 XVI. The night passed without alarm. No boat had put off from the island, nor had a native shone himself upon the beach. The how-brained then had not been observed on her arrival. This was all the better. We had cast anchor in ten fathoms, at three miles from the coast. When the Jane appeared in these waters, the people of Sallel beheld a ship for the first time, and they took it for an enormous animal, regarding its mass as limbs and its sails as garments. Now they ought to be better informed on this subject, and if they did not attempt to visit us, to what motive were we to assign such conduct? Captain Lengai gave orders for the lowering of the ship's largest boat in a voice which betrayed his impatience. The order was executed, and the captain, addressing West, said, Send eight men down with Martin Holt, send Hunt to the helm, remain yourself at the moorings, and keep a lookout landwards as well as to sea. Aye-aye, sir, don't be uneasy. We are going ashore, and we shall try to gain the village of Cluck-Cluck. If any difficulty should arise on sea, give us warning by firing three shots. All right, replied West, at a minute's interval. If we should not return before evening, send the second boat with ten armed men under the Bosun's orders, and let them station themselves within a cable's length of the shore, so as to escort us back, you understand? Perfectly, Captain. If we are not to be found, after you have done all in your power, you will take command of the schooner, and bring her back to the Falklands. I will do so. The large boat was rapidly got ready. Eight men embarked in it, including Martin Holt and Hunt, all armed with rifles, pistols, and knives. The latter weapons were slung in their belts. They also carried cartridge-pouches. I stepped forward and said, Will you not allow me to accompany you, Captain? If you wish to do so, Mr. Jorling. I went to my cabin, took my gun, a repeating rifle, with ball and powder, and rejoined Captain Langeye, who had kept a place in the stern of the boat for me. Our object was to discover the passage through which Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters had crossed the reef on the nineteenth of January, 1828, in the Jane's boat. For twenty minutes we rode along the reef, and then Hunt discovered the pass, which was through a narrow cut in the rocks. Leaving two men in the boat, we landed, and having gone through the winding gorge which gave access to the crest of the coast, our little force, headed by Hunt, pushed on towards the centre of the island. Captain Langeye and myself exchanged observations as we walked. On the subject of this country, which, as Arthur Pym declared, differed essentially from every other land hitherto visited by human beings. We soon found that Pym's description was trustworthy. The general colour of the plains was black, as though the clay were made of lava dust. Nowhere was anything white to be seen. At a hundred paces distance, Hunt began to run towards an enormous mass of rock, climbed on it with great agility, and looked out over a wide extent of space, like a man who ought to recognise the place he is in, but does not. What is the matter with him? asked Captain Langeye, who was observing Hunt attentively. I don't know what is the matter with him, Captain, but, as you are aware, everything about this man is odd. His ways are inexplicable, and on certain sides of him he seems to belong to those strange beings whom Arthur Pym asserts that he found on this island. One would even say that, that, repeated the Captain, and then, without finishing my sentence, I said, Captain, are you sure you made a good observation when you took the altitude yesterday? Certainly, so that your point gave eighty-three degrees twenty minutes of latitude and forty-three degrees five minutes of longitude. Exactly, exactly. There is then no doubt that we are on Sallel Island. None, Mr. Jorling, if Sallel Island lies where Arthur Pym places it. This was quite true. There could be no doubt on the point, and yet, of all that Arthur Pym described, nothing existed, or rather, nothing was any longer to be seen. Not a tree, not a shrub, not a plant was visible in the landscape. There was no sign of the wooded hills between which the village of Clock-Clock ought to lie, or of the streams from which the crew of the Jane had not ventured to drink. There was no water anywhere, but everywhere absolute awful drought. Nevertheless, Hunt walked on rapidly, without showing any hesitation. It seems as though he was led by a natural instinct, a bee's flight, as we say in America. I know not what presentiment induced us to follow him, as the best of guides, a Ching-Gach-Gook, a Renner Sub-Till, and why not? Was not he the fellow-countryman of Fenimore Cooper's heroes? But I must repeat, that we had not before our eyes that fabulous land which Arthur Pym described. The soil we were treading had been ravaged, wrecked, torn by convulsion. It was black, a cindery black, as though it had been vomited from the earth under the action of plutonian forces. It suggested that some appalling and irresistible cataclysm had overturned the whole of its surface. Not one of the animals mentioned in the narrative was to be seen, and even the penguins which abound in the Antarctic regions had fled from this uninhabitable land. Its stern silence and solitude made it a hideous desert. No human being was to be seen either on the coast or in the interior. Did any chance of finding William Guy and the survivors of the Jain exist in the midst of this scene of desolation? I looked at Captain Lengai, his pale face, dim eyes, and nit-brow told too plainly that hope was beginning to die within his breast. And then the population of Salol Island, the almost naked man, armed with clubs and lances, the tall well-made, upstanding women, and doubt with grace and freedom of bearing not to be found in a civilized society. Those are the expressions of Arthur Pym, and the crowd of children accompanying them. That had become of all these. Where were the multitude of natives with black skins, black hair, black teeth, who regarded white colour with deadly terror? All of a sudden a light flashed upon me. An earthquake, I exclaimed, yes, two or three of those terrible shocks so common in these regions would the sea penetrates by infiltration, and a day comes when the quantity of accumulated vapour makes its way out and destroys everything on the surface. Did an earthquake have changed Salol Island to such an extent? asked Lengai musingly. Yes, Captain, an earthquake has done this thing. It has destroyed every trace of all that Arthur Pym saw here. Hunt, who had drawn eye to us, and was listening, nodded his head in approval of my words. Are these not countries of the Southern Seas Volcanic? I resumed, if the Halbrain were to transport us to Victoria Island, we might find the Erebus and the Terror in the midst of an eruption. And yet, observed Martin Holt, if there had been an eruption here, we should find lava-beds. I did not say there has been an eruption, I replied, but I do say the soil has been convulsed by an earthquake. On reflection it will be seen that the explanation given by me deserved should be admitted. And then it came to my remembrance that according to Arthur Pym's narrative, Salol belonged to a group of islands which extended towards the west. Unless the people of Salol had been destroyed, it was possible that they might have fled into one of the neighbouring islands. We should do well then to go and reconnoitre that Archipelago, for Salol clearly had no resources whatever to offer after the Cataclysm. I spoke of this to the Captain. Yes, he replied, and tears stood in his eyes. Yes, it may be so. And yet how could my brother and his unfortunate companions have found the means of escaping? Is it not far more probable that they all perished in the earthquake? Here Hunt made us a signal to follow him, and we did so. After he had pushed across the valley, for a considerable distance he stopped. What a spectacle was before our eyes! There, lying in heaps, were human bones. All the fragments of that framework of humanity, which we called the skeleton, hundreds of them, without a particle of flesh, clusters of skulls, still bearing some tufts of hair. A vast bone-heap dried and whitened in this place. We were struck dumb and motionless by this spectacle. When Captain Lengai could speak, he murmured, My brother, my poor brother. On a little reflection, however, my mind refused to admit certain things. How was this catastrophe to be reconciled with Patterson's memoranda? The entries in his notebook stated explicitly that the mate of the Jain had left his companions on Salol Island seven months previously that they could not have perished in this earthquake, for the state of the bones proved that it had taken place several years earlier, and must have occurred after the departure of Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters, since no mention of it was made in the narrative of the former. These facts then were irreconcilable, if the earthquake was of recent date the presence of those time-bleached skeletons could not be attributed to its action. In any case the survivors of the Jain were not among them. But then, where were they? The valley of clock-clock extended no further. We had to retrace our steps in order to regain the coast. We had hardly gone half a mile on the cliff's edge, when hunt to gain stopped on perceiving some fragments of bone which were turning to dust, and did not seem to be those of a human being. And these the remains of one of the strange animals described by Arthur Pym, of which we had not hitherto seen any specimens. Hunt suddenly uttered a cry, or rather a sort of savage growl, and held out his enormous hand, holding a metal collar. Yes, a brass collar, a collar eaten by rust, but bearing letters which might still be deciphered. These letters formed the three following words. Tiger, Arthur Pym Tiger, the name of the dog which had saved Arthur Pym's life, and the hold of the Grampus, and, during the revolt of the crew, had sprung at the throat of Jones the sailor, and who was immediately finished by Dirk Peters. So then, that faithful animal had not perished in the shipwreck of the Grampus. He had been taken on board the Jain, at the same time as Arthur Pym and the Half-breed, and yet the narrative did not allude to this. And after the meeting with the schooner there is no longer any mention of the dog. All these contradictions occurred to me. I could not reconcile the facts. Nevertheless there could be no doubt that Tiger had been saved from the shipwreck, like Arthur Pym, had escaped the landslip of the clock-clock hill, and had come to his death at last in the catastrophe which had destroyed a portion of the population of Sallel. But again William Cain as five sailors could not be among those skeletons which were strewn upon the earth, since they were living at the time of Patterson's departure seven months ago, and the catastrophe already dated several years back. Three hours later we had returned on board the Hale-brain without having made any other discovery. Captain Len Guy went direct to his cabin, shut himself up there, and did not reappear even at dinner-hour. The following day as I wished to return to the island in order to resume its exploration, from one coast to the other, I requested west to have me rode ashore. He consented, after he had been authorized by Captain Len Guy, who did not come out with us. Hunt! the bow-sun, march and hold, for a man, and myself took her places in the boat without arms, for there was no longer anything to fear. We disembarked at our yesterday's landing-place, and Hunt again led the way towards the hill of Clock-Clock. Nothing remained of the eminence that had been carried away in the artificial landslip from which the captain of the Jain, Patterson, his second officer, and five of his men had happily escaped. The village of Clock-Clock had thus disappeared, and doubtless the mystery of the strange discoveries narrated in Arthur Poe's work was now an ever would remain beyond solution. We had only to regain our ship, returning by the east side of the coast. Hunt brought us through the space where the sheds had been erected for the preparation of the Besh-de-Maire, and we saw the remains of them. On all sides silence and abandonment reigned. We made a brief pause at the place where Arthur Pim and Dirk Peter seized upon the boat, which bore them towards higher latitudes, even to that horizon of dark vapor whose rents permitted them to discern the huge human figure, the white giant. Hunt stood with crossed arms, his eyes devouring the vast extent of the sea. "'Well, Hunt,' said I tentatively. Hunt did not appear to hear me. He did not turn his head in my direction. "'What are we doing here?' I asked him, and touched him on the shoulder. He started, and cast a glance upon me, which went to my heart. "'Come along, Hunt,' cried Hurley-Curley. "'Are you going to take root on this rock? Don't you see the how-brain waiting for us at her moorings? Come along. We shall be off to-morrow. There is nothing more to do here.' It seemed to me that Hunt's trembling lips repeated the word nothing, while his whole bearing protested against what the bosun said. The boat brought us back to the ship. Captain Len Guy had not left his cabin. West, having received no orders, was pacing the deck aft. I seated myself at the foot of the main mast, observing the sea which lay open and free before us. At this moment the captain came on deck. He was very pale, and his features looked pinched and weary. "'Mr. Jorling,' said he, I can affirm, conscientiously, that I have done all it was possible to do. Can I hope, henceforth, that my brother William and his companions? No, no. We must go away before winter.' He drew himself up, and cast a last glance towards Celal Island. "'Tomorrow, Jim,' he said to West, "'tomorrow we will make sail, as early as possible.' At this moment a rough voice uttered the words. "'And, Pim, poor Pim!' I recognized this voice. It was the voice I had heard in my dream." End of CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVII. Part I. of an Antarctic Mystery. Or the Sphinx of the Icefields. