Jane, Patterson, his second officer, and five of his men had happily escaped. The village of Klock-Klock had thus disappeared; and doubtless the mystery of the strange discoveries narrated in Edgar Poe's work was now and 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 sheds had been erected for the preparation of the bêche-de-mer, and we saw the remains of them. On all sides silence and abandonment reigned.
We made a brief pause at the place where Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters seized upon the boat which bore them towards higher latitudes, even to that horizon of dark vapour 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 Hurliguerly. "Are you going to take root on this rock? Don't you see the Halbrane 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 boatswain said.
