CHAPTER 1

My name is Arthur Gordon Pym. My father was a respectable trader

in sea-stores at Nantucket, where I was born. My maternal

grandfather was an attorney in good practice. He was fortunate in

every thing, and had speculated very successfully in stocks of

the Edgarton New Bank, as it was formerly called. By these and

other means he had managed to lay by a tolerable sum of money. He

was more attached to myself, I believe, than to any other person

in the world, and I expected to inherit the most of his property

at his death. He sent me, at six years of age, to the school of

old Mr. Ricketts, a gentleman with only one arm and of eccentric

manners—he is well known to almost every person who has visited

New Bedford. I stayed at his school until I was sixteen, when I

left him for Mr. E. Ronald’s academy on the hill. Here I became

intimate with the son of Mr. Barnard, a sea-captain, who

generally sailed in the employ of Lloyd and Vredenburgh—Mr.

Barnard is also very well known in New Bedford, and has many

relations, I am certain, in Edgarton. His son was named Augustus,

and he was nearly two years older than myself. He had been on a

whaling voyage with his father in the John Donaldson, and was

always talking to me of his adventures in the South Pacific

Ocean. I used frequently to go home with him, and remain all day,

and sometimes all night. We occupied the same bed, and he would

be sure to keep me awake until almost light, telling me stories

of the natives of the Island of Tinian, and other places he had

visited in his travels. At last I could not help being interested

in what he said, and by degrees I felt the greatest desire to go

to sea. I owned a sailboat called the Ariel, and worth about

seventy-five dollars. She had a half-deck or cuddy, and was

rigged sloop-fashion—I forget her tonnage, but she would hold ten

persons without much crowding. In this boat we were in the habit

of going on some of the maddest freaks in the world; and, when I

now think of them, it appears to me a thousand wonders that I am

alive to-day.

I will relate one of these adventures by way of introduction to a

longer and more momentous narrative. One night there was a party

at Mr. Barnard’s, and both Augustus and myself were not a little

intoxicated toward the close of it. As usual, in such cases, I

took part of his bed in preference to going home. He went to

sleep, as I thought, very quietly (it being near one when the

party broke up), and without saying a word on his favorite topic.

It might have been half an hour from the time of our getting in

bed, and I was just about falling into a doze, when he suddenly

started up, and swore with a terrible oath that he would not go

to sleep for any Arthur Pym in Christendom, when there was so

glorious a breeze from the southwest. I never was so astonished

in my life, not knowing what he intended, and thinking that the

wines and liquors he had drunk had set him entirely beside

himself. He proceeded to talk very coolly, however, saying he

knew that I supposed him intoxicated, but that he was never more

sober in his life. He was only tired, he added, of lying in bed

on such a fine night like a dog, and was determined to get up and

dress, and go out on a frolic with the boat. I can hardly tell

what possessed me, but the words were no sooner out of his mouth

than I felt a thrill of the greatest excitement and pleasure, and

thought his mad idea one of the most delightful and most

reasonable things in the world. It was blowing almost a gale, and

the weather was very cold—it being late in October. I sprang out

of bed, nevertheless, in a kind of ecstasy, and told him I was

quite as brave as himself, and quite as tired as he was of lying

in bed like a dog, and quite as ready for any fun or frolic as

any Augustus Barnard in Nantucket.

We lost no time in getting on our clothes and hurrying down to

the boat. She was lying at the old decayed wharf by the

lumber-yard of Pankey & Co., and almost thumping her side out

against the rough logs. Augustus got into her and bailed her, for

she was nearly half full of water. This being done, we hoisted

jib and mainsail, kept full, and started boldly out to sea.