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. An Antarctic Mystery by Jules Verne. CHAPTER XVII. And Pim. And Pim, poor Pim. I turned round quickly. Hunt had spoken. This strange person was standing motionless at a little distance, gazing fixedly at the horizon. It was so unusual to hear Hunt's voice on board the schooner, that the men whom the unaccustomed sound reached drew near, moved by curiosity. Did not this unexpected intervention point to, I had a presentiment that it did, some wonderful revelation? A movement of West's hand sent the men forward, leaving only the mate, the beau's son, Martin Holt, the sailing-master, and Hardy with the captain and myself in the vicinity of Hunt. The captain approached and addressed him. What did you say? I said, and Pim, poor Pim. Well then what do you mean by repeating the name of the man whose pernicious advice led my brother to the island on which the jain was lost? The greater part of her crew was massacred, and where we have not found even one left of those who were still here seven months ago? Hunt did not speak. Answer! I say answer! cried the captain. Hunt hesitated, not because he did not know what to say, but from a certain difficulty in expressing his ideas. The latter were quite clear, but his speech was confused, his words were unconnected. He had a certain language of his own, which sometimes was picturesque, and pronunciation was strongly marked by the hoarse accent of the Indians of the far west. You see, he said, I do not know how to tell things. My tongue stops. Understand me, I spoke of Pim. Poor Pim, did I not? Yes, answered West sternly. And what have you to say about Arthur Pim? I have to say that he must not be abandoned. Abandoned, I exclaimed. No, never. It would be cruel, too cruel. We must go to seek him. Just seek him, repeated Captain Lengai. Understand me, it is for this, that I have embarked on the Halbrain. Yes, to find poor Pim. And where is he, I asked, if not in a deep grave in the cemetery of his natal city. No, he is in a place where he remained alone, all alone. Continued Hunt, pointing towards the south, and since then the sun has risen on that horizon seven times. It was evident that Hunt intended to designate the Antarctic regions. But what did he mean by this? Do you not know that Arthur Pim is dead? said the Captain. Dead? replied Hunt, emphasizing the word with an expressive gesture. No. Listen to me, I know things. Understand me, he is not dead. Come now, Hunt, said I. Remember what you do know. In the last chapter of the Adventures of Arthur Pim, does not Edgar Poe relate his sudden and deplorable end? Explain yourself, Hunt, said the Captain, in a tone of command. Reflect, take your time, and say plainly whatever you have to say. And while Hunt passed his hand over his brow, as though to collect his memory of far-off things, I observed to Captain Lengai. There is something very singular in the intervention of this man, if indeed he be not mad. Not my words the Bosun shook his head, for he did not believe Hunt to be in his right mind. The latter understood this shake of the Bosun's head, and cried out in a harsh tone, No, not mad. And madmen are respected on the prairies, even if they are not believed. And I, I must be believed. No, no, no, Pim is not dead. Edgar Poe asserts that he is, I replied. Yes, I know, Edgar Poe of Baltimore, but he never saw poor Pim, never, never. What! exclaimed Captain Lengai, that two men were not acquainted. No. And it was not Arthur Pim himself who related his adventures to Poe. No, Captain, no. He, below there, at Baltimore, had only the notes written by Pim from the day when he hid himself on board the Grampus, to the very last hour, the last. Understand me, the last. Who, then, brought back the journal? asked Captain Lengai, as he seized Hunt's hand. It was Pim's companion, he who loved him, his poor Pim, like a son. It was Dirk Peters, the half-breed, who came back alone from there beyond. The half-breed, Dirk Peters, I exclaimed. Yes, alone, alone. And Arthur Pim may be there, answered Hunt, in a loud voice, heading towards a southern line, from which he had not diverted his gaze for a moment. Could such an assertion prevail against the general incredulity? No, assuredly not. Martin Holt nudged hurlingly with his elbow, and both regarded Hunt with pity, while West observed him without speaking. Captain Lengai made me a sign, meaning that nothing serious was to be got of this poor fellow, whose mental faculties must have been out of gear for a long time. And nevertheless, when I looked keenly at Hunt, it seemed to me that a sort of radiance of truth shone out of his eyes. Then I set to work to interrogate the man, putting him to precise and pressing questions which he tried to answer categorically, as we shall see, and not once did he contradict himself. Tell me, I asked, did Arthur Pim really come to Salao Island on board the Grampus? Yes. Did Arthur Pim separate himself with the half-breed, and one of the sailors, from his companions, while Captain William Guy had gone to the village of Clock-Clock? Yes. The sailor was one Alan, and he was almost immediately stifled under the stones. Then the two others saw the attack and the destruction of the schooner from the top of the hill? Yes. Then, sometime later, the two left the island, after they had got possession of one of the boats which the natives could not take from them. Yes. And, after twenty days, having reached the front of the curtain of vapor, they were both carried down into the gulf of the cataract. This time Hunt did not reply in the affirmative. He hesitated. He stammered out some vague words. He seemed to be trying to rekindle the half-extinguished flame of his memory, at length, looking at me and shaking his head he answered. No, not both. Understand me. Dirk never told me. Dirk Peters! Interposed Captain Len Guy quickly. You knew Dirk Peters? Yes. Where? At Vandalia, State of Illinois. And it is from him that you have all this information concerning the voyage? From him? And he came back alone, alone from that voyage, having left Arthur Pym? Alone. Speak, man! Do speak! I cried impatiently. And inbroken, but intelligible, sentence Hunt spoke. Yes, there occurred to a vapor. So the half-breed often said, Understand me. The two, Arthur Pym and he, were in Sallel Boat. Then an enormous block of ice came full upon them. And at the shock Dirk Peters was thrown into the sea, but he clung to the ice-block, and Understand me, he saw the boat drift with the current, far, very far, too far. In vain did Pym try to rejoin his companion he could not. The boat drifted on and on, and Pym, that poor, dear Pym, was carried away. It is he who has never come back. And he is there, still there. If Hunt had been the half-breed in person, he could not have spoken with more heartfelt emotion of poor Pym. It was then, in front of the curtain of vapor, that Arthur Pym and the half-breed had been separated from each other. Dirk Peters had succeeded in returning from the ice-world to America, wither he conveyed the notes that were communicated to Edgar Poe. Hunt was minutely questioned upon all these points and he replied, conformably, he declared, to what the half-breed had told him many times. According to this statement, Dirk Peters had Arthur Pym's notebook in his pocket at the moment when the ice-block struck them, and thus the journal which the half-breed placed at the disposal of the American romance-writer was saved. "'Understand me,' Hunt repeated, for I tell you things, as I have them from Dirk Peters, while the drift was carrying him away he cried out with all his strength. Pym, poor Pym, had already disappeared in the midst of the vapor. The half-breed, feeding upon raw fish, which he contrived to catch, was carried back by a cross-current to Sallow Island, where he landed, half-dead from hunger. "'To Sallow Island,' exclaimed Captain Langeye, and how long was it since they had left it? Three weeks, yes, three weeks at the furthest, so Dirk Peters told me. Then he must have found all that remained of the crew of the Jane, my brother William, and those who had survived with him. "'No,' replied Hunt, and Dirk Peters always believed that they had perished, yes, to the very last man. There is no one upon the island.' "'No one?' Not a living soul. But the population?' "'No one.' "'No one, I tell you. The island was a desert. Yes, a desert.' This statement contradicted certain facts of which we are absolutely certain. After all, though, when Dirk Peters returned to Sallow Island, the population, seized by who can tell what terror, had already taken refuge upon the south-western group, and that William Guy and his companions were still hidden in the gorges of clock-clock. That would explain why Halfbreed had not come across them, and also why survivors of the Jane had nothing to fear during eleven years of their sojourn on the island. On the other hand, since Patterson had left them there seven previously, if we did not find them, that must have been because they had been obliged to leave Sallow Island. That being rendered uninhabitable by the earthquake. So that, resumed Captain Len Guy, on the return of Dirk Peters, there is no longer an inhabitant on the island. Not one. Repeated hunt. Not one. The Halfbreed did not meet a single native. And what did Dirk Peters do? Understand me. A forsaken boat lay there at the back of the bay, contained some dried meat, and several casks of water. The Halfbreed got into it, and a south wind, yes, south, very strong, the same that had driven the ice-block, with the cross-current towards Sallow Island, carried him on for weeks and weeks to the ice-barrier. Through a passage in it, you may believe me I'm telling you only what Dirk Peters told me, and he cleared the polar circle. And beyond it, I inquired, beyond it he was picked up by an American whaler, the Sandy Hook, and taken back to America. Now one thing at all events was clear. Edgar Poe had never known Arthur Pym. This was the reason why, to leave his readers in exciting uncertainty, he had brought Pym to an end, as sudden as it was deplorable, without indicating the manner or the cause of his death. And yet, although Arthur Pym did not return, could it be reasonably admitted that he had survived his companion for any length of time, that he was still living, eleven years having elapsed since his disappearance? Yes, yes," replied Hunt. And this he affirmed, with the strong conviction that Dirk Peters had infused into his mind, while the two were living together in Vandalia, in Illinois. Now the question arose, was Hunt sane? Was it not he who had stolen into my cabin, in a fit of insanity, of this I had no doubt, and murmured in my ear the words, and Pym, poor Pym? Yes, and I had not been dreaming, in short, if all that Hunt had said was true, if he was but the faithful reporter of secrets which had been entrusted to him by Dirk Peters, ought he to be believed, when he repeated in a tone of mangled command and entreaty? Pym is not dead. Pym is there. Your Pym must not be forsaken. When I had made an end of questioning Hunt, Captain Lung Guy, came out of his meditative mood, profoundly troubled, and gave the word, all hands forward. When the men were assembled around him he said, Listen to me, Hunt, and seriously consider the gravity of the questions I am about to put to you. Hunt held his head up, and ran his eyes over the crew of the Howell Brain. You assert, Hunt, that all you have told us concerning Arthur Pym is