, at
first, struck with the idea of our being among breakers; so
terrific, beyond the wildest imagination, was the whirlpool of
mountainous and foaming ocean within which we were engulfed.
After a while, I heard the voice of an old Swede, who had shipped
with us at the moment of our leaving port. I hallooed to him with
all my strength, and presently he came reeling aft. We soon
discovered that we were the sole survivors of the accident. All
on deck, with the exception of ourselves, had been swept
overboard;—the captain and mates must have perished as they
slept, for the cabins were deluged with water. Without
assistance, we could expect to do little for the security of the
ship, and our exertions were at first paralyzed by the momentary
expectation of going down. Our cable had, of course, parted like
pack-thread, at the first breath of the hurricane, or we should
have been instantaneously overwhelmed. We scudded with frightful
velocity before the sea, and the water made clear breaches over
us. The frame-work of our stern was shattered excessively, and,
in almost every respect, we had received considerable injury; but
to our extreme joy we found the pumps unchoked, and that we had
made no great shifting of our ballast. The main fury of the blast
had already blown over, and we apprehended little danger from the
violence of the wind; but we looked forward to its total
cessation with dismay; well believing, that, in our shattered
condition, we should inevitably perish in the tremendous swell
which would ensue. But this very just apprehension seemed by no
means likely to be soon verified. For five entire days and
nights—during which our only subsistence was a small quantity of
jaggeree, procured with great difficulty from the forecastle—the
hulk flew at a rate defying computation, before rapidly
succeeding flaws of wind, which, without equalling the first
violence of the Simoom, were still more terrific than any tempest
I had before encountered. Our course for the first four days was,
with trifling variations, S.E. and by S.; and we must have run
down the coast of New Holland. On the fifth day the cold became
extreme, although the wind had hauled round a point more to the
northward. The sun arose with a sickly yellow lustre, and
clambered a very few degrees above the horizon—emitting no
decisive light. There were no clouds apparent, yet the wind was
upon the increase, and blew with a fitful and unsteady fury.
About noon, as nearly as we could guess, our attention was again
arrested by the appearance of the sun. It gave out no light,
properly so called, but a dull and sullen glow without
reflection, as if all its rays were polarized. Just before
sinking within the turgid sea, its central fires suddenly went
out, as if hurriedly extinguished by some unaccountable power. It
was a dim, sliver-like rim, alone, as it rushed down the
unfathomable ocean.

We waited in vain for the arrival of the sixth day—that day to me
has not yet arrived—to the Swede, never did arrive. Thenceforward
we were enshrouded in patchy darkness, so that we could not have
seen an object at twenty paces from the ship. Eternal night
continued to envelop us, all unrelieved by the phosphoric
sea-brilliancy to which we had been accustomed in the tropics. We
observed too, that, although the tempest continued to rage with
unabated violence, there was no longer to be discovered the usual
appearance of surf, or foam, which had hitherto attended us. All
around were horror, and thick gloom, and a black sweltering
desert of ebony. Superstitious terror crept by degrees into the
spirit of the old Swede, and my own soul was wrapped up in silent
wonder. We neglected all care of the ship, as worse than useless,
and securing ourselves, as well as possible, to the stump of the
mizen-mast, looked out bitterly into the world of ocean. We had
no means of calculating time, nor could we form any guess of our
situation. We were, however, well aware of having made farther to
the southward than any previous navigators, and felt great
amazement at not meeting with the usual impediments of ice. In
the meantime every moment threatened to be our last—every
mountainous billow hurried to overwhelm us. The swell surpassed
anything I had imagined possible, and that we were not instantly
buried is a miracle. My companion spoke of the lightness of our
cargo, and reminded me of the excellent qualities of our ship;
but I could not help feeling the utter hopelessness of hope
itself, and prepared myself gloomily for that death which I
thought nothing could defer beyond an hour, as, with every knot
of way the ship made, the swelling of the black stupendous seas
became more dismally appalling. At times we gasped for breath at
an elevation beyond the albatross—at times became dizzy with the
velocity of our descent into some watery hell, where the air grew
stagnant, and no sound disturbed the slumbers of the kraken.

