The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven Edition: Table Of Contents And Index Of The Five VolumesPoe, Edgar Allan
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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven Edition: Table Of Contents And Index Of The Five Volumes
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American; Indexes; Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849; Short stories
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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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