true. Yes. You knew Dirk Peters? Yes. You lived some years with him in Illinois? Nine years. And he often related these things to you? Yes. And for your own part you have no doubt that he told you the exact truth? None. Well, then, did it ever occur to him that some of the crew of the Jane might have remained on Sallel Island? No. He believed that Captain William Guy and his companions must all have perished in the landslip of the Hill of Clock-Clock. Yes, and from what he often repeated to me, Pym believed it also. Where did you see Dirk Peters for the last time? At Vendalia. How long ago? Over two years. And which of you two was the first to leave Vendalia? I thought I detected a slight hesitation in Hunt before he answered. We left the place together. You, to go to? The Falklands. And he? He? replied Hunt. And then his wandering gaze fixed itself on Martin Holt, our sailing-master, whose life he had saved at the risk of his own during the Tempest. Well, resumed the Captain, do you not understand what I am asking you? Yes. Then answer me. When Dirk Peters left Illinois, did he finally give up America? Yes. To go wither, speak! To the Falklands. And where is he now? He stands before you. Dirk Peters, Hunt was the half-breed Dirk Peters, the devoted companion of Arthur Pym. He, who Captain Guy, had so long sought for in the United States, and whose presence was probably to furnish us with a fresh reason for pursuing our daring campaign. I shall not at all be surprised if my readers have already recognized Dirk Peters and Hunt. Indeed I shall be astonished if they had failed to do so. The extraordinary thing is that Captain Len Guy and myself, who had read Edgar Poe's book over and over again, did not see it once, when Hunt came on the ship at the Falklands, that he and the half-breed were identical. I can only admit that we were both blindfolded by some hidden action of fate, just when surgeon Pages of that book ought to have effectually cleared our vision. There was no doubt, whatever, that Hunt really was Dirk Peters. Although he was eleven years older, he answered in every particular to the description of him, given by Arthur Pym, except that he was no longer of fierce aspect. In fact the half-breed had changed with age, and the experience of terrible scenes through which he had passed. Nevertheless he was still the faithful companion to whom Arthur Pym had often owed his safety. That same Dirk Peters, who loved him as his own son, and who had never, known never, lost the hope of finding him again one day amid the awful Antarctic wastes. Now why had Dirk Peters hidden himself in the Falklands under the name of Hunt? Why, since his embarkation on the half-brain, had he kept up that incognito? Why had he not told who he was, since he was aware of the intentions of the Captain, who was about to make every effort to save his countrymen by following the course of the Jane? Why, no doubt because he feared that his name would inspire horror. Was it not the name of one who had shared in the horrible scenes of the Grampus, who had killed Parker, the sailor who had fed upon the man's flesh, and quenched his thirst in the man's blood? To induce him to reveal his name he must be assured that the half-brain would attempt to discover and rescue Arthur Pym. And as to the existence of Arthur Pym, I confess that my reason did not rebel against the admission of it as a possibility, the imploring cry of the half-breed, Pym, poor Pym. He must not be forsaken. Troubled me profoundly. Assuredly, since I had resolved to take part in the expedition of the half-brain, I was no longer the same man. Along silence had followed the astounding declaration of the half-breed. None dreamed of doubting his veracity. He had said, I am Dirk Peters. He was Dirk Peters. That length moved by irresistible impulse I said. My friends, before any decision is made, let us carefully consider the situation. Should we not lay up everlasting regret for ourselves, if we were to abandon our expedition at the very moment when it promises to succeed? Reflect upon this, captain, and you, my companions. It is less than seven months since Patterson left your countrymen alive on Sallel Island. If they were there then, the fact proves that for eleven years they had been enabled to exist on the resources provided by the island, having nothing to fear from the islanders, some of whom had fallen victim to circumstances unknown to us, and others had probably transferred themselves to some neighbouring island. This is quite plain, and I do not see how any objection can be raised to my reasoning. No one made answer, there was none to be made. If we have not come across the captain of the Jane and his people, I resumed, it is because they have been obliged to abandon Sallel Island, since Patterson's departure. Why, in my belief, it was because the earthquake had rendered the island uninhabitable. Now they would only have required a native boat to gain either another island, or some point of the Antarctic continent, by the aid of the southern current. I hardly hesitate to assert that all this has occurred, but in any case I know and I repeat that we shall have done nothing if we do not persevere in the search on which the safety of your countrymen depends. I questioned my audience by a searching look, no answer. Captain Len Guy, whose emotion was unrestrained, bowed his head, for he felt that I was right that by invoking the duties of humanity I was prescribing the only course open to men with feeling hearts. And what is in question, I continued, after the silent pause, to accomplish a few degrees of latitude, and that while the sea is open, while we have two months of good weather to look for, and nothing to fear from the southern winter, I certainly should not ask you to brave its severity. And shall we hesitate, when the howl-brain is abundantly furnished, her crew complete and in good health? Shall we take fright at imaginary dangers? Shall we not have courage to go on, on, thither? And I pointed to the southern horizon, Jerk Peters pointed to it also, with an imperative gesture which spoke for him. Still the eyes of all were fixed upon us, but there was no response. I continued to urge every argument and to quote every example in favour of the safety of pursuing our voyage, but the silence was unbroken, and now the men stood with eyes cast down. And yet I had not once pronounced the name of Jerk Peters, nor alluded to Jerk Peters' proposal. I was asking myself whether I had, or had not succeeded, in inspiring my companions with my own belief, when Captain Len Guy spoke. Jerk Peters, he said, do you assert that Arthur Pim and you, after your departure from Sallow Island, saw land in the direction of the south? Yes, land," answered the half-breed,--"islands or continents, understand me, and I believe that Pim, poor Pim, is waiting there until aid comes to him. There, where perhaps William Guy and his companions are also waiting," said I, to bring back the discussion to more practical points." Captain Len Guy reflected for a little while, and then spoke. "'Is it true, Jerk Peters?' he asked, that beyond the eighty-fourth parallel, the horizon is shut in by that curtain of vapor, which is described in the narrative. Have you seen, seen with your own eyes, those cataracts in the air, that gulf in which Arthur Pim's boat was lost?' The half-breed looked from one to the other of us, and shook his big head. "'I don't know,' he said. "'What are you asking me about, Captain, a curtain of vapor? Yes, perhaps, and also appearances of land towards the south.'" Evidently Jerk Peters had never read Edgar Poe's book, and very likely did not know how to read. After having handed over Pim's journal, he had not troubled himself about its publication. Having retired to Illinois at first, and to the Falklands afterwards, he had no notion of the stir that the work had made, or of the fantastic and baseline climax to which our great poet had brought those strange adventurers. And besides, might not Arthur Pim himself, with his tendency to the supernatural, have fancied that he saw these wondrous things do solely to his imaginative brain? Then for the first time, in the course of this discussion, West Boys made itself heard. I had no idea which side he would take. The first words he uttered were, "'Captain, your orders?' Captain Len Guy turned towards his crew, who surrounded him, both the old and the new. Heron remained in the background ready to intervene, if he should think it necessary. The captain questioned the bow-son and his comrades, whose devotion was unreservedly his, by a long and anxious look, and I heard him mutter between his teeth. Ah, if it depended only on me, if I was sure of the ascent, and the help of them all. Then Heron spoke roughly, "'Captain,' said he, "'It is two months since we left the Falklands. Now my companions were engaged for a voyage, which was not to take them further beyond the icebergs than Salal Island.' "'That is not so,' exclaimed Captain Len Guy. "'No, that is not so. I recruited you all for an enterprise which I have a right to pursue, so far as I please.' "'Beg pardon,' said Heron coolly, but we have come to a point which no navigator has ever yet reached, in a sea no ship except the Jain has ever ventured into before us, and therefore my comrades and I mean to return to the Falklands before the bad season. From there you can return to Salal Island, and even go on to the pole if you so please.' A murmur of approbation greeted his words. No doubt the ceiling-master justly interpreted the sentiments of the majority, composed of the new recruits. To go against their opinion, to exact the obedience of these ill-disposed men, and under such conditions, to risk the unknown Antarctic waters would have been an act of temerity, or rather an act of madness, that would have brought about some catastrophe. Nevertheless West, advancing upon Heron, said to him in a threatening tone, who gave you leave to speak. "'The Captain questioned us,' replied Heron. I had a right to reply. The man uttered these words, which such insolence that West, who was generally so self-restrained, was about to give free vent to his wrath, when Captain Len Guy, stopping him by a motion of his hand, said quietly, "'Be calm, Gem. Nothing can be done unless we are all agreed. What is your opinion, hurly-gurly?' "'It is very clear, Captain,' replied the Bosun. I will obey your orders, whatever they may be. It is our duty not to forsake William Guy and the others, so long as any chance of saving them remains.' The Bosun paused for a moment, while several of the sailors gave unequivocal signs of approbation. As for what concerns Arthur Pym? There is no question of Arthur Pym, struck in the Captain, but only of my brother William, and his companions. I saw at this moment that Dirk Peters was about to protest, and cut hold of his arm. He shook with anger, but kept silence. The Captain continued his questioning of the man, desiring to know by name all those upon whom he might reckon. The old crew to a man acquiesced in his proposals, and pledged themselves to obey his orders implicitly, and follow him with or so ever he chose to go. Three only of the recruits joined those faithful seamen. These were English sailors. The others were of Herne's opinion, holding that for them the campaign was ended at Salah Lailand. They therefore refused to go beyond that point, and formally demanded that the ship should be steered northward, so as to clear the icebergs at the most favourable period of the season. Twenty men were on their side, and to constrain them, to lend a hand to the working of the ship if she were to be diverted to the south, would have been to provoke them to rebel. There was but one resource to arouse their covetousness, to strike the cord of self-interest. I intervened, therefore, and addressed them in a way which placed the seriousness of my proposal beyond a doubt. Men of the Howe-Brain listened to me, just as various states have done for voyages of discovery in the polar regions, I offer a reward to the crew of this schooner. Two thousand dollars shall be shared among you, for every degree we make beyond the eighty-fourth parallel. Nearly seventy dollars to each man, this was a strong temptation. I felt that I had hit the mark. I will sign an agreement to that effect, I continued, with Captain Langeye as your representative, and the sums gained shall be handed to you on your return, no matter under what conditions that return be accomplished. I waited for the effect of this promise, and, to tell the truth, I had not long to wait. Hurrah! cried the bow-son, acting as fugulmen to his comrades, who almost unanimously added their cheers to his. Heron offered no further opposition. It would always be in his power to put in his word when the stances should be more propitious. Thus the bargain was made, and to