EDGAR POE'S ROMANCE.
In this chapter I have to give a brief summary of Edgar Poe's
romance, which was published at Richmond under the title of
THE ADVENTURES OF ARTHUR GORDON PYM.
We shall see whether there was any room for doubt that the
adventures of this hero of romance were imaginary. But indeed, among
the multitude of Poe's readers, was there ever one, with the sole
exception of Len Guy, who believed them to be real? The story is
told by the principal personage. Arthur Pym states in the preface
that on his return from his voyage to the Antarctic seas he met,
among the Virginian gentlemen who took an interest in geographical
discoveries, Edgar Poe, who was then editor of the _Southern Literary
Messenger_ at Richmond, and that he authorized the latter to publish
the first part of his adventures in that journal "under the cloak
of fiction." That portion having been favourably received, a
volume containing the complete narrative was issued with the
signature of Edgar Poe.
Arthur Gordon Pym was born at Nantucket, where he attended the
Bedford School until he was sixteen years old. Having left that
school for Mr. Ronald's, he formed a friendship with one Augustus
Barnard, the son of a ship's captain. This youth, who was
eighteen, had already accompanied his father on a whaling expedition
in the southern seas, and his yarns concerning that maritime
adventure fired the imagination of Arthur Pym. Thus it was that the
association of these youths gave rise to Pym's irresistible
vocation to adventurous voyaging, and to the instinct that
especially attracted him towards the high zones of the Antarctic
region. The first exploit of Augustus Barnard and Arthur Pym was an
excursion on board a little sloop, the _Ariel_, a two-decked boat
which belonged to the Pyms. One evening the two youths, both being
very tipsy, embarked secretly, in cold October weather, and boldly
set sail in a strong breeze from the south-west. The _Ariel_, aided by
the ebb tide, had already lost sight of land when a violent storm
arose. The imprudent young fellows were still intoxicated. No one
was at the helm, not a reef was in the sail. The masts were carried
away by the furious gusts, and the wreck was driven before the wind.
Then came a great ship which passed over the _Ariel_ as the _Ariel_
would have passed over a floating feather.
Arthur Pym gives the fullest details of the rescue of his companion
and himself after this collision, under conditions of extreme
difficulty. At length, thanks to the second officer of the _Penguin_,
from New London, which arrived on the scene of the catastrophe, the
comrades were picked up, with life all but extinct, and taken back to
Nantucket.
This adventure, to which I cannot deny an appearance of veracity, was
an ingenious preparation for the chapters that were to follow, and
indeed, up to the day on which Pym penetrates into the polar circle,
the narrative might conceivably be regarded as authentic. But,
beyond the polar circle, above the austral icebergs, it is quite
another thing, and, if the author's work be not one of pure
imagination, I am--well, of any other nationality than my own. Let
us get on.
Their first adventure had not cooled the two youths, and eight
months after the affair of the _Ariel_--June, 1827--the brig
_Grampus_ was fitted out by the house of Lloyd and Vredenburg for
whaling in the southern seas. This brig was an old, ill-repaired
craft, and Mr. Barnard, the father of Augustus, was its skipper. His
son, who was to accompany him on the voyage, strongly urged Arthur
to go with him, and the latter would have asked nothing better, but
he knew that his family, and especially his mother, would never
consent to let him go.
This obstacle, however, could not stop a youth not much given to
submit to the wishes of his parents. His head was full of the
entreaties and persuasion of his companion, and he determined to
embark secretly on the _Grampus_, for Mr. Barnard would not have
authorized him to defy the prohibition of his family. He announced
that he had been invited to pass a few days with a friend at New
Bedford, took leave of his parents and left his home. Forty-eight
hours before the brig was to sail, he slipped on board unperceived,
and got into a hiding-place which had been prepared for him unknown
alike to Mr. Barnard and the crew.
