Hunt did not speak.
"Answer, I say—answer!" cried the captain.
Hunt hesitated, not because he did not know what to say, but from a certain difficulty in expressing his ideas. The latter were quite clear, but his speech was confused, his words were unconnected. He had a certain language of his own which sometimes was picturesque, and his pronunciation was strongly marked by the hoarse accent of the Indians of the Far West.
"You see," he said, "I do not know how to tell things. My tongue stops. Understand me, I spoke of Pym, poor Pym, did I not?"
"Yes," answered West, sternly; "and what have you to say about Arthur Pym?"
"I have to say that he must not be abandoned."
"Abandoned!" I exclaimed.
"No, never! It would be cruel—too cruel. We must go to seek him."
"To seek him?" repeated Captain Len Guy.
"Understand me; it is for this that I have embarked on the Halbrane—yes, to find poor Pym!"
"And where is he," I asked, "if not deep in a grave, in the cemetery of his natal city?"
"No, he is in the place where he remained, alone, all alone," continued Hunt, pointing towards the south; "and since then the sun has risen on that horizon seven times."
It was evident that Hunt intended to designate the Antarctic regions, but what did he mean by this?
"Do you not know that Arthur Pym is dead?" said the captain.
"Dead!" replied Hunt, emphasizing the word with an