We were at the bottom of one of these abysses, when a quick
scream from my companion broke fearfully upon the night. “See!
see!” cried he, shrieking in my ears, “Almighty God! see! see!”
As he spoke, I became aware of a dull, sullen glare of red light
which streamed down the sides of the vast chasm where we lay, and
threw a fitful brilliancy upon our deck. Casting my eyes upwards,
I beheld a spectacle which froze the current of my blood. At a
terrific height directly above us, and upon the very verge of the
precipitous descent, hovered a gigantic ship of, perhaps, four
thousand tons. Although upreared upon the summit of a wave more
than a hundred times her own altitude, her apparent size exceeded
that of any ship of the line or East Indiaman in existence. Her
huge hull was of a deep dingy black, unrelieved by any of the
customary carvings of a ship. A single row of brass cannon
protruded from her open ports, and dashed from their polished
surfaces the fires of innumerable battle-lanterns, which swung to
and fro about her rigging. But what mainly inspired us with
horror and astonishment, was that she bore up under a press of
sail in the very teeth of that supernatural sea, and of that
ungovernable hurricane. When we first discovered her, her bows
were alone to be seen, as she rose slowly from the dim and
horrible gulf beyond her. For a moment of intense terror she
paused upon the giddy pinnacle, as if in contemplation of her own
sublimity, then trembled and tottered, and—came down.

At this instant, I know not what sudden self-possession came over
my spirit. Staggering as far aft as I could, I awaited fearlessly
the ruin that was to overwhelm. Our own vessel was at length
ceasing from her struggles, and sinking with her head to the sea.
The shock of the descending mass struck her, consequently, in
that portion of her frame which was already under water, and the
inevitable result was to hurl me, with irresistible violence,
upon the rigging of the stranger.

As I fell, the ship hove in stays, and went about; and to the
confusion ensuing I attributed my escape from the notice of the
crew. With little difficulty I made my way unperceived to the
main hatchway, which was partially open, and soon found an
opportunity of secreting myself in the hold. Why I did so I can
hardly tell. An indefinite sense of awe, which at first sight of
the navigators of the ship had taken hold of my mind, was perhaps
the principle of my concealment. I was unwilling to trust myself
with a race of people who had offered, to the cursory glance I
had taken, so many points of vague novelty, doubt, and
apprehension. I therefore thought proper to contrive a
hiding-place in the hold. This I did by removing a small portion
of the shifting-boards, in such a manner as to afford me a
convenient retreat between the huge timbers of the ship.

I had scarcely completed my work, when a footstep in the hold
forced me to make use of it. A man passed by my place of
concealment with a feeble and unsteady gait. I could not see his
face, but had an opportunity of observing his general appearance.
There was about it an evidence of great age and infirmity. His
knees tottered beneath a load of years, and his entire frame
quivered under the burthen. He muttered to himself, in a low
broken tone, some words of a language which I could not
understand, and groped in a corner among a pile of
singular-looking instruments, and decayed charts of navigation.
His manner was a wild mixture of the peevishness of second
childhood, and the solemn dignity of a God. He at length went on
deck, and I saw him no more.

A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken possession of my
soul —a sensation which will admit of no analysis, to which the
lessons of bygone times are inadequate, and for which I fear
futurity itself will offer me no key. To a mind constituted like
my own, the latter consideration is an evil. I shall never—I know
that I shall never—be satisfied with regard to the nature of my
conceptions. Yet it is not wonderful that these conceptions are
indefinite, since they have their origin in sources so utterly
novel. A new sense—a new entity is added to my soul.

It is long since I first trod the deck of this terrible ship, and
the rays of my destiny are, I think, gathering to a focus.
Incomprehensible men! Wrapped up in meditations of a kind which I
cannot divine, they pass me by unnoticed. Concealment is utter
folly on my part, for the people will not see. It was but just
now that I passed directly before the eyes of the mate; it was no
long while ago that I ventured into the captain’s own private
cabin, and took thence the materials with which I write, and have
written. I shall from time to time continue this journal. It is
true that I may not find an opportunity of transmitting it to the
world, but I will not fall to make the endeavour. At the last
moment I will enclose the MS. in a bottle, and cast it within the
sea.