The cabin occupied by Augustus communicated by a trap-door with the
hold of the _Grampus_, which was crowded with barrels, bales, and the
innumerable components of a cargo. Through the trap-door Arthur Pym
reached his hiding-place, which was a huge wooden chest with a
sliding side to it. This chest contained a mattress, blankets, a jar
of water, ship's biscuit, smoked sausage, a roast quarter of
mutton, a few bottles of cordials and liqueurs, and also
writing-materials. Arthur Pym, supplied with a lantern, candles, and
tinder, remained three days and nights in his retreat. Augustus
Barnard had not been able to visit him until just before the _Grampus_
set sail.
An hour later, Arthur Pym began to feel the rolling and pitching of
the brig. He was very uncomfortable in the chest, so he got out of
it, and in the dark, while holding on by a rope which was stretched
across the hold to the trap of his friend's cabin, he was
violently sea-sick in the midst of the chaos. Then he crept back
into his chest, ate, and fell asleep.
Several days elapsed without the reappearance of Augustus Barnard.
Either he had not been able to get down into the hold again, or he
had not ventured to do so, fearing to betray the presence of Arthur
Pym, and thinking the moment for confessing everything to his father
had not yet come.
Arthur Pym, meanwhile, was beginning to suffer from the hot and
vitiated atmosphere of the hold. Terrible nightmares troubled his
sleep. He was conscious of raving, and in vain sought some place
amid the mass of cargo where he might breathe a little more easily.
In one of these fits of delirium he imagined that he was gripped in
the claws of an African lion,(1) and in a paroxysm of terror he was
about to betray himself by screaming, when he lost consciousness.
The fact is that he was not dreaming at all. It was not a lion that
Arthur Pym felt crouching upon his chest, it was his own dog, Tiger,
a young Newfoundland. The animal had been smuggled on board by
Augustus Barnard unperceived by anybody--(this, at least, is an
unlikely occurrence). At the moment of Arthur's coming out of his
swoon the faithful Tiger was licking his face and hands with lavish
affection.
Now the prisoner had a companion. Unfortunately, the said companion
had drunk the contents of the water jar while Arthur was
unconscious, and when Arthur Pym felt thirsty, he discovered that
there was "not a drop to drink!" His lantern had gone out during
his prolonged faint; he could not find the candles and the
tinder-box, and he then resolved to rejoin Augustus Barnard at all
hazards. He came out of the chest, and although faint from inanition
and trembling with weakness, he felt his way in the direction of the
trap-door by means of the rope. But, while he was approaching, one
of the bales of cargo, shifted by the rolling of the ship, fell down
and blocked up the passage. With immense but quite useless exertion
he contrived to get over this obstacle, but when he reached the
trap-door under Augustus Barnard's cabin he failed to raise it,
and on slipping the blade of his knife through one of the joints he
found that a heavy mass of iron was placed upon the trap, as though
it were intended to condemn him beyond hope. He had to renounce his
attempt and drag himself back towards the chest, on which he fell,
exhausted, while Tiger covered him with caresses.
The master and the dog were desperately thirsty, and when Arthur
stretched out his hand, he found Tiger lying on his back, with his
paws up and his hair on end. He then felt Tiger all over, and his
hand encountered a string passed round the dog's body. A strip of
paper was fastened to the string under his left shoulder.
Arthur Pym had reached the last stage of weakness. Intelligence was
almost extinct. However, after several fruitless attempts to procure
a light, he succeeded in rubbing the paper with a little
phosphorus--(the details given in Edgar Poe's narrative are
curiously minute at this point)--and then by the glimmer that
lasted less than a second he discerned just seven words at the end
of a sentence. Terrifying words these were: _blood--remain
hidden--life depends on it_.
What did these words mean? Let us consider the situation of Arthur
Pym, at the bottom of the ship's hold, between the boards of a
chest, without light, without water, with only ardent liquor to
quench his thirst! And this warning to remain hidden, preceded by
the word "blood"--that supreme word, king of words, so full of
mystery, of suffering, of terror! Had there been strife on board the
_Grampus_? Had the brig been attacked by pirates? Had the crew
mutinied? How long had this state of things lasted?