gain my ends I have made a heavier sacrifice. It is true we were within seven degrees of the south, and if the howl-brain should indeed reach that spot it would never cost me more than fourteen thousand dollars. Early in the morning of the twenty-seventh of December the howl-brain put out to sea, heading south-west. After the scene of the preceding evening Captain Langeye had taken a few hours' rest. I met him the next day on deck, while west was going about four and aft, and he called us both to him. Mr. Jorling, he said, it was with a terrible pang that I came to the resolution to bring her schooner back to the north. I felt I had not done all I ought to do for our unhappy fellow countrymen, but I knew that the majority of the crew would be against me if I insisted on going beyond Sallel Island. That is true, Captain, there was a beginning of indiscipline on board, and perhaps it might have ended in a revolt. A revolt we should have speedily put down, said West Cooley, where it only by knocking Heron, who is always exciting the mutinous men on the head. And you would have done well, Jem, said the Captain, only justice being satisfied, what would have become of the agreement together which we must have in order to do anything. Of course, Captain, it is better that things passed off without violence, but for the future Heron will have to look out for himself. His companions, observed the Captain, are now greedy for the prizes that have been promised them. The greed of gain will make them more willing and persevering. The generosity of Mr. Jorling has succeeded where our entreaties would undoubtedly have failed. I thank him for it. Captain Lengai held out a hand to me which I grasped cordially. After some general conversation relating to our purpose, the Captain's course and the proposed verification of the bearings of the group of islands on the west of Salal, which is described by Arthur Pym, the Captain said. As it is possible that the ravages of the earthquake did not extend to this group, and that it may still be inhabited we must be on our guard in approaching the bearings. Which cannot be far off, I added. And then, Captain, who knows but that your brother and his sailors might have taken refuge on one of these islands. This was admissible, but not a consoling eventuality, for in that case the poor fellows would have fallen into the hands of those savages of whom they were rid while they remained at Salal. Jem, resumed Captain Lengai, we are making good way, and no doubt land will be signalled in a few hours. Give orders for the watch to be careful. It's done, Captain. There's a man in the crow's nest. Dirk Peters himself at his own request. All right, Jem, we may trust his vigilance. And also his eyes, I added, for he is gifted with amazing sight. For two hours of quick sailing, not the smallest indication of the group of eight islands was visible. It is incomprehensible that we could not come in sight of them, said the Captain. I reckon that the howl-brain has made sixty miles since this morning, and the islands in question are tolerably close together. Then Captain, we must conclude, and it is not unlikely, that the group to which Salal belonged has entirely disappeared in the earthquake. Land ahead, cried Dirk Peters. We looked but could discern nothing on the sea, nor was it until a quarter of an hour had elapsed that our glasses enabled us to recognize the tops of a few scattered islets shining in the oblique rays of the sun, two or three miles to the westward. What a change! How had it come about? Arthur Pym described, spacious islands, but only a small number of tiny islets, half a dozen at most, protruded from the waters. At this moment the half-breed came sliding down from his lofty perch, and jumped to the deck. Well, Dirk Peters, have you recognized the group? asked the Captain. The group replied the half-breed shaking his head. No, I have only seen the tops of five or six islets. There is nothing but stone-heaps there, not a single island. As the schooner approached we easily recognized these fragments of the group, which had been almost entirely destroyed on its western side. The scattered remains formed dangerous reefs, which might seriously injure the keel or the sides of the howl-brain, and there is no intention of risking the ship's safety among them. We accordingly cast anchor at a safe distance, and a boat was lowered for the reception of Captain Len Guy, the beau-son, Dirk Peters, Holt, two men and myself. This still, transparent water, as Peters steered us skillfully between the projecting edges of the little reefs, allowed us to see, not a bed of sand strewn with shells, but heaps which were overgrown by land vegetation, tufts, plants, not belonging to the marine flora, that floated on the surface of the sea. Presently we landed on one of the larger islets, which rose to about thirty feet above the sea. Do the tides rise sometimes to that height? I inquired of the Captain. Never, he replied, and perhaps we shall discover some remains of the vegetable kingdom, of habitations or of an encampment. The best thing that we can do, said the beau-son, is to follow Dirk Peters, who has already distanced us. The half-breeds links his eyes. We'll see what we can't. Peters had indeed scaled the eminence in a moment, and we presently joined him on the top. The islet was strewn with the remains, probably of those domestic animals mentioned in Arthur Pym's journal, but these bones differed from the bones on Sellele Island by the fact that the heaps dated from a few months only. This then agreed with the recent period at which we placed the earthquake. Besides, plants and tufs of flowers were growing here and there. And these are this year's, I cried. No southern winter has passed over them. These facts having been ascertained, no doubt could remain respecting the date of the cataclysm after the departure of Patterson, the destruction of the population of Sellele, whose bones lay about the village was not attributable to that catastrophe. William Guy and the five sailors of the Jane had been able to fly in time, since no bones that could be theirs had been found on the island. Where had they taken refuge? This was the ever-pressing question. What answer were we to obtain? Must we conclude that having reached one of these islets they had perished in the swallowing up of the archipelago? We debated this point, as may be supposed, at a length and with detail which I can only indicate here. Suffice it to say that a decision was arrived at to the following effect. Our sole chance of discovering the unfortunate castaways was to continue our voyage for two or three parallels further. The goal was there, and which of us would not sacrifice even his life to attain it? God is guiding us, Mr. Jorling," said Captain Lund Guy. End of Chapter 17 Part 2 Chapter 18 Part 1 of an Antarctic Mystery This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. An Antarctic Mystery by Joel's Fern Chapter 18 Part 1 A Revelation The following day, the twenty-ninth of December, at six in the morning, the schooner set sail with a northeast wind, and this time her course was due south. The two succeeding days passed wholly without incident. Neither land nor any sign of land was observed. The men on the howl-brain took great halls of fish to their own satisfaction and ours. It was New Year's Day, 1840, four months and seventeen days since I had left the Kurgulans, and two months and five days since the howl-brain had sailed from the Falklands. The half-breed, between whom and myself an odd kind of tacit understanding subsisted, approached the bench on which I was sitting. The Captain was in his cabin, and West was not in sight. With a plain intention of conversing with me, the subject may easily be gassed. "'Dirk Peters,' said I, taking up the subject at once, do you wish that we should talk of him?' "'Him,' he murmured. "'You have remained faithful to his memory, Dirk Peters. Forget him, sir. Never.' "'He is always there before you?' "'Always.' "'So many dangers shared. That makes brothers.' "'No. It makes a father and his son. Yes. And I have seen America again. But, Pim, poor Pim, he is still beyond there.' "'Dirk Peters,' I asked, have you any idea of the route which you and Arthur Pim followed in the boat after your departure from Sallal Island?' "'None, sir. Poor Pim had no longer any instrument, you know, sea-machines, for looking at the sun. We could not know, except that for eight days the current pushed us towards the south, and the wind also, a fine breeze, and a fair sea, and our shirts for a sail. Yes, white linen shirts which frighten your prisoner, Nunu. Perhaps so. I did not notice. But if Pim had said so, Pim must be believed. And during those eight days you were able to supply yourselves with food?' "'Yes, sir. And the days after, we and the savage, you know, the three turtles that were in the boat. These animals contain a store of fresh water, and their flesh is sweet, even raw. Oh, raw flesh, sir!' He lowered his voice and threw a furtive glance around him. It would be impossible to describe the frightful expression of the half-breed's face, as he thus recalled the terrible scenes of the grampus. And it was not the expression of a cannibal of Australia, or the new Hebrides, but that of a man who is pervaded by an insurmountable horror of himself. Was it not on the first of March, Dirk Peters, I asked, that you perceived for the first time the veil of grey vapor, shot with luminous and moving rays? I do not remember, sir. But if Pim says it was so, Pim must be believed. Did he never speak to you of fiery rays which fell from the sky? I did not use the term polar aurora, lest the half-breed should not understand it. Never, sir!' said Dirk Peters after some reflection. Did you not remark that the colour of the sea changed, grew white like milk, and that its surface became ruffled around your boat? It may have been so, sir. I did not observe. The boat went on and on, and my head went with it. And then, the fine powder, as fine as ashes that fell. I don't remember it. Was it snow? Snow? Yes. No. The weather was warm. But did Pim say Pim must be believed? He lowered his voice and continued. But Pim will tell you all that, sir. He knows. I do not know. He saw. And you will believe him. Yes, Dirk Peters, I shall believe him. We are to go in search of him, are we not? I hope so. After we have found William Guy in the cellars of the Jane? Yes, after. And even if we do not find them? Yes, even in that case. I think I shall induce our captain. I think he will not refuse. No, he will not refuse to bring help to a man, a men like him. And yet, I said, if William Guy and his people are living, we can admit that Arthur Pim— Living? Yes, living! cried the half-breed. By the great spirit of my father's he is. He is waiting for me, my poor Pim. How joyful he will be when he clasps his old Dirk in his arms, and I, I, when I feel him there, there. And the huge chest of the man heaved like a stormy sea. Then it went away, leaving me inexpressibly affected by the revelation of the tenderness for his unfortunate companion that laid deep in the heart of this semi-savage. In the meantime I said but little to Captain Len Guy, whose whole heart and soul were set on the rescue of brother, of the possibility of our finding Arthur Gordon Pim. Time enough, if in the course of this strange enterprise of ours, we succeeded in that object, to urge upon him one still more visionary. At length, on the 7th of January, according to Dirk Peters, who had fixed it only by the time that had expired, we arrived at the place where Nunu the savage breathed his last, lying in the bottom of the boat. And that day an observation gave eighty-six degrees, thirty-three minutes for the latitude, the longitude remaining the same between the forty-second and the forty-third meridian. Here it was, according to the half-breed, that the two fugitives were parted after the collision between the boat and the floating mass of ice. But a question now arose, since the mass of ice, carrying away Dirk Peters had drifted towards the north. Was this because it was subjected to the action of a counter-current? Yes, that must have been so, for our schooner had not felt the influence of the current which had guided her on leaving the Falklands for fully four days, and yet there is nothing surprising in that, for everything is variable in the austral seas. Happily the fresh breeze from the northeast continued to blow, and the howl-brain made progress towards higher water, thirteen degrees in advance upon Weddell's ship, and two degrees upon the Jane. As for the land, islands or continent, which Captain Lenguy was seeking on the surface of that vast ocean, it did not appear. I was well aware that he was gradually losing confidence in our enterprise. As for me, I was possessed by the desire to rescue