violent tide-race at sea. In the midst of a still piece of water a whirlpool would suddenly form; gyrating with ever-increasing velocity, it would yawn wider and wider, as if preparing to swallow up our vessel, and then disappear as suddenly as it had arisen. Next a streak of foaming water would shoot hissing athwart the channel, as if it were some javelin hurled at us by the angry river spirit, strike our vessel on bow or stern, and whirl her round like a teetotum. Near the banks the water was almost still, but we found it impossible to creep up along them and so pass the central eddies, for a strong undertow always sucked us out into the vortex. In this strange place we remained quite an hour without making any progress, buffeted by the steep waves and the whirlpools, often revolving dizzily, while round and round us ever seemed to spin the ruined Roman castle on the hill. Sometimes we contrived to steal down to the lower end of this race, but then, even as if the jinn of the whirlpool were playing with their captives, up would spring some sudden malicious counter-current to sweep us back again to our former position. It was just such an enchanted piece of water as one reads of in the old fairy tales, from which the hapless mariner can never effect his escape once his vessel has been drawn within the magic circle. Oshea, who knew these narrows well, told us that boats were sometimes kept tossing about here for three days or more
