The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket Read online

  Mr. Reynolds has received the highest civil post in the expedition—that of corresponding secretary. It is presumed that he will draw up the narrative of the voyage, (to be published under patronage of government) embodying, possibly, and arranging in the same book, the several reports or journals of the scientific corps. How admirable well he is qualified for this task, no person can know better than ourselves. His energy, his love of polite literature, his many and various attainments, and above all, his ardent and honorable enthusiasm, point him out as the man of all men for the execution of the task. We look forward to this finale—to the published record of the expedition—with an intensity of eager expectation, which we cannot think we have ever experienced before.

  —From Poe’s favorable review of Jeremiah Reynolds’s entreaty for the exploration of the Antarctic. The review appeared in the Southern Literary Messenger in January 1837, the same month in which Pym began to be serially published there.

  An Account of Exploration

  Thoughts on a polar expedition:

  Notwithstanding the length of time which has elapsed since the discovery of the western continent, and the consequent impulse given to the spirit of discovery, it is a remarkable fact that the most interesting section of this terraqueous globe still remains unexplored, and almost totally unknown. It is a reproach to every civilized country, that the people of this enlightened age possess so little accurate knowledge of the seas, islands, and perhaps continents which exist in the polar regions of the southern hemisphere.

  Many enterprising navigators of the last and present centuries have made highly laudable, and some of them partially successful, attempts to penetrate the cloud of mystery which still hangs over the Antarctic Seas. But every one has stopped at a certain point, timidly shrinking from the farther prosecution of what they deemed an impracticable project. Some, it is said, have even been deterred by a superstitious notion that an attempt to reach the South Pole was a presumptuous intrusion on the awful confines of nature,—an unlawful and sacrilegious prying into the secrets of the great Creator; who, they contend, has guarded the “ends of the earth” with an impassable bulwark of indissoluble ice; on which is written, “Thus far shalt thou come, but no farther; and here shall thy proud course be stayed.” Such an idea would have become the inquisitors of Spain in the days of Columbus.

  Admitting for a moment, however, that such is the fact, and that nothing less than a miracle could open the passage through this formidable barrier, I contend that genius, science, and energy combined can work miracles, and even remove mountains; for what is a miracle but the power of spirit over matter—the triumph of mind over physical impediments. The march of intellect is irresistible; and were the earth itself one globe of ice, the fire of genius, directed by the wand of science, could melt a passage to its centre. The day is not far distant when a visit to the South Pole will not be thought more of a miracle than to cause an egg to stand on its point. I have long been of this opinion; and the voyage of which I am now about to give a plain but correct narrative has strengthened that opinion to a firm conviction. One grand object of this voyage was to acquire a more accurate knowledge of the Antarctic Seas, and to ascertain the practicability, under favourable circumstances, of penetrating to the South Pole. For the furtherance of this object, I was vested with discretionary powers by the owners of the Wasp, a fine fast-sailing schooner, fitted out for the purpose, well manned and equipped, and intrusted to my command. We set sail from the port of New York on Sunday morning, the 30th of June, 1822, with a fair wind and pleasant weather.

  A commentary on nautical romances:

  Before I proceed farther south, I deem it expedient to make one observation. I am well aware, that to the generality of readers this coast-surveying business and sailing directions must appear very dry, dull, and uninteresting. To such I would say, in the language of my profession, “Courage, my hearties, there’s land ahead!” This part of our cruise will soon be finished; and admitting the possibility that the descriptions and directions here given may prove the means, under Providence, of preventing a single nautical disaster, I feel confident that the good-natured reader will readily forgive their deficiency in incident and interest. Were I disposed to make a romance of this narrative, it would not be a difficult matter to conjure up some very stirring incidents and startling adventures, on the shores of a region which is so little known that no one could contradict me. Magellan and his companions have done so before me, and so have many others of a much more recent date, whose “microscopic eye” could magnify a molehill to a mountain, a smart breeze to a tremendous tornado, and a few floating icebergs to a permanent wall of transparent adamant. I simply relate facts without embellishment; and if I encounter a horde of Patagonians, I will give as accurate an account of their size and appearance as circumstances will permit.

  Literary tourism in the South Seas:

  There is a small island lying off the southern side of Juan Fernandez, called Monkey Key; and another at the south-west side, called Goat Island, about a mile distant, with fifteen fathoms of water between them. It is merely an uninhabited rock, however, not even visited by seals at the present time.

