expressive gesture. "No! listen to me: I know things; understand me, he is not dead."
"Come now, Hunt," said I, "remember what you do know. In the last chapter of the adventures of Arthur Pym, does not Edgar Poe relate his sudden and deplorable end?"
"Explain yourself, Hunt," said the captain, in a tone of command. "Reflect, take your time, and say plainly whatever you have to say."
And, while Hunt passed his hand over his brow, as though to collect his memory of far-off things, I observed to Captain Len Guy,—
"There is something very singular in the intervention of this man, if indeed he be not mad."
At my words the boatswain shook his head, for he did not believe Hunt to be in his right mind.
The latter understood this shake of the boatswain's head, and cried out in a harsh tone,—
"No, not mad. And madmen are respected on the prairies, even if they are not believed. And I—I must be believed. No, no, no! Pym is not dead!"
"Edgar Poe asserts that he is," I replied.
"Yes, I know, Edgar Poe of Baltimore. But—he never saw poor Pym, never, never."
"What!" exclaimed Captain Len Guy; "the two men were not acquainted?"
"No!"
"And it was not Arthur Pym himself who related his adventures to Edgar Poe?"
"No, captain, no! He, below there, at Baltimore, had only the notes written by Pym from the day when he hid himself on board the Grampus to the very last hour—the last—understand me, the last."
