University of Virginia Library

1. NARRATIVE
OF
A. GORDON PYM.

My name is Arthur Gordon Pym. My father was a respectable
trader in sea-stores at Nantucket, where I was
born. My maternal grandfather was an attorney in good
practice. He was fortunate in everything, and had speculated
very successfully in stocks of the Edgarton New-Bank,
as it was formerly called. By these and other
means he had managed to lay by a tolerable sum of money.
He was more attached to myself, I believe, than
to any other person in the world, and I expected to inherit
the most of his property at his death. He sent me,
at six years of age, to the school of old Mr. Ricketts, a
gentleman with only one arm, and of eccentric manners
—he is well known to almost every person who has
visited New Bedford. I stayed at his school until I was
sixteen, when I left him for Mr. E. Ronald's academy
on the hill. Here I became intimate with the son of
Mr. Barnard, a sea captain, who generally sailed in the
employ of Lloyd and Vredenburgh—Mr. Barnard is also
very well known in New Bedford, and has many relations,
I am certain, in Edgarton. His son was named
Augustus, and he was nearly two years older than myself.
He had been on a whaling voyage with his father
in the John Donaldson, and was always talking to me of
his adventures in the South Pacific Ocean. I used frequently
to go home with him, and remain all day, and
sometimes all night. We occupied the same bed, and
he would be sure to keep me awake until almost light,

telling me stories of the natives of the Island of Tinian,
and other places he had visited in his travels. At last I
could not help being interested in what he said, and by
degrees I felt the greatest desire to go to sea. I owned
a sail-boat called the Ariel, and worth about seventy-five
dollars. She had a half-deck or cuddy, and was rigged
sloop-fashion—I forget her tonnage, but she would hold
ten persons without much crowding. In this boat we
were in the habit of going on some of the maddest freaks
in the world; and, when I now think of them, it appears
to me a thousand wonders that I am alive to-day.

I will relate one of these adventures by way of introduction
to a longer and more momentous narrative. One
night there was a party at Mr. Barnard's, and both Augustus
and myself were not a little intoxicated towards
the close of it. As usual, in such cases, I took part of
his bed in preference to going home. He went to sleep,
as I thought, very quietly (it being near one when the
party broke up), and without saying a word on his favourite
topic. It might have been half an hour from the time
of our getting in bed, and I was just about falling into a
doze, when he suddenly started up, and swore with a
terrible oath that he would not go to sleep for any Arthur
Pym in Christendom, when there was so glorious a
breeze from the southwest. I never was so astonished
in my life, not knowing what he intended, and thinking
that the wines and liquors he had drunk had set him entirely
beside himself. He proceeded to talk very coolly,
however, saying he knew that I supposed him intoxicated,
but that he was never more sober in his life. He was
only tired, he added, of lying in bed on such a fine night
like a dog, and was determined to get up and dress, and
go out on a frolic with the boat. I can hardly tell what
possessed me, but the words were no sooner out of his
mouth than I felt a thrill of the greatest excitement and
pleasure, and thought his mad idea one of the most delightful
and most reasonable things in the world. It was
blowing almost a gale, and the weather was very cold—
it being late in October. I sprang out of bed, nevertheless,
in a kind of ecstasy, and told him I was quite as

brave as himself, and quite as tired as he was of lying
in bed like a dog, and quite as ready for any fun or
frolic as any Augustus Barnard in Nantucket.

We lost no time in getting on our clothes and hurrying
down to the boat. She was lying at the old decayed
wharf by the lumber-yard of Pankey & Co., and almost
thumping her sides out against the rough logs. Augustus
got into her and bailed her, for she was nearly half
full of water. This being done, we hoisted jib and mainsail,
kept full, and started boldly out to sea.

The wind, as I before said, blew freshly from the
southwest. The night was very clear and cold. Augustus
had taken the helm, and I stationed myself by the
mast, on the deck of the cuddy. We flew along at a
great rate—neither of us having said a word since casting
loose from the wharf. I now asked my companion
what course he intended to steer, and what time he
thought it probable we should get back. He whistled
for a few minutes, and then said crustily, “I am going
to sea—you may go home if you think proper.” Turning
my eyes upon him, I perceived at once that, in spite of
his assumed nonchalance, he was greatly agitated. I
could see him distinctly by the light of the moon—his
face was paler than any marble, and his hand shook so
excessively that he could scarcely retain hold of the
tiller. I found that something had gone wrong, and became
seriously alarmed. At this period I knew little
about the management of a boat, and was now depending
entirely upon the nautical skill of my friend. The wind,
too, had suddenly increased, as we were fast getting out
of the lee of the land—still I was ashamed to betray any
trepidation, and for almost half an hour maintained a
resolute silence. I could stand it no longer, however,
and spoke to Augustus about the propriety of turning
back. As before, it was nearly a minute before he
made answer, or took any notice of my suggestion.
“By-and-by,” said he at length—“time enough—home
by-and-by.” I had expected a similar reply, but there
was something in the tone of these words which filled
me with an indescribable feeling of dread. I again