It might be thought that the marvellous poet had exhausted the
resources of his imagination in the terror of such a situation; but
it was not so. There is more to come!
Arthur Pym lay stretched upon his mattress, incapable of thought, in
a sort of lethargy; suddenly he became aware of a singular sound, a
kind of continuous whistling breathing. It was Tiger, panting, Tiger
with eyes that glared in the midst of the darkness, Tiger with
gnashing teeth--Tiger gone mad. Another moment and the dog had
sprung upon Arthur Pym, who, wound up to the highest pitch of
horror, recovered sufficient strength to ward off his fangs, and
wrapping around him a blanket which Tiger had torn with his white
teeth, he slipped out of the chest, and shut the sliding side upon
the snapping and struggling brute.
Arthur Pym contrived to slip through the stowage of the hold, but
his head swam, and, falling against a bale, he let his knife drop
from his hand.
Just as he felt himself breathing his last sigh he heard his name
pronounced, and a bottle of water was held to his lips. He swallowed
the whole of its contents, and experienced the most exquisite of
pleasures.
A few minutes later, Augustus Barnard, seated with his comrade in a
corner of the hold, told him all that had occurred on board the brig.
Up to this point, I repeat, the story is admissible, but we have not
yet come to the events which "surpass all probability by their
marvellousness."
The crew of the _Grampus_ numbered thirty-six men, including the
Barnards, father and son. After the brig had put to sea on the 20th
of June, Augustus Barnard had made several attempts to rejoin Arthur
Pym in his hiding-place, but in vain. On the third day a mutiny
broke out on board, headed by the ship's cook, a negro like our
Endicott; but he, let me say at once, would never have thought of
heading a mutiny.
Numerous incidents are related in the romance--the massacre of most
of the sailors who remained faithful to Captain Barnard, then the
turning adrift of the captain and four of those men in a small
whaler's boat when the ship was abreast of the Bermudas. These
unfortunate persons were never heard of again.
Augustus Barnard would not have been spared, but for the
intervention of the sailing-master of the _Grampus_. This
sailing-master was a half-breed named Dirk Peters, and was the
person whom Captain Len Guy had gone to look for in Illinois!
The _Grampus_ then took a south-east course under the command of the
mate, who intended to pursue the occupation of piracy in the
southern seas.
These events having taken place, Augustus Barnard would again have
joined Arthur Pym, but he had been shut up in the forecastle in
irons, and told by the ship's cook that he would not be allowed to
come out until "the brig should be no longer a brig." Nevertheless,
a few days afterwards, Augustus contrived to get rid of his fetters,
to cut through the thin partition between him and the hold, and,
followed by Tiger, he tried to reach his friend's hiding-place. He
could not succeed, but the dog had scented Arthur Pym, and this
suggested to Augustus the idea of fastening a note to Tiger's neck
bearing the words:
"I scrawl this with blood--remain hidden--your life depends on
it--"
This note, as we have already learned, Arthur Pym had received. Just
as he had arrived at the last extremity of distress his friend
reached him.
Augustus added that discord reigned among the mutineers. Some wanted
to take the _Grampus_ towards the Cape Verde Islands; others, and Dirk
Peters was of this number, were bent on sailing to the Pacific Isles.
Tiger was not mad. He was only suffering from terrible thirst, and
soon recovered when it was relieved.
The cargo of the _Grampus_ was so badly stowed away that Arthur Pym
was in constant danger from the shifting of the bales, and Augustus,
at all risks, helped him to remove to a corner of the ‘tween decks.
The half-breed continued to be very friendly with the son of Captain
Barnard, so that the latter began to consider whether the
sailing-master might not be counted on in an attempt to regain
possession of the ship.
