
Chapter
Lindworm
We had to travel down the river again, but alas we brushed against an islet. The boat broke. My companion lost his boat, his axe, and a pike – I lost a couple of stuffed birds, including a heron. After wringing the water out of our clothes and walking a mile along the shore, we came upon a settler who gave us food. His name was Oscar. His face was pockmarked with disease, although he ascribed it to the acid spit of a rolling whiteworm. I assumed the illness had ravaged his mind. When we left, I saw something huge slither through the woodds. I asked my companion what the monstrous creature could be, but he saw nothing but trees and shrubbery.
— Carl Linnaeus, June 4th, 1732