looked at the speaker attentively. His lips were perfectly
livid, and his knees shook so violently together
that he seemed scarcely able to stand. “For God's
sake, Augustus,” I screamed, now heartily frightened,
“what ails you?—what is the matter?—what are you
going to do?” “Matter!” he stammered, in the greatest
apparent surprise, letting go the tiller at the same moment,
and falling forward into the bottom of the boat—
“matter!—why, nothing is the—matter—going home—
d—d—don't you see?” The whole truth now flashed
upon me. I flew to him and raised him up. He was drunk
—beastly drunk—he could no longer either stand, speak,
or see. His eyes were perfectly glazed; and as I let
him go in the extremity of my despair, he rolled like
a mere log into the bilge-water from which I had lifted
him. It was evident that, during the evening, he had
drunk far more than I suspected, and that his conduct in
bed had been the result of a highly-concentrated state of
intoxication—a state which, like madness, frequently
enables the victim to imitate the outward demeanour of
one in perfect possession of his senses. The coolness
of the night air, however, had had its usual effect—the
mental energy began to yield before its influence—and
the confused perception which he no doubt then had of
his perilous situation had assisted in hastening the catastrophe.
He was now thoroughly insensible, and there
was no probability that he would be otherwise for many
hours.

It is hardly possible to conceive the extremity of my
terror. The fumes of the wine lately taken had evaporated,
leaving me doubly timid and irresolute. I knew
that I was altogether incapable of managing the boat,
and that a fierce wind and strong ebb tide were hurrying
us to destruction. A storm was evidently gathering behind
us; we had neither compass nor provisions; and it
was clear that, if we held our present course, we should
be out of sight of land before daybreak. These thoughts,
with a crowd of others equally fearful, flashed through
my mind with a bewildering rapidity, and for some moments
paralyzed me beyond the possibility of making any

exertion. The boat was going through the water at a
terrible rate—full before the wind—no reef in either jib
or mainsail—running her bows completely under the
foam. It was a thousand wonders she did not broach
to—Augustus having let go the tiller, as I said before,
and I being too much agitated to think of taking it myself.
By good luck, however, she kept steady, and
gradually I recovered some degree of presence of mind.
Still the wind was increasing fearfully; and whenever
we rose from a plunge forward, the sea behind fell
combing over our counter, and deluged us with water.
I was so utterly benumbed, too, in every limb, as to be
nearly unconscious of sensation. At length I summoned
up the resolution of despair, and rushing to the
mainsail, let it go by the run. As might have been
expected, it flew over the bows, and, getting drenched
with water, carried away the mast short off by the
board. This latter accident alone saved me from instant
destruction. Under the jib only, I now boomed along
before the wind, shipping heavy seas occasionally over
the counter, but relieved from the terror of immediate
death. I took the helm, and breathed with greater freedom
as I found that there yet remained to us a chance
of ultimate escape. Augustus still lay senseless in the
bottom of the boat; and as there was imminent danger of
his drowning (the water being nearly a foot deep just
where he fell), I contrived to raise him partially up, and
keep him in a sitting position, by passing a rope round
his waist, and lashing it to a ringbolt in the deck of the
cuddy. Having thus arranged everything as well as I
could in my chilled and agitated condition, I recommended
myself to God, and made up my mind to bear whatever
might happen with all the fortitude in my power.

Hardly had I come to this resolution, when, suddenly,
a loud and long scream or yell, as if from the throats of
a thousand demons, seemed to pervade the whole atmosphere
around and above the boat. Never while I live
shall I forget the intense agony of terror I experienced
at that moment. My hair stood erect on my head—I
felt the blood congealing in my veins—my heart ceased

utterly to beat, and without having once raised my eyes
to learn the source of my alarm, I tumbled headlong and
insensible upon the body of my fallen companion.