They were just thirty days out from Nantucket when, on the 4th of
July, an angry dispute arose among the mutineers about a little brig
signalled in the offing, which some of them wanted to take and
others would have allowed to escape. In this quarrel a sailor
belonging to the cook's party, to which Dirk Peters had attached
himself, was mortally injured. There were now only thirteen men on
board, counting Arthur Pym.
Under these circumstances a terrible storm arose, and the _Grampus_
was mercilessly knocked about. This storm raged until the 9th of
July, and on that day, Dirk Peters having manifested an intention of
getting rid of the mate, Augustus Barnard readily assured him of his
assistance, without, however, revealing the fact of Arthur Pym's
presence on board. Next day, one of the cook's adherents, a man
named Rogers, died in convulsions, and, beyond all doubt, of poison.
Only four of the cook's party then remained, of these Dirk Peters
was one. The mate had five, and would probably end by carrying the
day over the cook's party.
There was not an hour to lose. The half-breed having informed
Augustus Barnard that the moment for action had arrived, the latter
told him the truth about Arthur Pym.
While the two were in consultation upon the means to be employed for
regaining possession of the ship, a tempest was raging, and
presently a gust of irresistible force struck the _Grampus_ and flung
her upon her side, so that on righting herself she shipped a
tremendous sea, and there was considerable confusion on board. This
offered a favourable opportunity for beginning the struggle,
although the mutineers had made peace among themselves. The latter
numbered nine men, while the half-breed's party consisted only of
himself, Augustus Barnard and Arthur Pym. The ship's master
possessed only two pistols and a hanger. It was therefore necessary
to act with prudence.
Then did Arthur Pym (whose presence on board the mutineers could not
suspect) conceive the idea of a trick which had some chance of
succeeding. The body of the poisoned sailor was still lying on the
deck; he thought it likely, if he were to put on the dead man's
clothes and appear suddenly in the midst of those superstitious
sailors, that their terror would place them at the mercy of Dirk
Peters. It was still dark when the half-breed went softly towards
the ship's stern, and, exerting his prodigious strength to the
utmost, threw himself upon the man at the wheel and flung him over
the poop.
Augustus Barnard and Arthur Pym joined him instantly, each armed
with a belaying-pin. Leaving Dirk Peters in the place of the
steersman, Arthur Pym, so disguised as to present the appearance of
the dead man, and his comrade, posted themselves close to the head
of the forecastle gangway. The mate, the ship's cook, all the
others were there, some sleeping, the others drinking or talking;
guns and pistols were within reach of their hands.
The tempest raged furiously; it was impossible to stand on the deck.
At that moment the mate gave the order for Augustus Barnard and Dirk
Peters to be brought to the forecastle. This order was transmitted
to the man at the helm, no other than Dirk Peters, who went down,
accompanied by Augustus Barnard, and almost simultaneously Arthur
Pym made his appearance.
The effect of the apparition was prodigious. The mate, terrified on
beholding the resuscitated sailor, sprang up, beat the air with his
hands, and fell down dead. Then Dirk Peters rushed upon the others,
seconded by Augustus Barnard, Arthur Pym, and the dog Tiger. In a
few moments all were strangled or knocked on the head,--save Richard
Parker, the sailor, whose life was spared.
And now, while the tempest was in full force, only four men were
left to work the brig, which was labouring terribly with seven feet
of water in her hold. They had to cut down the mainmast, and, when
morning came, the mizen. That day was truly awful, the night was
more awful still! If Dirk Peters and his companions had not lashed
themselves securely to the remains of the rigging, they must have
been carried away by a tremendous sea, which drove in the hatches of
the _Grampus_.
