The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket: Comprising the details of a mutiny and atrocious butchery on board the American brig Grampus, on her way to the South Seas, in the month of June, 1827.Poe, Edgar Allan
General
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket: Comprising the details of a mutiny and atrocious butchery on board the American brig Grampus, on her way to the South Seas, in the month of June, 1827.
Poe, Edgar Allan
Sea stories; Stowaways -- Fiction; Whaling ships -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
neighbourhood of the island, why should not Augustus have visited me
and informed me of the circumstance? Pondering in this manner upon the
difficulties of my solitary and cheerless condition, I resolved to wait
yet another twenty-four hours, when, if no relief were obtained, I
would make my way to the trap, and endeavour either to hold a parley
with my friend, or get at least a little fresh air through the opening,
and a further supply of water from his stateroom. While occupied with
this thought, however, I fell, in spite of every exertion to the
contrary, into a state of profound sleep, or rather stupor. My dreams
were of the most terrific description. Every species of calamity and
horror befell me. Among other miseries, I was smothered to death
between huge pillows, by demons of the most ghastly and ferocious
aspect. Immense serpents held me in their embrace, and looked earnestly
in my face with their fearfully shining eyes. Then deserts, limitless,
and of the most forlorn and awe-inspiring character, spread themselves
out before me. Immensely tall trunks of trees, gray and leafless, rose
up in endless succession as far as the eye could reach. Their roots
were concealed in wide-spreading morasses, whose dreary water lay
intensely black, still, and altogether terrible, beneath. And the
strange trees seemed endowed with a human vitality, and, waving to and
fro their skeleton arms, were crying to the silent waters for mercy, in
the shrill and piercing accents of the most acute agony and despair.
The scene changed; and I stood, naked and alone, amid the burning
sand-plains of Zahara. At my feet lay crouched a fierce lion of the
tropics. Suddenly his wild eyes opened and fell upon me. With a
convulsive bound he sprang to his feet, and laid bare his horrible
teeth. In another instant there burst from his red throat a roar like
the thunder of the firmament, and I fell impetuously to the earth.
Stifling in a paroxysm of terror, I at last found myself partially
awake. My dream, then, was not all a dream. Now, at least, I was in
possession of my senses. The paws of some huge and real monster were
pressing heavily upon my bosom--his hot breath was in my ear--and his
white and ghastly fangs were gleaming upon me through the gloom.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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