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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.

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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 Sybils 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.