Then follows in the romance a minute record of the series of
incidents ensuing upon this situation, from the 14th of July to the
7th of August; the fishing for victuals in the submerged hold, the
coming of a mysterious brig laden with corpses, which poisoned the
atmosphere and passed on like a huge coffin, the sport of a wind of
death; the torments of hunger and thirst; the impossibility of
reaching the provision store; the drawing of lots by straws--the
shortest gave Richard Parker to be sacrificed for the life of the
other three--the death of that unhappy man, who was killed by Dirk
Peters and devoured; lastly, the finding in the hold of a jar of
olives and a small turtle.
Owing to the displacement of her cargo the _Grampus_ rolled and
pitched more and more. The frightful heat caused the torture of
thirst to reach the extreme limit of human endurance, and on the 1st
of August, Augustus Barnard died. On the 3rd, the brig foundered in
the night, and Arthur Pym and the half-breed, crouching upon the
upturned keel, were reduced to feed upon the barnacles with which
the bottom was covered, in the midst of a crowd of waiting, watching
sharks. Finally, after the shipwrecked mariners of the _Grampus_ had
drifted no less than twenty-five degrees towards the south, they
were picked up by the schooner _Jane_, of Liverpool, Captain William
Guy.
Evidently, reason is not outraged by an admission of the reality of
these facts, although the situations are strained to the utmost
limits of possibility; but that does not surprise us, for the writer
is the American magician-poet, Edgar Poe. But from this moment
onwards we shall see that no semblance of reality exists in the
succession of incidents.
Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters were well treated on board the English
schooner _Jane_. In a fortnight, having recovered from the effects of
their sufferings, they remembered them no more. With alternations of
fine and bad weather the _Jane_ sighted Prince Edward's Island on
the 13th of October, then the Crozet Islands, and afterwards the
Kerguelens, which I had left eleven days ago.
Three weeks were employed in chasing sea-calves; these furnished the
_Jane_ with a goodly cargo. It was during this time that the captain
of the _Jane_ buried the bottle in which his namesake of the _Halbrane_
claimed to have found a letter containing William Guy's
announcement of his intention to visit the austral seas.
On the 12th of November, the schooner left the Kerguelens, and after
a brief stay at Tristan d'Acunha she sailed to reconnoitre the
Auroras in 35° 15' of south latitude, and 37° 38' of west
longitude. But these islands were not to be found, and she did not
find them.
On the 12th of December the _Jane_ headed towards the Antarctic pole.
On the 26th, the first icebergs came in sight beyond the
seventy-third degree.
From the 1st to the 14th of January, 1828, the movements were
difficult, the polar circle was passed in the midst of ice-floes,
the icebergs' point was doubled and the ship sailed on the surface
of an open sea--the famous open sea where the temperature is 47°
Fahrenheit, and the water is 34°.
Edgar Poe, every one will allow, gives free rein to his fancy at
this point. No navigator had ever reached latitudes so high--not
even James Weddell of the British Navy, who did not get beyond the
seventy-fourth parallel in 1822. But the achievement of the _Jane_,
although difficult of belief, is trifling in comparison with the
succeeding incidents which Arthur Pym, or rather Edgar Poe, relates
with simple earnestness. In fact he entertained no doubt of reaching
the pole itself.
In the first place, not a single iceberg is to be seen on this
fantastic sea. Innumerable flocks of birds skim its surface, among
them is a pelican which is shot. On a floating piece of ice is a
bear of the Arctic species and of gigantic size. At last land is
signalled. It is an island of a league in circumference, to which
the name of Bennet Islet was given, in honour of the captain's
partner in the ownership of the _Jane_.
Naturally, in proportion as the schooner sailed southwards the
variation of the compass became less, while the temperature became
milder, with a sky always clear and a uniform northerly breeze.
Needless to add that in that latitude and in the month of January
there was no darkness.
The _Jane_ pursued her adventurous course, until, on the 18th of
January, land was sighted in latitude 83° 20' and longitude 43°
5'.
This proved to be an island belonging to a numerous group scattered
about in a westerly direction.