The wind, as I before said, blew freshly from the southwest. The

night was very clear and cold. Augustus had taken the helm, and I

stationed myself by the mast, on the deck of the cuddy. We flew

along at a great rate—neither of us having said a word since

casting loose from the wharf. I now asked my companion what

course he intended to steer, and what time he thought it probable

we should get back. He whistled for a few minutes, and then said

crustily: “_I_ am going to sea—_you_ may go home if you think

proper.” Turning my eyes upon him, I perceived at once that, in

spite of his assumed _nonchalance_, he was greatly agitated. I

could see him distinctly by the light of the moon—his face was

paler than any marble, and his hand shook so excessively that he

could scarcely retain hold of the tiller. I found that something

had gone wrong, and became seriously alarmed. At this period I

knew little about the management of a boat, and was now depending

entirely upon the nautical skill of my friend. The wind, too, had

suddenly increased, as we were fast getting out of the lee of the

land—still I was ashamed to betray any trepidation, and for

almost half an hour maintained a resolute silence. I could stand

it no longer, however, and spoke to Augustus about the propriety

of turning back. As before, it was nearly a minute before he made

answer, or took any notice of my suggestion. “By-and-by,” said he

at length—“time enough—home by-and-by.” I had expected a similar

reply, but there was something in the tone of these words which

filled me with an indescribable feeling of dread. I again looked

at the speaker attentively. His lips were perfectly livid, and

his knees shook so violently together that he seemed scarcely

able to stand. “For God’s sake, Augustus,” I screamed, now

heartily frightened, “what ails you?—what is the matter?—what

_are_ you going to do?” “Matter!” he stammered, in the greatest

apparent surprise, letting go the tiller at the same moment, and

falling forward into the bottom of the boat—“matter—why, nothing

is the—matter—going home—d—d—don’t you see?” The whole truth now

flashed upon me. I flew to him and raised him up. He was

drunk—beastly drunk—he could no longer either stand, speak, or

see. His eyes were perfectly glazed; and as I let him go in the

extremity of my despair, he rolled like a mere log into the

bilge-water, from which I had lifted him. It was evident that,

during the evening, he had drunk far more than I suspected, and

that his conduct in bed had been the result of a

highly-concentrated state of intoxication—a state which, like

madness, frequently enables the victim to imitate the outward

demeanour of one in perfect possession of his senses. The

coolness of the night air, however, had had its usual effect—the

mental energy began to yield before its influence—and the

confused perception which he no doubt then had of his perilous

situation had assisted in hastening the catastrophe. He was now

thoroughly insensible, and there was no probability that he would

be otherwise for many hours.

It is hardly possible to conceive the extremity of my terror. The

fumes of the wine lately taken had evaporated, leaving me doubly

timid and irresolute. I knew that I was altogether incapable of

managing the boat, and that a fierce wind and strong ebb tide

were hurrying us to destruction. A storm was evidently gathering

behind us; we had neither compass nor provisions; and it was

clear that, if we held our present course, we should be out of

sight of land before daybreak. These thoughts, with a crowd of

others equally fearful, flashed through my mind with a

bewildering rapidity, and for some moments paralyzed me beyond

the possibility of making any exertion. The boat was going

through the water at a terrible rate—full before the wind—no reef

in either jib or mainsail—running her bows completely under the

foam. It was a thousand wonders she did not broach to—Augustus

having let go the tiller, as I said before, and I being too much

agitated to think of taking it myself. By good luck, however, she

kept steady, and gradually I recovered some degree of presence of

mind. Still the wind was increasing fearfully, and whenever we

rose from a plunge forward, the sea behind fell combing over our

counter, and deluged us with water. I was so utterly benumbed,

too, in every limb, as to be nearly unconscious of sensation. At

length I summoned up the resolution of despair, and rushing to

the mainsail let it go by the run. As might have been expected,

it flew over the bows, and, getting drenched with water, carried

away the mast short off by the board. This latter accident alone

saved me from instant destruction. Under the jib only, I now

boomed along before the wind, shipping heavy seas occasionally

over the counter, but relieved from the terror of immediate

death. I took the helm, and breathed with greater freedom as I

found that there yet remained to us a chance of ultimate escape.

Augustus still lay senseless in the bottom of the boat; and as

there was imminent danger of his drowning (the water being nearly

a foot deep just where he fell), I contrived to raise him

partially up, and keep him in a sitting position, by passing a

rope round his waist, and lashing it to a ringbolt in the deck of

the cuddy. Having thus arranged every thing as well as I could in

my chilled and agitated condition, I recommended myself to God,

and made up my mind to bear whatever might happen with all the

fortitude in my power.

Hardly had I come to this resolution, when, suddenly, a loud and

long scream or yell, as if from the throats of a thousand demons,

seemed to pervade the whole atmosphere around and above the boat.

Never while I live shall I forget the intense agony of terror I

experienced at that moment. My hair stood erect on my head—I felt

the blood congealing in my veins—my heart ceased utterly to beat,

and without having once raised my eyes to learn the source of my

alarm, I tumbled headlong and insensible upon the body of my

fallen companion.

