This statement contradicted certain facts of which we were absolutely certain. After all, though, it was possible that when Dirk Peters returned to Tsalal Island, the population, seized by who can tell what terror, had already taken refuge upon the south-western group, and that William Guy and his companions were still hidden in the gorges of Klock-Klock. That would explain why the half-breed had not come across them, and also why the survivors of the _Jane_ had had nothing to fear during the eleven years of their sojourn in the island. On the other hand, since Patterson had left them there seven months previously, if we did not find them, that must have been because they had been obliged to leave Tsalal, the place being rendered uninhabitable by the earthquake. "So that," resumed Captain Len Guy, "on the return of Dirk Peters, there was no longer an inhabitant on the island?" "No one," repeated Hunt, "no one. The half-breed did not meet a single native." "And what did Dirk Peters do?" "Understand me. A forsaken boat lay there, at the back of the bay, containing some dried meat and several casks of water. 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, wishing to leave his readers in exciting uncertainty, he had brought Pym to an end "as sudden as it was deplorable," but 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 together 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. Poor Pym must not be forsaken!" When I had made an end of questioning Hunt, Captain Len Guy came out of his meditative mood, profoundly troubled, and gave the word, "All hands forward!"