The schooner approached and anchored off the shore. Arms were placed
in the boats, and Arthur Pym got into one of the latter with Dirk
Peters. The men rowed shorewards, but were stopped by four canoes
carrying armed men, "new men" the narrative calls them. These
men showed no hostile intentions, but cried out continuously
"anamoo" and "lamalama." When the canoes were alongside the
schooner, the chief, Too-Wit, was permitted to go on board with
twenty of his companions. There was profound astonishment on their
part then, for they took the ship for a living creature, and lavished
caresses on the rigging, the masts, and the bulwarks. Steered
between the reefs by these natives, she crossed a bay with a bottom
of black sand, and cast anchor within a mile of the beach. Then
William Guy, leaving the hostages on board, stepped ashore amid the
rocks.
If Arthur Pym is to be believed, this was Tsalal Island! Its trees
resembled none of the species in any other zone of our planet. The
composition of the rocks revealed a stratification unknown to modern
mineralogists. Over the bed of the streams ran a liquid substance
without any appearance of limpidity, streaked with distinct veins,
which did not reunite by immediate cohesion when they were parted by
the blade of a knife!
Klock-Klock, which we are obliged to describe as the chief
"town" of the island, consisted of wretched huts entirely formed
of black skins; it possessed domestic animals resembling the common
pig, a sort of sheep with a black fleece, twenty kinds of fowls,
tame albatross, ducks, and large turtles in great numbers.
On arriving at Klock-Klock, Captain William Guy and his companions
found a population--which Arthur Pym estimated at ten thousand
souls, men, women, and children--if not to be feared, at least to
be kept at a distance, so noisy and demonstrative were they.
Finally, after a long halt at the hut of Too-Wit, the strangers
returned to the shore, where the "bêche-de-mer"--the favourite
food of the Chinese--would provide enormous cargoes; for the
succulent mollusk is more abundant there than in any other part of
the austral regions.
Captain William Guy immediately endeavoured to come to an
understanding with Too-Wit on this matter, requesting him to
authorize the construction of sheds in which some of the men of the
_Jane_ might prepare the bêche-de-mer, while the schooner should hold
on her course towards the Pole. Too-Wit accepted this proposal
willingly, and made a bargain by which the natives were to give
their labour in the gathering-in of the precious mollusk.
At the end of a month, the sheds being finished, three men were told
off to remain at Tsalal. The natives had not given the strangers
cause to entertain the slightest suspicion of them. Before leaving
the place, Captain William Guy wished to return once more to the
village of Klock-Klock, having, from prudent motives, left six men
on board, the guns charged, the bulwark nettings in their place, the
anchor hanging at the forepeak--in a word, all in readiness to
oppose an approach of the natives. Too-Wit, escorted by a hundred
warriors, came out to meet the visitors. Captain William Guy and his
men, although the place was propitious to an ambuscade, walked in
close order, each pressing upon the other. On the right, a little in
advance, were Arthur Pym, Dirk Peters, and a sailor named Allen.
Having reached a spot where a fissure traversed the hillside, Arthur
Pym turned into it in order to gather some hazel nuts which hung in
clusters upon stunted bushes. Having done this, he was returning to
the path, when he perceived that Allen and the half-breed had
accompanied him. They were all three approaching the mouth of the
fissure, when they were thrown down by a sudden and violent shock.
At the same moment the crumbling masses of the hill slid down upon
them, and they instantly concluded that they were doomed to be buried
alive.
Alive--all three? No! Allen had been so deeply covered by the
sliding soil that he was already smothered, but Arthur Pym and Dirk
Peters contrived to drag themselves on their knees, and opening a
way with their bowie knives, to a projecting mass of harder clay,
which had resisted the movement from above, and from thence they
climbed to a natural platform at the extremity of a wooded ravine.
Above them they could see the blue sky-roof, and from their position
were enabled to survey the surrounding country.
An artificial landslip, cunningly contrived by the natives, had
taken place. Captain William Guy and his twenty-eight companions had
disappeared; they were crushed beneath more than a million tons of
earth and stones.