Arthur Pym as well as the survivors of the Jane, and yet how could he have survived? But then the half-breed fixed idea. Supposing our captain were to give the order to go back, what would Dirk Peters do? Throw himself into the sea rather than return northwards? This it was, which made me dread some active violence on his part, when he heard the greater number of the sailors protesting against this insensate voyage, and talking of putting the ship about, especially towards Hearn, who was stealthily inciting his comrades of the Falklands to insubordination. It was absolutely necessary not to allow discipline to decline, or discouragement to grow among the crew. So that, on the 7th of January, Captain Lenguy, at my request, assembled the men and addressed them in the following words. Sailors of the Howell Brain, since our departure from Sallel Island, the schooner has gained two degrees southwards, and I now inform you that, conformably with the engagement signed by Mr. Jorling, four thousand dollars, that is two thousand dollars for each degree, are due to you and will be paid at the end of the voyage. These words were greeted with some murmurs of satisfaction, but not with cheers, except those of Hurley-Gurley the Bosun, and Endicott the Cook, which found no echo. On the 13th of January a conversation took place between the Bosun and myself of a nature to justify my anxiety concerning the temper of our crew. The men were at breakfast, with the exception of drape and stern. The schooner was cutting the water under a stiff breeze. I was walking between the fore and main mast, watching the great flights of birds wheeling about the ship, with deafening clanger and the petrels occasionally perching on our yards. No effort was made to catch or shoot them. It would have been useless cruelty, since their oily and stringy flesh is not eatable. At this moment Hurley-Gurley approached me, looked attentively at the birds, and said, I remark one thing, Mr. Jorling, what is it, Bosun? That these birds do not fly so directly south, as they did up to the present, some of them are setting north. I have noticed the same fact, and I add, Mr. Jorling, that those who are below there will come back without delay. And you conclude from this? I conclude that they feel the approach of winter. Undoubtedly! No, no, Bosun, the temperature is so high that the birds can't want to get to less cold regions so prematurely. Oh, prematurely, Mr. Jorling! Yes, Bosun, do we not know that navigators have always been able to frequent the Antarctic waters until the month of March? Not at such a latitude. Besides, there are precocious winters as well as precocious summers. The fine season this year was full two months in advance, and it is to be feared the bad season may come sooner than usual. That is very likely, I replied. After all, it does not apply to us, since our campaign will be certainly over in three weeks. If some obstacle does not arrive before hand, Mr. Jorling, and what obstacle? For instance, a continent stretching to the south and barring our way. A continent early, girly? I should not at all be surprised. And in fact there would be nothing surprising in it. As for the lands seen by Dirk Peters, said the Bosun, were the men of the Jain might have landed on one or another of them, I don't believe in them. Why? Because William Guy, who can only have had a small crafted his disposal, could not have got so far into these seas. I do not feel quite so sure of that. Never the less, Mr. Jorling. What would be so surprising in William Guy's being carried to land somewhere by the action of currents? He did not remain on board his boat for eight months, I suppose. His companions and he may have been able to land on an island, or even on a continent, and that is a sufficient motive for us to pursue our search. No doubt, but all are not of your opinion, replied herly-girly shaking his head. I know, said I, and that is what makes me most anxious. Is the ill-feeling increasing? I fear so, Mr. Jorling, the satisfaction of having gained several hundreds of dollars is already lessened, and the prospect of gaining a few more hundreds does not put a stop to disputes. And yet the prize is tempting. From Zalal Island to the pole, admitting that we might get there, is six degrees. Now six degrees at two thousand dollars each makes twelve thousand dollars for thirty men. That is four hundred dollars ahead—a nice little sum to slip into one's pocket on the return of the howl-brain. But notwithstanding, that fellow hern works so wickedly upon his comrades that I believe they are ready to bout ship in spite of anybody. I can believe that of the recruits, both son, but the old crew. Oh, there are three or four of those who are beginning to reflect, and they are not easy in their minds about the prolongation of the voyage. I fancy Captain Lengai and his lieutenant will know how to get themselves obeyed. We shall see, Mr. Jorling, but may it not that our Captain himself will get disheartened that the sense of his responsibility will prevail and that he will renounce his enterprise. Yes, this is what I feared, and there was no remedy on that side. As for my friend Endicott, Mr. Jorling, I answer for him, as for myself. We would go to the end of the world, if the world has an end. Did the Captain want to go there? True. We, too, Dirk Peters and yourself, are but a few, to be a law to the others. And what do you think of the half-breed? I ask. Well, our men appear to accuse him chiefly of the prolongation of the voyage. You see, Mr. Jorling, though you have a good deal to do with it, you pay and pay well, while this crazy fellow, Dirk Peters, persists in asserting that his poor pimp is still living, his poor pimp, who was drowned, or frozen, or crushed, killed anyhow, one way or another, eleven years ago. So completely was this my own belief that I never discuss the subject with the half-breed. You see, Mr. Jorling, resume the both, son. At the first, some curiosity was felt about Dirk Peters. Then, after he saved Martin Holt, it was interest. Certainly he was no more talkative than before, and the bear came no oftener, out of his den. But now we know what he is, and no one likes him the better for that. At all events it was he who induced our Captain, by talking of land to the south of Sallel Island, to make this voyage, and it is owing to him that he has reached the eighty-sixth degree of latitude. That is quite true, both, son. And so, Mr. Jorling, I am always afraid that one of these days somebody will do Peters an ill turn. Dirk Peters would defend himself, and I should pity the man who laid a finger on him. Quite so. It would not be good for anybody to be in his hands, for they could bend iron. But then, all being against him, he would be forced into the hold. Well, well, we have not yet come to that, I hope, and I count on you, hurly-girly, to prevent any against Dirk Peters. Reason with your men make them understand that we have time to return to the Falklands, before the end of the fine season. Their reproaches must not be allowed to provide the Captain with an excuse for turning back before the object is attained. Count on me, Mr. Jorling. I will serve you to the best of my ability. You will not repent of doing so, hurly-girly. Nothing is easier than to add around zero to the four hundred dollars which each man is to have, if that man be something more than a sailor, even were his functions simply those of Bosa and on board the howl-brain. Nothing important occurred on the thirteenth and fourteenth, but a fresh fall in the temperature took place. Captain Len Guy called my attention to this, pointing out the flocks of birds continuously flying north. While he was speaking to me, I felt that his last hopes were fading, and too could wonder, of the land indicated by the half-breed nothing was seen, and we were already more than one hundred and eighty miles past Solow Island. At every point of the compass was the sea, nothing but the vast sea with its desert horizon which the sun's disc had been nearing since the twenty-first, and would touch on the twenty-first march prior to during the six months of the austral night. Honestly was it possible to admit that William Guy and his five companions could have accomplished such a distance on a craft, and was there one chance in a hundred that they could ever be recovered? On the fifteenth of January an observation most carefully taken gave forty-three degrees, thirteen minutes longitude, and eighty-eight degrees, seventeen minutes latitude. The howl-brain was less than two degrees from the pole. Captain Len Guy did not seek to conceal the result of this observation, and the sailors knew enough of nautical calculation to understand it. Besides, if the consequences had to be explained to them, were not Holt and Hardy there to do this, and Heron to exaggerate them to the utmost? During the afternoon I had indibutable proof that the ceiling master had been working on the minds of the crew. The man emerging at the foot of the main mast, talked in whispers, and cast evil glances at us. Two or three sailors made threatening gestures undisguisedly. Then arose such angry mutterings that Wes could not be deaf to them. He strode forward and called out, Silence there! The first man who speaks will have to reckon with me. Captain Len Guy was shut up in his cabin, but every moment I expected to see him come out, give one last long look around the wastes of waters, and then order the ship's course to be reversed. Nevertheless, on the next day the schooner was sailing in the same direction, unfortunately, for the circumstances had come some gravity. A mist was beginning to come down on us. I could not keep still. My apprehensions were redoubled. It was that West was only awaiting the order to change the helm. What mortal anguish the captains must be! I understood too well that he would not give that order without hesitation. For several days past I had not seen the half-breed, or at least I had not exchanged a word with him. He was boycotted by the whole crew, with the exception of the bow-son, who was careful to address him, although rarely got a word in return. Dirk Peters took not the faintest notice of this state of things. He remained completely absorbed in his own thoughts. Yet had he heard West give the word to steer north, I know not what acts of violence he might have been driven to. He seemed to avoid me. Was this from a desire not to compromise me? On the seventeenth in the afternoon, however, Dirk Peters manifested an intention of speaking to me, and never could I have imagined what I was to learn in that interview. It was about half-past too, and, not feeling well, I had gone to my cabin, where the side window was open, that at the back was closed. I heard a knock at the door, and asked who was there. Dirk Peters was the reply. You want to speak to me? Yes. I'm coming out. If you please, I should prefer. May I come into your cabin? Come in." He entered and shut the door behind him. Without rising I signed to him to seat himself in an arm-chair, but he remained standing. What do you want of me, Dirk Peters? I asked at length, as he seemed unable to make up his mind to speak. I want to tell you something, because it seems that you should know it, and you only, in the crew, they must never know it. If it is a grave matter, and you fear any indiscretion, Dirk Peters, why do you speak to me? If I must, ah yes, I must. It is impossible to keep it there. It weighs on me like a stone. And Dirk Peters struck his breast violently. Then he resumed, Yes, I am always afraid it may escape me during my sleep, and that some will hear it, for I dream of it, and in dreaming. You dream, I replied, and of what? Of him, of him. Therefore it is that I sleep in corners, all alone, for fear that his true name should be discovered. Then it struck me that the half-breed was perhaps about to respond to an inquiry which I had not yet made. Why he had gone to live at the Falklands under the name of Hunt, after leaving Illinois, I put the question to him, and he replied, It is not that, no, it is not that I wish. I insist, Dirk Peters, and I desire to know in the first place, for what reason did you not remain in America, for what reason you chose the Falklands? For what reasons, sir? Because I wanted to get near Pym, my poor Pym, because I hope to find an opportunity at the Falklands of embarking on a whaling-ship bound for the Southern Sea. But that name of Hunt? I would not bear my own name any longer, on account of the affair of the Grampus. The half-breed was alluding to the scene of the short straw, or lot-drawing on board the American brig, when it was decided between Augustus Bernard, Arthur Pym, Dirk Peters, and Parker the Sailor, that one of the four should be sacrificed, as food for the three others. I remembered the obstinate resistance of Arthur Pym, and