I found myself, upon reviving, in the cabin of a large
whaling-ship (the Penguin) bound to Nantucket. Several
persons were standing over me, and Augustus, paler
than death, was busily occupied in chafing my hands.
Upon seeing me open my eyes, his exclamations of gratitude
and joy excited alternate laughter and tears from
the rough-looking personages who were present. The
mystery of our being in existence was now soon explained.
We had been run down by the whaling-ship,
which was close hauled, beating up to Nantucket with
every sail she could venture to set, and consequently
running almost at right angles to our own course. Several
men were on the look-out forward, but did not perceive
our boat until it was an impossibility to avoid
coming in contact—their shouts of warning upon seeing
us were what so terribly alarmed me. The huge ship,
I was told, rode immediately over us with as much ease
as our own little vessel would have passed over a feather,
and without the least perceptible impediment to her
progress. Not a scream arose from the deck of the victim—there
was a slight grating sound to be heard mingling
with the roar of wind and water, as the frail bark
which was swallowed up rubbed for a moment along
the keel of her destroyer—but this was all. Thinking
our boat (which it will be remembered was dismasted)
some mere shell cut adrift as useless, the captain (Captain
E. T. V. Block of New London) was for proceeding
on his course without troubling himself further about
the matter. Luckily, there were two of the look-out who
swore positively to having seen some person at our helm,
and represented the possibility of yet saving him. A
discussion ensued, when Block grew angry, and, after a
while, said that “it was no business of his to be eternally
watching for egg-shells; that the ship should not put
about for any such nonsense; and if there was a man run
down, it was nobody's fault but his own—he might drown
and be d—d,” or some language to that effect. Henderson,

the first mate, now took the matter up, being
justly indignant, as well as the whole ship's crew, at a
speech evincing so base a degree of heartless atrocity.
He spoke plainly, seeing himself upheld by the men, told
the captain he considered him a fit subject for the gallows,
and that he would disobey his orders if he were
hanged for it the moment he set his foot on shore. He
strode aft, jostling Block (who turned very pale and made
no answer) on one side, and seizing the helm, gave the
word, in a firm voice, Hard-a-lee! The men flew to
their posts, and the ship went cleverly about. All this
had occupied nearly five minutes, and it was supposed to
be hardly within the bounds of possibility that any individual
could be saved—allowing any to have been on
board the boat. Yet, as the reader has seen, both Augustus
and myself were rescued; and our deliverance
seemed to have been brought about by two of those
almost inconceivable pieces of good fortune which are
attributed by the wise and pious to the special interference
of Providence.

While the ship was yet in stays, the mate lowered the
jolly-boat and jumped into her with the very two men, I
believe, who spoke up as having seen me at the helm.
They had just left the lee of the vessel (the moon still
shining brightly) when she made a long and heavy roll
to windward, and Henderson, at the same moment, starting
up in his seat, bawled out to his crew to back water.
He would say nothing else—repeating his cry impatiently,
back water! back water! The men put back as
speedily as possible; but by this time the ship had gone
round, and gotten fully under headway, although all
hands on board were making great exertions to take in
sail. In despite of the danger of the attempt, the mate
clung to the main-chains as soon as they came within his
reach. Another huge lurch now brought the starboard
side of the vessel out of water nearly as far as her keel,
when the cause of his anxiety was rendered obvious
enough. The body of a man was seen to be affixed in
the most singular manner to the smooth and shining
bottom (the Penguin was coppered and copper-fastened),

and beating violently against it with every movement of
the hull. After several ineffectual efforts, made during
the lurches of the ship, and at the imminent risk of
swamping the boat, I was finally disengaged from my
perilous situation and taken on board—for the body
proved to be my own. It appeared that one of the
timber-bolts having started and broken a passage through
the copper, it had arrested my progress as I passed
under the ship, and fastened me in so extraordinary a
manner to her bottom. The head of the bolt had made
its way through the collar of the green baize jacket I
had on, and through the back part of my neck, forcing
itself out between two sinews and just below the right
ear. I was immediately put to bed—although life seemed
to be totally extinct. There was no surgeon on board.
The captain, however, treated me with every attention—
to make amends, I presume, in the eyes of his crew, for
his atrocious behaviour in the previous portion of the
adventure.

