The half-breed got into it, and a south wind--yes, south, very strong, the same that had driven the ice block, with the cross current, towards Tsalal Island--carried him on for weeks and weeks--to the iceberg barrier, through a passage in it--you may believe me, I am telling you only what Dirk Peters told me--and he cleared the polar circle." "And beyond it ?" I inquired.
"Beyond it.

He was picked up by an American whaler, the _Sandy Hook_, and taken back to America." Now, one thing at all events was clear.

Edgar Poe had never known Arthur Pym.

This was the reason why, to leave his readers in exciting uncertainty, he had brought Pym to an end "as sudden as it was deplorable," without indicating the manner or the cause of his death.
"And yet, although Arthur Pym did not return, could it be reasonably admitted that he had survived his companion for any length of time, that he was still living, eleven years having elapsed since his disappearance ?" "Yes, yes," replied Hunt.
And this he affirmed with the strong conviction that Dirk Peters had infused into his mind while the two were living togather in Vandalia, in Illinois.
Now the question arose, was Hunt sane?
Was it not he who had stolen into my cabin in a fit of insanity--of this I had no doubt--and murmured in my ear the words: "And Pym--poor Pym ?" Yes, and I had not been dreaming! In short, if all that Hunt had just said was true, if he was but the faithful reporter of secrets which had been entrusted to him by Dirk Peters, ought he to be believed when he repeated in a tone of mingled command and entreaty,-- "Pym is not dead.

Pym is there.