how it was impossible for him to refuse to take the tragedy about to be performed. He says this himself, and the horrible act whose remembrance must poison the existence of all those who had survived it. Oh, that lot-drawing, the short straws, were little splinters of wood of uneven length which Arthur held in his hand. The shortest was to designate him, who should be immolated. And he speaks of the sort of involuntary, fierce desire to deceive his corn that he felt to cheat is the word he uses. But he did not cheat, and he asked pardon for having had the idea. Let us try to put ourselves in his place. He made up his mind and held out his hand, closed on the four slips. Dirk Peters drew the first. Fate favoured him. He had nothing more to fear. Arthur Pym calculated the one more chance was against him. Augustus Bernard drew in turn, saved to he. And now Arthur Pym reckoned up the exact chances Parker and himself. At that moment all the ferocity the tiger entered into his soul. He conceived an intense and devilish hatred of his poor comrade, his fellow man. Five minutes elapsed before Parker dared to draw. At length Arthur Pym, standing with eyes closed, not knowing whether the lot was for or against him, felt a hand seize his own. It was the hand of Dirk Peters. Arthur Pym had escaped death. And then the half-breed came upon Parker and stabbed him in the back. The frightful repast followed immediately, and words are not sufficient to convey to the mind the horror of the reality. Yes, I knew that hideous story, not a fable, as I had long believed. This was what had happened on board the Grampus on the 16th of July, 1827, and vainly did I try to understand Dirk Peters' reason for recalling it to my recollection. Well, Dirk Peters, I said, I will ask you, since you were anxious to hide your name, what it was that induced you to reveal it when the half-brain was moored off Salel Island. Why did you not keep to the name of Hunt? Sir, understand me, there was hesitation about going further. They wanted to turn back. This was decided, and then I thought that by telling you who I was, Dirk Peters, of the Grampus, my poor Pym's companion, I should be heard. They would believe with me that he was still living, they would go in search of him, and yet it was a serious thing to do, to acknowledge that I was Dirk Peters, he who had killed Parker. Devouring hunger. Come, come, Dirk Peters, said I, you exaggerate, if the lot had fallen to you, you would have incurred the fate of Parker. You cannot be charged with a crime. Sir, would Parker's family speak of it as you do? His family? Had he then relations? Yes, and that is why Pym changed his name in the narrative. Parker's name was not Parker, it was Arthur Pym was right. I said, interrupting him quickly, and as for me, I do not wish to know Parker's real name. Keep the secret. No. I will tell it to you, it weighs too heavily on me, and I shall be relieved perhaps, when I have told you, Mr. Jorling. No, Dirk Peters, no. His name was Holt, Ned Holt. Holt, I exclaimed, the same name as our sailing-masters, who is his own brother, sir. Martin Holt? Yes, understand me, his brother. But he believes that Ned Holt perished in the wreck of the Grampus with the rest. It was not so, and if he had learned that I— Just at that instance a violent shock flung me out of my bunk. The schooner had made such a lurch to the portside that she was near foundering. I heard an angry voice cry out, What dog is at the helm? It was the voice of West, and the person was hern. I rushed out of my cabin. Have you let the wheel go, repeated West, who had seized hern by the collar of his jersey? Lieutenant, I don't know. Yes, I tell you, you have let it go a little more, and the schooner would have capsized under full sail. Gratian cried West, calling one of the sailors, Take the helm and you, hern, go down into the hold. On a sudden the cry of land resounded, and every eye was turned southward. End of chapter 18 part 2 CHAPTER XIX Land is the only word to be found at the beginning of the nineteenth chapter of Edgar Poe's book. I thought it would be a good idea, placing after it a note of interrogation, to put it as a heading to this portion of our narrative. Did that word drop from our four-mast head, indicate an island or a continent? And whether a continent or an island did not a disappointment await us? Could they be there whom we had come to seek? And Arthur Pym, who was dead, unquestionably dead, in spite of Dirk Peter's assertions, had he ever set foot on this land? When the welcome word resounded on board the Jane, on the seventeenth January, 1828, a day full of incidents according to Arthur Pym's diary, it was succeeded by, land on the star bird bow. Such might have been the signal from the mast head of the howl-brain. The outline of land, lightly drawn above the skyline, were visible on this side. The land announced to the sailors of the Jane was the wild and barren Bennett Islet. Less than one degree south of it lay Salal Island, then fertile, habitable, and inhabited. And on which Captain Len Guy had hoped to meet his fellow countrymen. But what would this unknown island, five degrees further off in the depths of the southern sea, be for our schooner, was at the goal so ardently desired, and so earnestly sought for? Were the two brothers, William and Len Guy, to meet at this place? Would the howl-brain come there, to the end of a voyage, whose success would be definitely secured by the restoration of the survivors of the Jane to their country? I repeat that I was just like the half-breed. Our aim was not merely to discover the survivors, nor was success in this matter the only success we looked for, however, since land was before our eyes, we must get nearer to it first. That cry of land caused an immediate diversion of our thoughts. I no longer dwelt upon the secret Dirk Peters had just told me, and perhaps the half-breed forgot it also, for he rushed to the bow and fixed his eyes immovably on the horizon. As for West, whom nothing could divert from his duty, he repeated his commands. Gratien came to take the helm, and Hearn was shut up in the hold. On the hold this was a just punishment, and none of the old crew protested against it, for Hearn's inattention awkwardness had really endangered the schooner for a short time only. Five or six of the Falkland sailors did, however, murmur a little. Aside from the mate silenced them, and they returned at once to their posts. Needless to say Captain Len Guy, upon hearing the cry of the Look-Out Man, had tumbled up from his cabin, and eagerly examined this land at ten or twelve miles distance. As I have said, I was no longer thinking about the secret Dirk Peters had confided to me. Besides, so long as the secret remained between us two, and neither would betray it, there was nothing to fear. But if ever an unlucky accident which revealed to Martin Holt, that his brother's name had been changed to Parker, that the unfortunate man had not perished in the shipwreck of the Grampus, but had been sacrificed to save his companions from perishing hunger, that Dirk Peters, to whom Martin Holt himself owed his life, had killed him with his own hand, what might not happen then? This was the reason why the half-breed shrank from any expression of thanks for Martin Holt, why he avoided Martin Holt, the victim's brother. The boson had just struck six bells. The schooner was sailing with the caution, demanded by navigation in unknown seas. There might be shoals or reefs barely hidden under the surface, on which she might run aground or be wrecked. As things stood with the half-brain, and even admitting that she could be floated again, an accident would have rendered her return impossible before the winter set in. We had urgent need that every chance should be in our favour, and not one against us. West had given orders to shorten sail. When the boson had furled the top gallant sail, the top sail, and the royal, the half-brain remained under her main sail, under her foresail, and her jib, sufficient canvas to cover the distance that separated her from land in a few hours. Captain Len Guy immediately heaved the lead, which showed a depth of twenty fathoms. Several other soundings showed that the coast, which was very steep, was probably prolonged like a wall under the water. Nevertheless, as the bottom might happen to rise sharply instead of following the slope of the coast, we did not venture to proceed out of the sounding line in hand. The weather was still beautiful, although the sky was overcast by a mist from the southeast to southwest. Owing to this there was some difficulty in identifying the vague outlines which stood out like a floating vapor in the sky, disappearing and then reappearing between the breaks of the mist. However, we all agreed to regard this land as from twenty-five to thirty fathoms in height, at least at its highest part. No we would not admit that we were the victims of a dilution, and yet our uneasy minds feared that it might be so. Is it not natural, after all, for the heart to be assailed by a thousand apprehensions as we near the end of any enterprise? At this thought my mind became confused and dreamy. The half-brain seemed to be reduced to the dimensions of a small boat, lost in this boundless space, the contrary of that limitless sea of which Edgar Poe speaks, where, like a living body, the ship grows larger. When we have charts or even sailing directions instruct us concerning the hydrography of the coasts, the nature of the landfalls, the bays and the creeks, we may sail along boldly. In every other region the master of the ship must not defer the order to cast anchor near the shore until the moral. But where we were, what an amount of prudence was necessary, and yet no manifest obstacle was before us, moreover, we had no cause to fear that the light would fail us during the sunny night. At this season the sun did not set so soon under the western horizon, and its rays bathed the vast Antarctic zone in unabated light. From that day forward the ship's log recorded that the temperature fell continuously, the thermometer in the air and in the shade did not mark more than thirty-two degrees, zero degrees Fahrenheit, and when plunged into the water it only indicated twenty-six degrees, three point three three degrees Celsius below zero. What could be the cause of this fall, since we were at the height of the southern summer? The crew were obliged to resume their woolen clothing, which they had left off a month previously. The schooner, however, was sailing before the wind, and these first cold blasts were less keenly felt. Yet we recognized the necessity of reaching our goal as soon as possible. To linger in this region or to expose ourselves to the danger of wintering out would be to tempt providence. Captain Len Guy tested the direction of the currents by heavy lead lines, and discovered that it was beginning to deviate from its former course. Whether it is a continent, he said, that lies before us or whether it is an island, we have at present no means of determining. If it be a continent we must conclude that the current has an issue towards the southeast. And it is quite possible, I replied, that the solid part of the Antarctic region may be reduced to a mere polar mound. In any case it is well to note any of those observations which are likely to be accurate. That is what I am doing, Mr. Jorling, and we shall bring back a massive information about this portion of the Southern Sea which will prove useful to navigators. If ever any venture to come so far south, Captain, we have penetrated so far, thanks to the help of particular circumstances, the earliness of the summer season, an abnormal temperature, and a rapid thaw. Such conditions may only occur once in twenty or fifty years. Therefore, Mr. Jorling, I thank Providence for this, and hope revives in me to some extent. As the weather has been constantly fine, what is there to make it impossible for my brother and my fellow countrymen to have landed on this coast, whether the wind and the tide bore them? What our schooner has done, their boat may have done. They surely did not start on a voyage which might be prolonged to an indefinite time without a proper supply of provisions. Why should they not have found the resources, as those afforded to them by the island of Salal, during many long years? They had ammunition and arms elsewhere. Fish abound in these waters, waterfowl also. Oh, yes, my heart is full of hope, and I wish I were a few hours older. Without being quite so sanguine as Langeye, I was glad to see he had regained his hopeful mood. Perhaps his investigations were successful. I might be able to have them continued in Arthur Pym's interest, even into the heart of this strange land which we were approaching. The howl-brain was going along slowly on these clear waters, which swarmed with fish, belonging