An incident has occurred which has given me new room for
meditation. Are such things the operation of ungoverned chance? I
had ventured upon deck and thrown myself down, without attracting
any notice, among a pile of ratlin-stuff and old sails in the
bottom of the yawl. While musing upon the singularity of my fate,
I unwittingly daubed with a tar-brush the edges of a
neatly-folded studding-sail which lay near me on a barrel. The
studding-sail is now bent upon the ship, and the thoughtless
touches of the brush are spread out into the word DISCOVERY.

I have made many observations lately upon the structure of the
vessel. Although well armed, she is not, I think, a ship of war.
Her rigging, build, and general equipment, all negative a
supposition of this kind. What she is not, I can easily
perceive—what she is I fear it is impossible to say. I know not
how it is, but in scrutinizing her strange model and singular
cast of spars, her huge size and overgrown suits of canvas, her
severely simple bow and antiquated stern, there will occasionally
flash across my mind a sensation of familiar things, and there is
always mixed up with such indistinct shadows of recollection, an
unaccountable memory of old foreign chronicles and ages long ago.

I have been looking at the timbers of the ship. She is built of a
material to which I am a stranger. There is a peculiar character
about the wood which strikes me as rendering it unfit for the
purpose to which it has been applied. I mean its extreme
porousness, considered independently by the worm-eaten condition
which is a consequence of navigation in these seas, and apart
from the rottenness attendant upon age. It will appear perhaps an
observation somewhat over-curious, but this wood would have every
characteristic of Spanish oak, if Spanish oak were distended by
any unnatural means.

In reading the above sentence a curious apothegm of an old
weather-beaten Dutch navigator comes full upon my recollection.
“It is as sure,” he was wont to say, when any doubt was
entertained of his veracity, “as sure as there is a sea where the
ship itself will grow in bulk like the living body of the
seaman.”

About an hour ago, I made bold to thrust myself among a group of
the crew. They paid me no manner of attention, and, although I
stood in the very midst of them all, seemed utterly unconscious
of my presence. Like the one I had at first seen in the hold,
they all bore about them the marks of a hoary old age. Their
knees trembled with infirmity; their shoulders were bent double
with decrepitude; their shrivelled skins rattled in the wind;
their voices were low, tremulous and broken; their eyes glistened
with the rheum of years; and their gray hairs streamed terribly
in the tempest. Around them, on every part of the deck, lay
scattered mathematical instruments of the most quaint and
obsolete construction.

I mentioned some time ago the bending of a studding-sail. From
that period the ship, being thrown dead off the wind, has
continued her terrific course due south, with every rag of canvas
packed upon her, from her trucks to her lower studding-sail
booms, and rolling every moment her top-gallant yard-arms into
the most appalling hell of water which it can enter into the mind
of a man to imagine. I have just left the deck, where I find it
impossible to maintain a footing, although the crew seem to
experience little inconvenience. It appears to me a miracle of
miracles that our enormous bulk is not swallowed up at once and
forever. We are surely doomed to hover continually upon the brink
of eternity, without taking a final plunge into the abyss. From
billows a thousand times more stupendous than any I have ever
seen, we glide away with the facility of the arrowy sea-gull; and
the colossal waters rear their heads above us like demons of the
deep, but like demons confined to simple threats and forbidden to
destroy. I am led to attribute these frequent escapes to the only
natural cause which can account for such effect. I must suppose
the ship to be within the influence of some strong current, or
impetuous under-tow.

I have seen the captain face to face, and in his own cabin—but,
as I expected, he paid me no attention. Although in his
appearance there is, to a casual observer, nothing which might
bespeak him more or less than man, still, a feeling of
irrepressible reverence and awe mingled with the sensation of
wonder with which I regarded him. In stature he is nearly my own
height; that is, about five feet eight inches. He is of a
well-knit and compact frame of body, neither robust nor
remarkably otherwise. But it is the singularity of the expression
which reigns upon the face—it is the intense, the wonderful, the
thrilling evidence of old age, so utter, so extreme, which
excites within my spirit a sense—a sentiment ineffable. His
forehead, although little wrinkled, seems to bear upon it the
stamp of a myriad of years. His gray hairs are records of the
past, and his grayer eyes are sibyls of the future. The cabin
floor was thickly strewn with strange, iron-clasped folios, and
mouldering instruments of science, and obsolete long-forgotten
charts. His head was bowed down upon his hands, and he pored,
with a fiery unquiet eye, over a paper which I took to be a
commission, and which, at all events, bore the signature of a
monarch. He muttered to himself, as did the first seaman whom I
saw in the hold, some low peevish syllables of a foreign tongue,
and although the speaker was close at my elbow, his voice seemed
to reach my ears from the distance of a mile.

