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Updated: May 11, 2025
“We shall know that in a short time, Mr. Jeorling. At any rate it is the first boat of the year, and we must give it a welcome.” I dressed hurriedly and joined Atkins on the quay, where I found him in the midst of a group engaged in eager discussion. Atkins was indisputably the most considerable and considered man in the archipelago consequently he secured the best listeners.
He lived in the hamlet of Vandalia; I went there, and met with a second disappointment. He was not there, or rather, Mr. Jeorling, he was no longer there. Some years before this Dirk Peters had left Illinois, and even the United States, to go nobody knows where.
Jeorling, whether you think everything in Arthur Pym’s journal, which has been published by Edgar Poe, is exactly true?” “I think there is some need for doubt,” I answered “the singular character of the hero of those adventures being taken into consideration at least concerning the phenomena of the island of Tsalal.
But if that sea-hog of a man has not been inside the Antarctic Circle and even the ice wall by a good dozen degrees, may the first sea we ship carry me overboard.” “From what do you judge, boatswain?” “From his eyes, Mr. Jeorling, from his eyes. No matter at what moment, let the ship’s head be as it may, those eyes of his are always on the south, open, unwinking, fixed like guns in position.”
And if the launch of the schooner is not successful, here are we condemned to winter quarters which the polar bears themselves would hardly relish!” I replied only by a shake of my head, which Hurliguerly could not fail to understand. “Do you know, Mr. Jeorling, of what I think oftenest?” “What do you think of, boatswain?” “Of the Kerguelens, whither we are certainly not travelling.
“And you want to get back to your own country, which is mine, Mr. Jeorling; to return to Connecticut, to Providence, our capital.” “Doubtless, Mr. Atkins, for I have been a globe-trotter for close upon three years. One must come to a stop and take root at some time.” “Yes, and when one has taken root, one puts out branches.” “Just so, Mr. Atkins.
Jeorling, 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 Pym is still living his poor Pym 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 discussed the subject with the half-breed. “You see, Mr.
When Captain Len Guy, West, and the old sailors of the crew learned that the schooner had cleared the sixty-sixth parallel of latitude, their rough and sunburnt faces shone with satisfaction. The next day, Hurliguerly accosted me on the deck with a broad smile and a cheerful manner. “So then, Mr. Jeorling,” said he, “we’ve left the famous ‘Circle’ behind us!”
Jeorling, if ever he wants to shake hands with you.” “Fortunately, boatswain, Hunt does not seem to be quarrelsome. He appears to be a quiet man who does not abuse his strength.” “No except when he is setting a halyard. Then I am always afraid the pulley will come down and the yard with it.”
“It was then,” I resumed, “that Captain Guy resolved to carry out a project he had long cherished, and in which he was encouraged by a certain passenger who was on board the Jane ” “Arthur Gordon Pym,” exclaimed Glass, “and his companion, one Dirk Peters; the two had been picked up at sea by the schooner.” “You knew them, Mr. Glass?” I asked eagerly. “Knew them, Mr. Jeorling?
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