An Antarctic Mystery (5 page)

What! This Dirk Peters had really existed? He still lived? I was
on the point of letting myself be carried away by the statements of
the captain of the
Halbrane
! Yes, another moment, and, in my turn, I
should have made a fool of myself. This poor mad fellow imagined
that he had gone to Illinois and seen people at Vandalia who had
known Dirk Peters, and that the latter had disappeared. No wonder,
since he had never existed, save in the brain of the novelist!

Nevertheless I did not want to vex Len Guy, and perhaps drive him
still more mad. Accordingly I appeared entirely convinced that he
was speaking words of sober seriousness, even when he added,—

"You are aware that in the narrative mention is made by the
captain of the schooner on which Arthur Pym had embarked, of a
bottle containing a sealed letter, which was deposited at the foot
of one of the Kerguelen peaks?"

"Yes, I recall the incident."

"Well, then, in one of my latest voyages I sought for the place
where that bottle ought to be. I found it and the letter also. That
letter stated that the captain and Arthur Pym intended to make every
effort to reach the uttermost limits of the Antarctic Sea!"
"You found that bottle?"

"Yes?"

"And the letter?"

"Yes!"

I looked at Captain Len Guy. Like certain monomaniacs he had come to
believe in his own inventions. I was on the point of saying to him,
"Show me that letter," but I thought better of it. Was he not
capable of having written the letter himself? And then I answered,—

"It is much to be regretted, captain, that you were unable to come
across Dirk Peters at Vandalia! He would at least have informed you
under what conditions he and Arthur Pym returned from so far.
Recollect, now, in the last chapter but one they are both there.
Their boat is in front of the thick curtain of white mist; it dashes
into the gulf of the cataract just at the moment when a veiled human
form rises. Then there is nothing more; nothing but two blank
lines—"

"Decidedly, sir, it is much to be regretted that I could not lay
my hand on Dirk Peters! It would have been interesting to learn what
was the outcome of these adventures. But, to my mind, it would have
been still more interesting to have ascertained the fate of the
others."

"The others?" I exclaimed almost involuntarily. "Of whom do
you speak?"

"Of the captain and crew of the English schooner which picked up
Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters after the frightful shipwreck of the
Grampus
, and brought them across the Polar Sea to Tsalal Island—"

"Captain," said I, just as though I entertained no doubt of the
authenticity of Edgar Poe's romance, "is it not the case that
all these men perished, some in the attack on the schooner, the
others by the infernal device of the natives of Tsalal?"

"Who can tell?" replied the captain in a voice hoarse from
emotion. "Who can say but that some of the unfortunate creatures
survived, and contrived to escape from the natives?"

"In any case," I replied, "it would be difficult to admit that
those who had survived could still be living."

"And why?"

"Because the facts we are discussing are eleven years old."

"Sir," replied the captain, "since Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters
were able to advance beyond Tsalal Island farther than the
eighty-third parallel, since they found means of living in the midst
of those Antarctic lands, why should not their companions, if they
were not all killed by the natives, if they were so fortunate as to
reach the neighbouring islands sighted during the voyage—why
should not those unfortunate countrymen of mine have contrived to
live there? Why should they not still be there, awaiting their
deliverance?"

"Your pity leads you astray, captain," I replied. "It would
be impossible."

"Impossible, sir! And if a fact, on indisputable evidence,
appealed to the whole civilized world; if a material proof of the
existence of these unhappy men, imprisoned at the ends of the earth,
were furnished, who would venture to meet those who would fain go to
their aid with the cry of 'Impossible!'"

Was it a sentiment of humanity, exaggerated to the point of madness,
that had roused the interest of this strange man in those
shipwrecked folk who never had suffered shipwreck, for the good
reason that they never had existed?

Captain Len Guy approached me anew, laid his hand on my shoulder and
whispered in my ear,—

"No, sir, no! the last word has not been said concerning the crew
of the
Jane
."

Then he promptly withdrew.

The
Jane
was, in Edgar Poe's romance, the name of the ship which
had rescued Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters from the wreck of the
Grampus
, and Captain Len Guy had now uttered it for the first time.
It occurred to me then that Guy was the name of the captain of the
Jane
, an English ship; but what of that? The captain of the
Jane
never lived but in the imagination of the novelist, he and the
skipper of the
Halbrane
have nothing in common except a name which
is frequently to be found in England. But, on thinking of the
similarity, it struck me that the poor captain's brain had been
turned by this very thing. He had conceived the notion that he was
of kin to the unfortunate captain of the
Jane
! And this had brought
him to his present state, this was the source of his passionate pity
for the fate of the imaginary shipwrecked mariners!

It would have been interesting to discover whether James West was
aware of the state of the case, whether his chief had ever talked to
him of the follies he had revealed to me. But this was a delicate
question, since it involved the mental condition of Captain Len Guy;
and besides, any kind of conversation with the lieutenant was
difficult. On the whole I thought it safer to restrain my curiosity.
In a few days the schooner would reach Tristan d'Acunha, and I
should part with her and her captain for good and all. Never,
however, could I lose the recollection that I had actually met and
sailed with a man who took the fictions of Edgar Poe's romance for
sober fact. Never could I have looked for such an experience!

On the 22nd of August the outline of Prince Edward's Island was
sighted, south latitude 46° 55', and 37° 46' east longitude.
We were in sight of the island for twelve hours, and then it was
lost in the evening mists.

On the following day the
Halbrane
headed in the direction of the
north-west, towards the most northern parallel of the southern
hemisphere which she had to attain in the course of that voyage.

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 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 with life all but extinct, and taken back to
Nantucket.

This adventure, to which I cannot deny an appearance 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,
[2]
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.