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.