An Antarctic Mystery - Jules Verne (good summer reads TXT) 📗

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 tufts 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 Tsalal 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 farther; the goal was there, and which of us would not sacrifice even his life to attain it?

“God is guiding us, Mr. Jeorling,” said Captain Len Guy.

XVIII A Revelation

The following day, the 29th 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 Halbrane took great hauls 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 Kerguelens and two months and five days since the Halbrane 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 guessed.

“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 Pym⁠—poor Pym⁠—he is still beyond there!”

“Dirk Peters,” I asked, “have you any idea of the route which you and Arthur Pym followed in the boat after your departure from Tsalal Island?”

“None, sir! Poor Pym had no longer any instrument⁠—you know⁠—sea machines⁠—for looking at the sun. We could not know, except that for the 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 frightened your prisoner Nu Nu⁠—”

“Perhaps so⁠—I did not notice. But if Pym has said so, Pym 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 1st of March, Dirk Peters,” I asked, “that you perceived for the first time the veil of grey vapour shot with luminous and moving rays?”

“I do not remember, sir, but if Pym says it was so, Pym 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 not snow?”

“Snow? Yes! No! The weather was warm. What did Pym say? Pym must be believed.” He lowered his voice and continued: “But Pym 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 shall have found William Guy and the sailors 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 man like him!”

“And yet,” I said, “if William Guy and his people are living, can we admit that Arthur Pym⁠—”

“Living? Yes! Living!” cried the half-breed. “By the great spirit of my fathers, he is⁠—he is waiting for me, my poor Pym! 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 he went away, leaving me inexpressibly affected by the revelation of the tenderness for his unfortunate companion that lay deep in the heart of this semi-savage.

In the meantime I said but little to Captain