I found myself, upon reviving, in the cabin of a large

whaling-ship (the Penguin) bound to Nantucket. Several persons

were standing over me, and Augustus, paler than death, was busily

occupied in chafing my hands. Upon seeing me open my eyes, his

exclamations of gratitude and joy excited alternate laughter and

tears from the rough-looking personages who were present. The

mystery of our being in existence was now soon explained. We had

been run down by the whaling-ship, which was close-hauled,

beating up to Nantucket with every sail she could venture to set,

and consequently running almost at right angles to our own

course. Several men were on the look-out forward, but did not

perceive our boat until it was an impossibility to avoid coming

in contact—their shouts of warning upon seeing us were what so

terribly alarmed me. The huge ship, I was told, rode immediately

over us with as much ease as our own little vessel would have

passed over a feather, and without the least perceptible

impediment to her progress. Not a scream arose from the deck of

the victim—there was a slight grating sound to be heard mingling

with the roar of wind and water, as the frail bark which was

swallowed up rubbed for a moment along the keel of her

destroyer—but this was all. Thinking our boat (which it will be

remembered was dismasted) some mere shell cut adrift as useless,

the captain (Captain E. T. V. Block, of New London) was for

proceeding on his course without troubling himself further about

the matter. Luckily, there were two of the look-out who swore

positively to having seen some person at our helm, and

represented the possibility of yet saving him. A discussion

ensued, when Block grew angry, and, after a while, said that “it

was no business of his to be eternally watching for egg-shells;

that the ship should not put about for any such nonsense; and if

there was a man run down, it was nobody’s fault but his own, he

might drown and be dammed” or some language to that effect.

Henderson, the first mate, now took the matter up, being justly

indignant, as well as the whole ship’s crew, at a speech evincing

so base a degree of heartless atrocity. He spoke plainly, seeing

himself upheld by the men, told the captain he considered him a

fit subject for the gallows, and that he would disobey his orders

if he were hanged for it the moment he set his foot on shore. He

strode aft, jostling Block (who turned pale and made no answer)

on one side, and seizing the helm, gave the word, in a firm

voice, Hard-a-lee! The men flew to their posts, and the ship went

cleverly about. All this had occupied nearly five minutes, and it

was supposed to be hardly within the bounds of possibility that

any individual could be saved—allowing any to have been on board

the boat. Yet, as the reader has seen, both Augustus and myself

were rescued; and our deliverance seemed to have been brought

about by two of those almost inconceivable pieces of good fortune

which are attributed by the wise and pious to the special

interference of Providence.

While the ship was yet in stays, the mate lowered the jolly-boat

and jumped into her with the very two men, I believe, who spoke

up as having seen me at the helm. They had just left the lee of

the vessel (the moon still shining brightly) when she made a long

and heavy roll to windward, and Henderson, at the same moment,

starting up in his seat bawled out to his crew to back water. He

would say nothing else—repeating his cry impatiently, back water!

back water! The men put back as speedily as possible, but by this

time the ship had gone round, and gotten fully under headway,

although all hands on board were making great exertions to take

in sail. In despite of the danger of the attempt, the mate clung

to the main-chains as soon as they came within his reach. Another

huge lurch now brought the starboard side of the vessel out of

water nearly as far as her keel, when the cause of his anxiety

was rendered obvious enough. The body of a man was seen to be

affixed in the most singular manner to the smooth and shining

bottom (the Penguin was coppered and copper-fastened), and

beating violently against it with every movement of the hull.

After several ineffectual efforts, made during the lurches of the

ship, and at the imminent risk of swamping the boat I was finally

disengaged from my perilous situation and taken on board—for the

body proved to be my own. It appeared that one of the

timber-bolts having started and broken a passage through the

copper, it had arrested my progress as I passed under the ship,

and fastened me in so extraordinary a manner to her bottom. The

head of the bolt had made its way through the collar of the green

baize jacket I had on, and through the back part of my neck,

forcing itself out between two sinews and just below the right

ear. I was immediately put to bed—although life seemed to be

totally extinct. There was no surgeon on board. The captain,

however, treated me with every attention—to make amends, I

presume, in the eyes of his crew, for his atrocious behaviour in

the previous portion of the adventure.