  Every schoolboy knows that the island of Juan Fernandez was, for four or five years, the solitary residence of a Scotch sailor, named Alexander Selkirk; he having been left there by his captain, on account of a quarrel between them. It was from his journal that De Foe filched the materials for his interesting romance of Robinson Crusoe—a book that has never been equalled in popularity since the art of printing was discovered—a book that has had, and still has, more influence on the minds of youth than ever had the legends of chivalry in Spain, or the dramas of Schiller in Germany.

  Many persons, however, are under the impression that Selkirk was wantonly and arbitrarily sent on shore here against his will. Such was not the fact. It was his own proposition to remain on this island, in preference to continuing on board the Cinque-ports galley, under a captain who he thought had ill-treated him, though he held the office of sailing-master on board the ship. Captain Stradling consented, and furnished him with the means of procuring the necessaries of life. But when the ship was ready to sail, Selkirk’s resolution was shaken, and he eagerly made overtures of reconciliation. Stradling now thought that it was his turn to be obstinate, and refused to receive the recluse on board, but left him alone on this solitary island, far beyond the reach of the sympathies or assistance of his fellow-men. As the last boat left the island for the ship, then under way, his heart sank within him, and every hope expired. Well might he exclaim, in the language which Thompson has put into the mouth of another in similar circumstances—

  “I never heard

  A sound so dismal as their parting oars.”

  But Selkirk was not left here to perish by famine; the means of subsistence were furnished him. There were left with him clothes and bedding, a gun and ammunition, a few books, with certain nautical and mathematical instruments, and some other trifling implements. The island abounded with fruits, vegetables, animals, and all the necessaries of life, in the greatest abundance; and he was sole monarch of the little kingdom. But though he might have thought, as it is beautifully expressed in Cowper’s poem on the subject—

  “I am monarch of all I survey,

  My right there is none to dispute,”

  the subsequent sentiment was doubtless more frequently present to his mind:

  “O solitude, where are the charms

  Which sages have seen in thy face?

  Better dwell in the midst of alarms,

  Than reign in this horrible place.”

  For some time after the departure of the ship, he found the solitude of his situation scarcely supportable; and so depressing did his melancholy become, that he frequently determined to put a period to his existence. According to his own account, it was full eighteen months before he became completely reconciled to his singular lot; when he gradually became calm and resigned, and finally happy. He now employ
ed his time in building and decorating his huts, exploring the island, catching wild goats and taming them, with other amusements and avocations, so accurately detailed in the romance that no one could doubt the source from whence the facts were derived. When his garments were worn out, he made others of the skins of such goats as he killed for food.

  During Selkirk’s residence on this island he caught about one thousand goats, half of which he let go at large again, having first marked them with a slit in the ear. Thirty years afterward, when Commodore Anson visited this island, he or some of his people shot one of these very goats; which I should suppose must have been rather tough eating. After living in this manner four years and four months, Selkirk was at length taken off by an English privateer from Bristol, which touched at the island, with her consort, in the month of February, 1709; but did not arrive in England until October, 1711.

  Having been absent eight years, and supposed by his friends to have perished, his unexpected return produced considerable sensation among them. It soon became noised abroad that more than half the period of his absence had been passed on an uninhabited island of the Pacific Ocean, when the curiosity of the public became so much excited, that he reasonably conjectured that he might turn his adventures to some account; and as he was much in want of pecuniary assistance he resolved to try.

  He was referred to Daniel De Foe, a young man just then rising into literary celebrity, into whose hands he put his journal for examination; proposing to give him a liberal share of the profits if he would prepare it for the press. After some time, De Foe returned the manuscript, with a discouraging answer, and Selkirk relinquished every hope from this quarter. In a few years afterward appeared a new romance, entitled “Robinson Crusoe,” which at once electrified all the juvenile portion of the British nation. With unexampled rapidity this work ran through many successive editions, and was translated into almost every language of Europe. Abridgments, alterations, and bungling imitations soon succeeded; De Foe became rich in fame and wealth while poor Selkirk, the journal of whose sufferings had furnished him with every important incident of the romance, was doomed to pine in want and obscurity. The biographers of De Foe have given him much praise for having acted honourably towards his creditors, from whose demands he had been legally released by the statute of insolvency. They say, “Being afterward in a state of affluence, he honourably paid the whole.” If this affluence proceeded from the sale of Robinson Crusoe, this compliment to his integrity might better have been omitted.

  The time and place of Selkirk’s death are not on record; but it has been asserted, on undoubted authority, that so late as the year 1798, the chest and musket which he had with him on the island were in possession of a grand-nephew, John Selkirk, a weaver in Largo, North Britain.

