and it seemed to me that a voice—a voice which I did not know—whispered these words:—
"Pym . . . Pym . . . poor Pym!"
Evidently this could only be a delusion; unless, indeed, some one had got into my cabin: the door was not locked.
"Pym!" the voice repeated. "Poor Pym never must be forgotten."
This time the words were spoken close to my ear. What was the meaning of the injunction, and why was it addressed to me? And besides, had not Pym, after his return to America, met with a sudden and deplorable death, the circumstances or the details being unknown?
I began to doubt whether I was in my right mind, and shook myself into complete wakefulness, recognizing that I had been disturbed by an extremely vivid dream due to some cerebral cause.
I turned out of my berth, and, pushing back the shutter, looked out of my cabin. No one aft on the deck, except Hunt, who was at the helm.
I had nothing to do but to lie down again, and this I did. It seemed to me that the name of Arthur Pym was repeated in my hearing several times; nevertheless, I fell asleep and did not wake until morning, when I retained only a vague impression of this occurrence, which soon faded away. No other incident at that period of our voyage calls for notice. Nothing particular occurred on board our schooner. The breeze from the north, which had forsaken us, did not recur, and only the current carried the Halbrane towards the south. This caused a delay unbearable to our impatience.
At last, on the 21st, the usual observation gave 82° 50' of