The ship and all in it are imbued with the spirit of Eld. The
crew glide to and fro like the ghosts of buried centuries; their
eyes have an eager and uneasy meaning; and when their fingers
fall athwart my path in the wild glare of the battle-lanterns, I
feel as I have never felt before, although I have been all my
life a dealer in antiquities, and have imbibed the shadows of
fallen columns at Balbec, and Tadmor, and Persepolis, until my
very soul has become a ruin.

When I look around me I feel ashamed of my former apprehensions.
If I trembled at the blast which has hitherto attended us, shall
I not stand aghast at a warring of wind and ocean, to convey any
idea of which the words tornado and simoom are trivial and
ineffective? All in the immediate vicinity of the ship is the
blackness of eternal night, and a chaos of foamless water; but,
about a league on either side of us, may be seen, indistinctly
and at intervals, stupendous ramparts of ice, towering away into
the desolate sky, and looking like the walls of the universe.

As I imagined, the ship proves to be in a current—if that
appellation can properly be given to a tide which, howling and
shrieking by the white ice, thunders on to the southward with a
velocity like the headlong dashing of a cataract.

To conceive the horror of my sensations is, I presume, utterly
impossible; yet a curiosity to penetrate the mysteries of these
awful regions, predominates even over my despair, and will
reconcile me to the most hideous aspect of death. It is evident
that we are hurrying onwards to some exciting knowledge—some
never-to-be-imparted secret, whose attainment is destruction.
Perhaps this current leads us to the southern pole itself. It
must be confessed that a supposition apparently so wild has every
probability in its favor.

The crew pace the deck with unquiet and tremulous step; but there
is upon their countenances an expression more of the eagerness of
hope than of the apathy of despair.

In the meantime the wind is still in our poop, and, as we carry a
crowd of canvas, the ship is at times lifted bodily from out the
sea! Oh, horror upon horror!—the ice opens suddenly to the right,
and to the left, and we are whirling dizzily, in immense
concentric circles, round and round the borders of a gigantic
amphitheatre, the summit of whose walls is lost in the darkness
and the distance. But little time will be left me to ponder upon
my destiny! The circles rapidly grow small—we are plunging madly
within the grasp of the whirlpool—and amid a roaring, and
bellowing, and thundering of ocean and of tempest, the ship is
quivering—oh God! and—going down.

NOTE.—The “MS. Found in a Bottle,” was originally published in
1831, and it was not until many years afterwards that I became
acquainted with the maps of Mercator, in which the ocean is
represented as rushing, by four mouths, into the (northern) Polar
Gulf, to be absorbed into the bowels of the earth; the Pole
itself being represented by a black rock, towering to a
prodigious height.

THE OVAL PORTRAIT

The château into which my valet had ventured to make forcible
entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded
condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those
piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned
among the Appennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs.
Radcliffe. To all appearance it had been temporarily and very
lately abandoned. We established ourselves in one of the smallest
and least sumptuously furnished apartments. It lay in a remote
turret of the building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered
and antique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with
manifold and multiform armorial trophies, together with an
unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings in
frames of rich golden arabesque. In these paintings, which
depended from the walls not only in their main surfaces, but in
very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of the château
rendered necessary—in these paintings my incipient delirium,
perhaps, had caused me to take deep interest; so that I bade
Pedro to close the heavy shutters of the room—since it was
already night—to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum which
stood by the head of my bed, and to throw open far and wide the
fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself.
I wished all this done that I might resign myself, if not to
sleep, at least alternately to the contemplation of these
pictures, and the perusal of a small volume which had been found
upon the pillow, and which purported to criticise and describe
them.

Long, long I read—and devoutly, devotedly I gazed. Rapidly and
gloriously the hours flew by and the deep midnight came. The
position of the candelabrum displeased me, and outreaching my
hand with difficulty, rather than disturb my slumbering valet, I
placed it so as to throw its rays more fully upon the book.