The plain was swarming with natives who had come, no doubt, from the
neighbouring islets, attracted by the prospect of pillaging the
_Jane_. Seventy boats were being paddled towards the ship. The six men
on board fired on them, but their aim was uncertain in the first
volley; a second, in which mitraille and grooved bullets were used,
produced terrible effect. Nevertheless, the _Jane_ being boarded by
the swarming islanders, her defenders were massacred, and she was
set on fire.
Finally a terrific explosion took place--the fire had reached the
powder store--killing a thousand natives and mutilating as many
more, while the others fled, uttering the cry of _tékéli-li!
tékéli-li!_
During the following week, Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters, living on
nuts and bitterns' flesh, escaped discovery by the natives, who
did not suspect their presence. They found themselves at the bottom
of a sort of dark abyss including several planes, but without issue,
hollowed out from the hillside, and of great extent. The two men
could not live in the midst of these successive abysses, and after
several attempts they let themselves slide on one of the slopes of
the hill. Instantly, six savages rushed upon them; but, thanks to
their pistols, and the extraordinary strength of the half-breed,
four of the assailants were killed. The fifth was dragged away by
the fugitives, who reached a boat which had been pulled up on the
beach and was laden with three huge turtles. A score of natives
pursued and vainly tried to stop them; the former were driven off,
and the boat was launched successfully and steered for the south.
Arthur Pym was then navigating beyond the eighty-fourth degree of
south latitude. It was the beginning of March, that is to say, the
antarctic winter was approaching. Five or six islands, which it was
prudent to avoid, were visible towards the west. Arthur Pym's
opinion was that the temperature would become more mild by degrees
as they approached the pole. They tied together two white shirts
which they had been wearing, and hoisted them to do duty as a sail.
At sight of these shirts the native, who answered to the name of
Nu-Nu, was terrified. For eight days this strange voyage continued,
favoured by a mild wind from the north, in permanent daylight, on a
sea without a fragment of ice, indeed, owing to the high and even
temperature of the water, no ice had been seen since the parallel of
Bennet Island.
Then it was that Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters entered upon a region of
novelty and wonder. Above the horizon line rose a broad bar of light
grey vapour, striped with long luminous rays, such as are projected
by the polar aurora. A very strong current came to the aid of the
breeze. The boat sailed rapidly upon a liquid surface of milky
aspect, exceedingly hot, and apparently agitated from beneath. A
fine white ash-dust began to fall, and this increased the terror of
Nu-Nu, whose lips trembled over his two rows of black ivory.
On the 9th of March this rain of ashes fell in redoubled volume, and
the temperature of the water rose so high that the hand could no
longer bear it. The immense curtain of vapour, spread over the
distant perimeter of the southern horizon resembled a boundless
cataract falling noiselessly from the height of some huge rampart
lost in the height of the heavens.
Twelve days later, it was darkness that hung over these waters,
darkness furrowed by luminous streaks darting from the milky depths
of the Antarctic Ocean, while the incessant shower of ash-dust fell
and melted in its waters.
The boat approached the cataract with an impetuous velocity whose
cause is not explained in the narrative of Arthur Pym. In the midst
of this frightful darkness a flock of gigantic birds, of livid white
plumage, swept by, uttering their eternal _tékéli-li_, and then the
savage, in the supreme throes of terror, gave up the ghost.
Suddenly, in a mad whirl of speed, the boat rushed into the grasp of
the cataract, where a vast gulf seemed ready to swallow it up. But
before the mouth of this gulf there stood a veiled human figure, of
greater size than any inhabitant of this earth, and the colour of
the man's skin was the perfect whiteness of snow.
Such is the strange romance conceived by the more than human genius
of the greatest poet of the New World.
(1) The American "lion" is only a small species of puma, and not
formidable enough to terrify a Nantucket youth. J.V.