to the same species, as we had already met. The sea-birds were more numerous and were evidently not frightened, for they kept flying around the mast or perching in the yards. The whiteish robes, about five or six feet long, were brought on board. They were chaplets formed of millions of shellfish. Whales, spouting jets of feathery water from their blowholes, appeared at a distance, and I remarked that all of them took a southerly direction. There was therefore reason to believe that the sea extended far and wide in that direction. The schooner covered two or three miles of her course without any increase of speed. This coast evidently stretched from north-west to southeast. Nevertheless the telescopes revealed no distinctive features, even after three hours' navigation. The crew, gathered together on the folk-soul, were looking on without revealing their impressions. West after going aloft to the four cross-trees, where he had remained ten minutes, had reported nothing precise. Stationed at the port side, leaning my elbows on the bulwarks, I closely watched the skyline broken only towards the east. At this moment the bosun rejoined me, and without preface said, �Well, you allow me to give you my opinion, Mr. Jorling? Give it, bosun,' I replied, at the risk of my not adopting it, if I don't agree with it. It is correct, and according as we get nearer, one must really be blind not to adopt it. And what idea have you got, that this is not land which lies before us, Mr. Jorling? What is it you are saying? Look attentively, putting one finger before your eyes. Look there. Out at starboard. I did, as hurly-girly directed. Do you see? He began again. May I lose my liking for my grog, if these heights do not change place, not with regard to the schooner, but with regard to themselves. And would you conclude from this, that they are moving icebergs? Icebergs? Sure enough, Mr. Jorling. Was not the bosun mistaken? Were we in for a disappointment? Were there only drifting ice-mountains in the distance, instead of a shore? Presently there was no doubt on the subject. For some time past the crew had no longer believed the existence of land in that direction. Ten minutes afterwards the man in the crow's nest announced, that several icebergs were coming north-west, in an oblique direction, into the course of the howl-brain. This news produced great sensation on board. Our last hope was suddenly extinguished. And what a blow to Captain Len Guy! We should have to seek land of the Austral Zone, under higher latitudes, without being sure of ever coming across it. And then the cry, back ship, back ship, sounded almost unanimously on board the howl-brain. Yes, indeed, the recruits from the Falklands, demanding that we should turn back, although Hearn was not there to fan the flame of insubordination, and I must acknowledge that the greater part of the old Tars seemed to agree with them. West awaited his chief's orders, not daring to impose silence. Grachen was at the helm, ready to give a turn to the wheel, whilst his comrades, with their hands on the cleats, were preparing to ease off the sheets. Dirk Peters remained immovable, leaning against the formast, his head down, his body bent, and his mouth set firm. Not a word passed his lips. But now he turned towards me, and with a look of mingled wrath and entreaty he gave me. I don't know what irresistible motive induced me to interfere personally, and once again to protest. A final argument had just crossed my mind. An argument whose weight could not be disputed. So I began to speak, and I did so with such conviction that none tried to interrupt me. The substance of what I said was as follows. No, all hope must not be abandoned. Land cannot be far off. The icebergs which formed in the open sea by the accumulation of ice are not before us. These icebergs must have broken off from the solid base of a continent or an island. Now since the thaw begins at this season of the year, the drift will only last a short time. Behind them we must meet the coast on which they were formed, in another twenty-four hours, or forty-eight at the most, if the land does not appear, Captain Lengai will steer to the north again. Had I convinced the crew, or Ot I, to take advantage of Hearn's absence and of the fact that he could not communicate with them to make them understand that they were being deceived, and to repeat to them that it would endanger the schooner if our course were now to be reversed. The bow-sun came to my help, and in a good-humored voice exclaimed, Very well reasoned, and for my part I accept Mr. Jorling's opinion. Assuredly, land is near. If we seek it beyond those icebergs, we shall discover it without much hard work or great danger. What is one degree further south, when it is a question of putting a hundred additional dollars into one's pocket? And let us not forget, that if they are acceptable when they go in, they are none the less so when they come out. Upon this, and a cut the cook, came to the aid of his friend the bow-sun. Yes, very good things indeed are dollars, he cried, showing two roads of shining white teeth. Did the crew intend to yield to Hurley Gurley's argument, or would they try to resist if the howl-brain went on in the direction of the icebergs? Captain Len Guy took up his telescope again, and turned it upon these moving masses. He observed them with much attention, and cried out in a loud voice. Steer south, south-west! West gave the orders to execute the maneuvers. The sailor hesitated an instant, then recalled to obedience, they began to brace the yards, and slot the sheets, and the schooner increased her speed. When the operation was over, I went up to Hurley Gurley, and, drawing him aside, I said, Thank you, bow-sun. Ah, Mr. Jorling, he replied, shaking his head. It is all very fine for this time, but you must not do it again. Everyone would turn against me, even Endicott, perhaps. I averaged nothing, which is not at least probable, I answered sharply. I don't deny that fact, Mr. Jorling. Yes, Hurley Gurley, yes. I believe what I have said, and I have no doubt, but that we shall really see land beyond the icebergs. Just possible, Mr. Jorling, quite possible. But it must appear before two days, or on the word of a bow-sun, nothing can prevent us from putting about. End of CHAPTER 19 PART 1 CHAPTER 19 PART 2 OF AN ANTARCTIC MYSTERY. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. An Antarctic Mystery by Jules Verne, CHAPTER 19 PART 2, LAND. During the next twenty-four hours the Halbrane took a south, south-westerly course. Nevertheless, her direction must have been frequently changed, and her speed decreased, in avoiding the ice. The navigation became very difficult, so soon as the schooner headed towards the line of the Bergs, which it had to cut obliquely. However, there were none of the packs which blocked up all access to the icebergs on the sixty-seventh parallel. The enormous heaps were melting away with majestic slowness. The ice-blocks appeared quite new, to employ a perfectly accurate expression, and perhaps they had only been formed some days. However with a height of one hundred and fifty feet, their bulk must have been calculated by millions of tonnes. West was watching closely in order to avoid collisions, and did not leave the deck even for an instant. Until now Captain Langeye had always been able to rely upon the indications of the compass. The magnetic pole still hundreds of miles off had no influence on the compass, its direction being east. The needle remained steady, and might be trusted. So in spite of my conviction, founded, however, on very serious arguments, there was no sign of land, and I was wondering whether it would not be better to steer more to the west at the risk of removing the howl-brain from that extreme point where the meridians of the globe cross each other. Thus the hours went by, and I was only allowed forty-eight. It was only two plain that lack of courage prevailed, and that everyone was inclined to be insubordinate. Another day and a half I could no longer contend with the general discontent. The schooner must ultimately retrace her course towards the north. The crew were working in silence, while West was giving sharp orders for maneuvering through the channels, sometimes luffing in order to avoid a collision, now bearing away almost square before the wind. Nevertheless, in spite of a close watch, in spite of the skill of the sailors, in spite of the prompt execution of the maneuvers, dangerous friction against the howl, which left long traces of the ridge of the iceberg, occurred. And in truth the bravest could not repress a feeling of terror when thinking that the planking might have given way, and the sea have invaded us. The base of these floating ice-mountains was very steep, so that it would have been impossible for us to land upon one. Moreover we saw no seals, these usually very numerous, where the ice-fields abounded. Nor even a flock of the screeching penguins, which on other occasions, the howl-brains sent diving by myriads as she passed through them. The birds themselves seemed rarer and wilder. Dread, from which none of us could escape, seemed to come upon us from these desolate and deserted regions. How could we still entertain a hope that the survivors of the Jane had found shelter and obtained means of existence in those awful solitudes? And if the howl-brain were also shipwrecked, would there remain any evidence of her fate? Since the previous day, from the moment our southern chorus had been abandoned, to cut the line of the icebergs, a change had taken place in the demeanor of the half-breed, nearly always crouched down at the foot of the fore-mast, looking afar into the boundless space. He only got up in order to lend a hand to some maneuver, and without any of his former vigilance or zeal. Not that he had ceased to believe that his comrade of the Jane was still living, that thought never even came into his mind. But he felt by instinct that the traces of poor pym were not to be recovered by following this course. Sir, he would have said to me, this is not the way, no, this is not the way. And how could I have answered him? Toward seven o'clock in the evening, a rather thick mist arose, this would tend to make the navigation of the schooner difficult and dangerous. The day with its emotions of anxiety and alternatives had worn me out, so I returned to my cabin, where I threw myself on my bunk in my clothes. But sleep did not come to me owing to my besetting thoughts. I willingly admit that the constant reading of Edgar Poe's works, and reading them in this place, in which his heroes delighted, had exercised an influence on me which I did not fully recognize. Tomorrow the forty-eight hours would be up, the last concession which the crew had made to my entreaties. Things are not going as you wish," the bosun said to me, just as I was leaving the deck. No, certainly not, since land was not to be seen, behind the fleet of icebergs. If no sign of a coast appeared between these moving masses, Captain Len Guy would steer north to-morrow. Ah, were I only master of the schooner, if I could have bought it even at the price of all my fortune, if these men had been my slaves to drive by the lash, the how-brains should never have given up this voyage, even if it led her so far as the point, above which flames the southern cross. My mind was quite upset, and teemed with a thousand thoughts, a thousand regrets, a thousand desires. I wanted to get up, but a heavy hand held me down in my bunk, and I longed to leave this cabin where I was struggling against nightmare in my half-sleep, to launch one of the boats of the how-brain, to jump into it with Dirk Peters, who would not hesitate about following me, and so abandon both of us to the current running south. And lo, I was doing this in a dream. It is to-morrow. Captain Len Guy has given orders to reverse our course, after a last glance at the horizon. One of the boats is in tow. I warn the half-breed. We creep along without being seen. We cut the painter. Whilst the schooner sails on ahead, we stay astern, and the current carries us off. Thus we should drift on the sea without hindrance. At length our boat stops. Land is there. I see a sort of sphinx surmounting the southern peak. The sea sphinx. I go to him. I question him. He discloses the secrets of these mysterious regions to me. And then the phenomenon, whose reality Arthur Pym asserted, near around the mystic monster, the surge in flickering of vapours, striped with luminous rays, is rent asunder. And it is not a face of superhuman grandeur which arises before my astonished eyes. It is Arthur Pym, fierce guardian of the South Pole, flaunting the ensign of the United States in those high latitudes. Was this dream suddenly interrupted, or was it changed by a freak of my brain, I cannot tell? But I felt as though I had