Chapter 2

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
every thing, 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 sailboat 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 toward 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 favorite 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 side 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 every thing 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 dammed” 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 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 that 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 around 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 have been 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 endeavored 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 the 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.