In the meantime, Henderson had again put off from the
ship, although the wind was now blowing almost a hurricane.
He had not been gone many minutes when he
fell in with some fragments of our boat, and shortly afterward
one of the men with him asserted that he could
distinguish a cry for help at intervals amid the roaring of
the tempest. This induced the hardy seamen to persevere
in their search for more than half an hour, although
repeated signals to return were made them by Captain
Block, and although every moment on the water in so
frail a boat was fraught to them with the most imminent
and deadly peril. Indeed, it is nearly impossible to conceive
how the small jolly they were in could have escaped
destruction for a single instant. She was built, however,
for the whaling service, and was fitted, as I have since
had reason to believe, with air-boxes, in the manner of
some life-boats used on the coast of Wales.

After searching in vain for about the period of time
just mentioned, it was determined to get back to the ship.
They had scarcely made this resolve when a feeble cry
arose from a dark object which floated rapidly by. They

pursued and soon overtook it. It proved to be the entire
deck of the Ariel's cuddy. Augustus was struggling
near it, apparently in the last agonies. Upon getting
hold of him it was found that he was attached by a rope
to the floating timber. This rope, it will be remembered,
I had myself tied round his waist, and made fast to a
ringbolt, for the purpose of keeping him in an upright
position, and my so doing, it appeared, had been ultimately
the means of preserving his life. The Ariel was
slightly put together, and in going down her frame naturally
went to pieces; the deck of the cuddy, as might
be expected, was lifted, by the force of the water
rushing in, entirely from the main timbers, and floated
(with other fragments, no doubt) to the surface—Augustus
was buoyed up with it, and thus escaped a terrible
death.

It was more than an hour after being taken on board
the Penguin before he could give any account of himself,
or be made to comprehend the nature of the accident
which had befallen our boat. At length he became thoroughly
aroused, and spoke much of his sensations while
in the water. Upon his first attaining any degree of
consciousness, he found himself beneath the surface,
whirling round and round with inconceivable rapidity,
and with a rope wrapped in three or four folds tightly
about his neck. In an instant afterward he felt himself
going rapidly upward, when, his head striking violently
against a hard substance, he again relapsed into insensibility.
Upon once more reviving he was in fuller possession
of his reason—this was still, however, in the greatest
degree clouded and confused. He now knew that
some accident had occurred, and that he was in the water,
although his mouth was above the surface, and he
could breathe with some freedom. Possibly, at this
period, the deck was drifting rapidly before the wind,
and drawing him after it, as he floated upon his back.
Of course, as long as he could have retained this position,
it would have been nearly impossible that he should
be drowned. Presently a surge threw him directly athwart
the deck; and this post he endeavoured to maintain,

screaming at intervals for help. Just before he was discovered
by Mr. Henderson, he had been obliged to relax
his hold through exhaustion, and, falling into the sea,
had given himself up for lost. During the whole period
of his struggles he had not the faintest recollection of the
Ariel, nor of any matters in connexion with the source
of his disaster. A vague feeling of terror and despair
had taken entire possession of his faculties. When he
was finally picked up, every power of his mind had failed
him; and, as before said, it was nearly an hour after getting
on board the Penguin before he became fully aware
of his condition. In regard to myself—I was resuscitated
from a state bordering very nearly upon death (and
after every other means had been tried in vain for three
hours and a half) by vigorous friction with flannels bathed
in hot oil—a proceeding suggested by Augustus. The
wound in my neck, although of an ugly appearance,
proved of little real consequence, and I soon recovered
from its effects.

The Penguin got into port about nine o'clock in the
morning, after encountering one of the severest gales
ever experienced off Nantucket. Both Augustus and
myself managed to appear at Mr. Barnard's in time for
breakfast—which, luckily, was somewhat late, owing to
the party over night. I suppose all at the table were too
much fatigued themselves to notice our jaded appearance
—of course, it would not have borne a very rigid scrutiny.
Schoolboys, however, can accomplish wonders in the way
of deception, and I verily believe not one of our friends
in Nantucket had the slightest suspicion that the terrible
story told by some sailors in town of their having run
down a vessel at sea and drowned some thirty or forty
poor devils, had reference either to the Ariel, my companion,
or myself. We two have since very frequently
talked the matter over—but never without a shudder.
In one of our conversations Augustus frankly confessed
to me, that in his whole life he had at no time experienced
so excruciating a sense of dismay, as when on board our
little boat he first discovered the extent of his intoxication,
and felt himself sinking beneath its influence.