In the meantime, Henderson had again put off from the ship,

although the wind was now blowing almost a hurricane. He had not

been gone many minutes when he fell in with some fragments of our

boat, and shortly afterward one of the men with him asserted that

he could distinguish a cry for help at intervals amid the roaring

of the tempest. This induced the hardy seamen to persevere in

their search for more than half an hour, although repeated

signals to return were made them by Captain Block, and although

every moment on the water in so frail a boat was fraught to them

with the most imminent and deadly peril. Indeed, it is nearly

impossible to conceive how the small jolly they were in could

have escaped destruction for a single instant. She was built,

however, for the whaling service, and was fitted, as I have since

had reason to believe, with air-boxes, in the manner of some

life-boats used on the coast of Wales.

After searching in vain for about the period of time just

mentioned, it was determined to get back to the ship. They had

scarcely made this resolve when a feeble cry arose from a dark

object that floated rapidly by. They pursued and soon overtook

it. It proved to be the entire deck of the Ariel’s cuddy.

Augustus was struggling near it, apparently in the last agonies.

Upon getting hold of him it was found that he was attached by a

rope to the floating timber. This rope, it will be remembered, I

had myself tied around his waist, and made fast to a ringbolt,

for the purpose of keeping him in an upright position, and my so

doing, it appeared, had been ultimately the means of preserving

his life. The Ariel was slightly put together, and in going down

her frame naturally went to pieces; the deck of the cuddy, as

might have been expected, was lifted, by the force of the water

rushing in, entirely from the main timbers, and floated (with

other fragments, no doubt) to the surface—Augustus was buoyed up

with it, and thus escaped a terrible death.

It was more than an hour after being taken on board the Penguin

before he could give any account of himself, or be made to

comprehend the nature of the accident which had befallen our

boat. At length he became thoroughly aroused, and spoke much of

his sensations while in the water. Upon his first attaining any

degree of consciousness, he found himself beneath the surface,

whirling round and round with inconceivable rapidity, and with a

rope wrapped in three or four folds tightly about his neck. In an

instant afterward he felt himself going rapidly upward, when, his

head striking violently against a hard substance, he again

relapsed into insensibility. Upon once more reviving he was in

fuller possession of his reason—this was still, however, in the

greatest degree clouded and confused. He now knew that some

accident had occurred, and that he was in the water, although his

mouth was above the surface, and he could breathe with some

freedom. Possibly, at this period the deck was drifting rapidly

before the wind, and drawing him after it, as he floated upon his

back. Of course, as long as he could have retained this position,

it would have been nearly impossible that he should be drowned.

Presently a surge threw him directly athwart the deck, and this

post he endeavored to maintain, screaming at intervals for help.

Just before he was discovered by Mr. Henderson, he had been

obliged to relax his hold through exhaustion, and, falling into

the sea, had given himself up for lost. During the whole period

of his struggles he had not the faintest recollection of the

Ariel, nor of the matters in connexion with the source of his

disaster. A vague feeling of terror and despair had taken entire

possession of his faculties. When he was finally picked up, every

power of his mind had failed him; and, as before said, it was

nearly an hour after getting on board the Penguin before he

became fully aware of his condition. In regard to myself—I was

resuscitated from a state bordering very nearly upon death (and

after every other means had been tried in vain for three hours

and a half) by vigorous friction with flannels bathed in hot

oil—a proceeding suggested by Augustus. The wound in my neck,

although of an ugly appearance, proved of little real

consequence, and I soon recovered from its effects.

The Penguin got into port about nine o’clock in the morning,

after encountering one of the severest gales ever experienced off

Nantucket. Both Augustus and myself managed to appear at Mr.

Barnard’s in time for breakfast—which, luckily, was somewhat

late, owing to the party over night. I suppose all at the table

were too much fatigued themselves to notice our jaded

appearance—of course, it would not have borne a very rigid

scrutiny. Schoolboys, however, can accomplish wonders in the way

of deception, and I verily believe not one of our friends in

Nantucket had the slightest suspicion that the terrible story

told by some sailors in town of their having run down a vessel at

sea and drowned some thirty or forty poor devils, had reference

either to the Ariel, my companion, or myself. We two have since

very frequently talked the matter over—but never without a

shudder. In one of our conversations Augustus frankly confessed

to me, that in his whole life he had at no time experienced so

excruciating a sense of dismay, as when on board our little boat

he first discovered the extent of his intoxication, and felt

himself sinking beneath its influence.