been, suddenly awakened. It seemed as though a change had taken place in the motion of the schooner, which was sliding along the surface of the quiet sea, with a slight list to starboard. And yet there was neither rolling nor pitching. Yes, I felt myself carried off, as though my bunk were the car of an air balloon. I was not mistaken, and I had fallen from dreamland into reality. Crash succeeded crash overhead. I could not account for them. Inside my cabin the partitions deviated from the vertical, in such a way as to make one believe that the hell-brain had fallen over on her beam ends. Almost immediately I was thrown out of my bunk, and barely escaped, splitting my skull against the corner of the table. However I got up again, and clinging to the edge of the door frame I propped myself against the door. At this instant the bulwarks began to crack, and the portside of the ship was torn open. Could there have been a collision between the schooner and one of those gigantic floating masses which West was unable to avoid in the mist? Suddenly loud shouts came from the after-deck, and then screams of terror in which the maddened voices of the crew joined. At length there came a final crash, and the hell-brain remained motionless. I had to crawl along the floor to reach the door and gain the deck. Captain Len Guy, having already left his cabin, dragged himself on his knees, so great was the list to port, and caught on as best as he could. In the fore-part of the ship between the folksle and the fore-mast many heads appeared. Dirk Peters, Hardy, Martin Holt, and Endicott, the latter with his black face quite vacant, were clinging to the starboard shrouds. A man came creeping up to me, because the slope of the deck prevented him from holding himself upright. It was hurly-girly, working himself along with his hands, like a top-man on a yard. Stretched out at full length, my feet propped up against the jam of the door. I held out my hand to the bow-sun and helped him, not without difficulty, to hoist himself up near me. "'What is wrong?' I asked, astranding, Mr. Jorling. We are a shore.' "'A shore presupposes land,' replied the bow-sun ironically, and so far as land goes, there was never any except in that rascal Dirk Peters' imagination. "'But tell me what has happened?' We came upon an iceberg in the middle of the fog, and were unable to keep clear of it. "'An iceberg, bow-sun?' "'Yes, an iceberg, which has chosen just now to turn head over heels. In turning it struck the hell-brain and carried it off just as a battle-door catches a shuttle-cock. And now here we are, stranded at certainly one hundred feet above the level of the Antarctic Sea. Could one have imagined a more terrible conclusion to the adventurous voyage of the hell-brain? In the middle of these remote regions our only means of transport had just been snatched from its natural element and carried off by the turn of an iceberg to a height of more than one hundred feet. To be swallowed up in a polar tempest, to be destroyed in a fight with savages, to be crushed in the ice, such as the dangers to which any ship engaged in the polar seas is exposed, but to think that the hell-brain had been lifted by a floating mountain just as that mountain was turning over, was stranded, and almost at its summit, no, such a thing seemed quite impossible. I did not know whether we could succeed in letting down the schooner from this height, with the means we had at our disposal. But I did know that Captain Len Guy, the mate and the older members of the crew, when they had recovered from their first fright, would not give up in despair, no matter how terrible the situation might be. Of that I had no doubt whatsoever. They would all look to the general safety, as for the measures to be taken, no one yet knew anything. A foggy veil, a sort of grayish mist, still hung over the iceberg. Nothing could be seen of its enormous mass, except the narrow craggy cleft in which the schooner was wedged, nor even what place it occupied in the middle of the ice-fleet, drifting towards the southeast. Common prudence demanded that we should quit the hell-brain, which might slide down at a sharp shake of the iceberg. Were we even certain that the latter had regained its position on the surface of the sea? Was our stability secure? Should we not be on the lookout for a fresh upheaval? And if the schooner were to fall into the abyss, which of us could extricate himself safe and sound from such a fall? And then from the final plunge into the depths of the ocean. In a few minutes the crew had abandoned the hell-brain. Each man sought for refuge on the ice-slopes, awaiting the time when the iceberg should be freed from mist. The oblique rays from the sun did not succeed in piercing it, and the red disc could hardly be perceived through the opaque mass. However, we could not distinguish each other at about twelve feet apart. As for the hell-brain, she looked like a confused, blackish mass standing out sharply against the whiteness of the ice. We had now to ascertain whether any of those who were on the deck at the time of the catastrophe had been thrown over the bulwarks and precipitated into the sea. By Captain Lengai's orders all the sailors then present joined the group in which I stood with the mate, the bosun, Hardy and Martin Holt. So far this catastrophe had cost us five men. These were the first since our departure from Kurgulin, but were they to be the last? There was no doubt that these unfortunate fellows had perished, because we called to them in vain, and in vain we sought for them, when the fog abated along the sides of the iceberg, at every place where they might have been able to catch on to a projection. When the disappearance of the five men had been ascertained, we fell into despair. Then we felt more keenly than before the dangers which threatened every expedition to the Antarctic zone. What about her, said a voice? Martin Holt pronounced the name at a moment when there was general silence. Had the sailing master been crushed to death in the narrow part of the hold where he was shut up? West rushed towards the schooner, hoisted himself on board by the means of a rope hanging over the boughs, and gained the hatch which gives access to that part of the hold. We waited, silent and motionless, to learn of the fate of Herne, although the evil spirit of the crew was but little worthy of our pity. And yet how many of us were then thinking that if we had heeded his advice, and if the schooner had taken the northern course, a whole crew would have not been reduced to take refuge on a drifting ice mountain. I scarcely dared to calculate my own share of the vast responsibility, I who had so vehemently insisted on the prolongation of the voyage. At length the mate reappeared on deck, and Herne followed him. By miracle neither the bulkheads nor the ribs nor the planking had yielded at the place where the ceiling-master was confined. Herne rejoined his comrades without opening his lips, and we had no further trouble about him. Toward six o'clock in the morning the fog cleared off, owing to a marked fall in the temperature. We had no longer to do, with completely frozen vapour, but had to deal with the phenomenon called frost-rime, which often occurs in these high latitudes. Captain Len Guy recognized it by the quantity of prismatic threads, the point following the wind, which roughened the light ice-crust, deposited on the sides of the iceberg. Navigators know better than to confound this frost-rime, with the whorefrost of the temperate zones, which only freezes when it has been deposited on the surface of the soil. We were now enabled to estimate the size of the solid mass on which we are clustered like flies on a sugar-loaf, and this schooner, seen from below, looked no bigger than the yaw of a trading-vessel. The iceberg of between three and four hundred fathoms in circumference measured from one hundred and thirty to one hundred and forty feet high. According to all calculations, therefore, its depth would be four or five times greater, and it would consequently weigh millions of tons. This is what had happened. The iceberg, having been melted away at its base by contact with warmer waters, had risen little by little. Its center of gravity had become displaced, and its equilibrium could only be re-established by a sudden cap-size, which had lifted up the part that had been underneath, above the sea-level. The howl-brain caught in this movement was hoisted as by an enormous lever. Numbers of icebergs capsized thus on the polar seas, and formed one of the greatest ranges to which approaching vessels are exposed. Our schooner was caught in a hollow on the west side of the iceberg. She listed to starboard with her stern raised and her bow lowered. We could not help thinking that the slightest shake would cause her to slide along the slope of the iceberg into the sea. The collision had been so violent as to stave in some of the planks of her hull. After the first collision, the galley, situated before the four mast, had broken its fastenings. The door between Captain Len Guy's and the mate's cabins was torn away from the hinges. The top mast and the top gallant mast had come down after the backstage partage, and fresh fractures could plainly be seen as high as the cap of the mast-head. Fragments of all kinds, yards, spars, a part of the sails, cases, hand-coups were probably floating at the foot of the mast and drifting with it. The most alarming part of our situation was the fact that of the two boats belonging to the hull-brain, one had been stove in when we grounded, and the other, the larger of the two was still hanging on by its tackles to the starboard davits. Before anything else was done this boat had to be put in a safe place, because it might prove our only means of escape. As a result of the first examination we found that the lower mast had remained in their places, and might be of use if ever we succeeded in releasing the schooner. But how were we to release her from her bed in the ice and restore her to her natural element? When I found myself with Captain Len Guy, the mate and the bow-sun, I questioned them on this subject. I agree with you, replied West, that the operation involves great risks, but since it is indispensable we will accomplish it. I think it will be necessary to dig out a sort of slide down to the base of the iceberg. And without the delay of a single day added Captain Len Guy. Do you hear, bow-sun? said Jem West. Work begins today. I hear, and everyone will set himself to the task, replied hurly-girly. If you allow me, I shall just make one observation, Captain. What is it? Before beginning the work, let us examine the hull, and see what the damage is, and whether it can be repaired. For what use would it be to launch a ship stripped of her planks, which would go to the bottom at once? We complied with the bow-sun's just demand. The fog, having cleared off, a bright sun then illuminated the eastern side of the iceberg, whence the sea was visible round a large part of the horizon. Near the sides of the iceberg showed rugged projections, ledges, shoulders, and even flat instead of smooth surfaces, giving no foothold. However caution would be necessary in order to avoid the falling of those unbalanced blocks, which a single shock might set loose. And as a matter of fact, during the morning several of these blocks did roll into the sea with a frightful noise just like an avalanche. From the hull the iceberg seemed to be very steady on its new base, so long as the centre of gravity was below the level of the waterline, there was no fear of a fresh cap-size. I had not yet had an opportunity of speaking to Dirk Peter's since the catastrophe. As he had answered to his name I knew he was not numbered among the victims. At this moment I perceived him standing on a narrow projection, needless to specify the direction in which his eyes were turned. In Lenkai the mate, the beau-son, Hardy and Marchand Holt, whom I accompanied, went up again towards the schooner in order to make a minute investigation of the hull. On the starboard side the operation would be easy enough because the hull-brain had listed to the opposite side. On the port side we would have to slide along to the keel as well as we could by scooping out the ice in order to ensure the inspection of every part of the planking. After an examination which lasted two hours it was discovered that the damage was of little importance and could be repaired in short time. Two or three planks were only wrenched away by the collision. In the inside the skin was intact, the ribs not having given way. Our vessel, constructed for the polar seas, had resisted where many others less solidly built would have been dashed to pieces. The rudder had indeed been unshipped, but that could be easily set right. Having finished our inspection inside and out...