He had no sooner loosed his hold upon the mast than the strong wind lifted him bodily, and carried him—feet foremost—into the terrors of the abyss which swallowed him up in darkness. He had no time for thought as he was borne rapidly forward; swept along as a feather is borne on the autumn gale; he lay on his back, as the swimmer floats on the water, his arms pressed closely to his sides, his feet held stiffly together. The strange incongruous thought occurred to him: “This is the position in which I shall be placed when I am dead; my feet will lie thus, side by side; my hands should be crossed upon my breast—” he tried to raise his hands and so place them, but found that he had no power to stir them. “I wonder if I am dead! Is this the dread change?” He laughed whimsically, for at this instant the strong wind, sweeping his hair backward, made his head itch; that was no _post-mortem_ sensation. A strange rumbling noise greeted his ears; the clank of ponderous machines, the whirr of enormous belts, as the earth turned on her axis. The wind, which had been bitterly cold, grew gradually warmer; a strange, dreamy lassitude stole over him, a wavy, half-light helped to soothe his senses. On—on, he floated; how long he knew not; days—weeks—he had no idea as to time. A desperate hunger assailed him; he fancied that trees loaded with luscious fruits mocked him as he was swept by; odors strange but delightful seemed to fill his whole being with longing; his mouth dripped with moisture. Oh, how dreadful the onward sweeping! Would it never end? All sound had died away—I should say—had been left behind; no more creaking and groaning of the horribly ponderous machinery; but a silence still more horrible reigned. We have little realization of what perfect silence would be. Our world is one vast hubbub. Who ever knew the day or night, the time or place, that we did not hear the rush of the wind among the treetops; the calls of birds; the lowing of cattle; the bark of a dog, or the blow of an ax; perhaps the crack of a whip? Noise, noise everywhere, and at all times. Were perfect silence to reign for one hour, the tones of the human voice would strike upon the ear with the force of a blow.