five sailors surviving.

.

.

Hasten to bring them aid." And under these lines was a name, a signature, the name of Patterson! Then I remembered! Patterson was the second officer of the _Jane_, the mate of that schooner which had picked up Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters on the wreck of the _Grampus_, the _Jane_ having reached Tsalal Island; the _Jane_ which was attacked by natives and blown up in the midst of those waters.
So then it was all true?
Edgar Poe's work was that of an historian, not a writer of romance?
Arthur Gordon Pym's journal had actually been confided to him! Direct relations had been established between them! Arthur Pym existed, or rather he had existed, he was a real being! And he had died, by a sudden and deplorable death under circumstances not revealed before he had completed the narrative of his extraordinary voyage.

And what parallel had he reached on leaving Tsalal Island with his companion, Dirk Peters, and how had both of them been restored to their native land, America?
I thought my head was turning, that I was going mad--I who accused Captain Guy of being insane! No! I had not heard aright! I had misunderstood?
This was a mere phantom of my fancy! And yet, how was I to reject the evidence found on the body of the mate of the _Jane_, that Patterson whose words were supported by ascertained dates?
And above all, how could I retain a doubt, after James West, who was the most self-possessed among us, had succeeded in deciphering the following fragments of sentences:-- "Drifting since the 3rd of June north of Tsalal Island...Still there...Captain William Guy and five of the men of the _Jane_--the piece of ice I am on is drifting across the iceberg...food will soon fail me...Since the 13th of June...my last resources exhausted...to-day...16th of June.