"Yes," I murmured, "we know how to die!"
The Canadian had stopped in his work. But one word many times repeated,
a dreadful word, revealed the cause of the agitation spreading on board
the Nautilus. It was not we the crew were looking after!
"The maelstrom! the maelstrom!" Could a more dreadful word in a more
dreadful situation have sounded in our ears! We were then upon
the dangerous coast of Norway. Was the Nautilus being drawn into
this gulf at the moment our boat was going to leave its sides?
We knew that at the tide the pent-up waters between the islands
of Ferroe and Loffoden rush with irresistible violence,
forming a whirlpool from which no vessel ever escapes.
From every point of the horizon enormous waves were meeting,
forming a gulf justly called the "Navel of the Ocean,"
whose power of attraction extends to a distance of twelve miles.
There, not only vessels, but whales are sacrificed, as well as white
bears from the northern regions.
It is thither that the Nautilus, voluntarily or involuntarily,
had been run by the Captain.
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