  I felt almost a romantic interest in examining such places as I knew had been frequented by the recluse, and which had been accurately described in the fiction. The harbour, however, near which he fixed his residence, the better to watch for vessels, is little more than a small cove, not above one hundred and twenty rods wide at its entrance, and entirely open to the easterly winds, from south-east to north-north-east. But the wind seldom blows from these points, except in the winter season. Here, and from the summit of an adjacent eminence, would the wretched man watch the distant horizon, until his eyes and his heart both became insupportably painful. As I descended from the same eminence, I could not help repeating the words I had heard sung somewhere, “Alas! poor Robinson Crusoe!”

  Massacre Islands:

  Early in the morning of Wednesday, the 26th of May, we landed twenty-five men on the point I had selected the previous evening, as mentioned in the last chapter. Each man having an axe, well sharpened for the purpose, they immediately commenced cutting down trees, and clearing away the ground directly abreast of the Antarctic, and close to the edge of the beach. With such ardour and alacrity did they pursue their labours, that by six o’clock, P.M., the ground was not only prepared for the site of a building one hundred and fifty feet in length, fifty feet in width, and forty feet high, but a considerable part of the frame of the projected edifice was actually got out in the same time. This day’s work appeared to delight the natives very much; but the rapidity with which the trees were felled by the crew electrified them with astonishment.

  In the afternoon I selected some seeds of different kinds, such as I thought would prove congenial to the climate and soil of these islands, and went on shore for the purpose of planting them. Attended by one of the crew, I carefully examined the ground in several places near the centre of the island, and finally made choice of a beautiful spot which seemed admirably fitted for a garden. Here we went to work with our spades, and soon turned up a sufficient extent of rich mellow soil for our purpose, hundreds of the natives all the while looking on with intense curiosity and amazement. I could not, for some time, make them fully comprehend the nature and purpose of our operations; which they continued to contemplate in doubtful surprise, until they saw me put the seeds into the ground, when the truth seemed to flash at once upon their minds.

  A tall, slender, well-built man now stepped up to me and gave me his hand, with an expression of approbation and gratitude; giving me to understand that he now comprehended the object of my hitherto mysterious proceedings, and that he approved of it very highly. The countenance of this man was expressive of deep penetration and great decision of character. His name was Henneen; and he was, as I subsequently discovered, the chief of this island: King Nero, the monarch of the whole group, merely being here on a visit from the largest island in his dominions, lying about seven miles to the south, on which he resided.

  Encouraged by the approbation of Henneen and his people, I now went on, and planted potatoes, yams, pumpkins, oranges, apples, pears, peaches, plums, onions, cabbages, beets, carrots, parsnips, artichokes, beans, peas, watermelons, and muskmelons. While we were planting the seeds of these vegetables and fruits, I told Henneen that there must be a fence around them, to prevent their being trampled upon and destroyed. He immediately set his men to work, and before night the Utile garden was all planted and fenced. I then told Nero and Henneen that in the course of a few moons they might expect to find a variety of edible productions in this young plantation; and in two or three years a number of trees bearing wholesome and delicious fruits. Henneen explained this to the natives, and was answered by a loud and general shout of approbation and joy.

  This was followed by a speech from King Nero, in which his majesty assured his chiefs and subjects that I was taking all this trouble and pains for their general good, from generous and disinterested motives. At the conclusion of this address the whole welkin rang with their joyous shouts. When this clamour had subsided, I made Nero and Henneen understand that this garden was intended for them; and that in due time it would furnish seeds enough for all his people, on every island. By this mark of respect from me they appeared to feel themselves highly honoured, and promised to see that the garden was cultured with great care.…

  May 28th.—The morning of Friday, the eventful 28th of May, opened on these lovely islands with smiles of cloudless beauty. At five, A.M., twenty-one men went oil shore, under the command of Mr. Wallace and Mr. Wiley, to pursue their labours on the edifice we were raising. At nine, A. M., after giving the king and chiefs as good and as bountiful a breakfast as the store-rooms of the well-supplied Antarctic could furnish, they were loaded with presents, and set on shore, to all appearance highly delighted with their visit and the friendly reception they had met. Indeed they seemed to take unusual pains to convince us of their gratitude and good-will. Among other modes of expressing them, Nero and the chiefs voluntarily promised that their people should assist ours in making and thatching the house, which was now partly raised, and nearly ready for covering. The sincerity of these professions and promises remains to be determined by those who have patience to pursue the course of this plain narrative of facts.