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
get out, I had to pass directly over his body, and he already seemed to
anticipate my design--raising himself upon his fore legs (as I
perceived by the altered position of his eyes), and displaying the
whole of his white fangs, which were easily discernible. I took the
remains of the ham-skin, and the bottle containing the liqueur, and
secured them about my person, together with a large carving-knife which
Augustus had left me--then, folding my cloak as closely around me as
possible, I made a movement towards the mouth of the box. No sooner did
I do this than the dog sprang with a loud growl towards my throat. The
whole weight of his body struck me on the right shoulder, and I fell
violently to the left, while the enraged animal passed entirely over
me. I had fallen upon my knees, with my head buried among the blankets,
and these protected me from a second furious assault, during which I
felt the sharp teeth pressing vigorously upon the woollen which
enveloped my neck--yet, luckily, without being able to penetrate all
the folds. I was now beneath the dog, and a few moments would place me
completely in his power. Despair gave me strength, and I rose bodily
up, shaking him from me by main force, and dragging with me the
blankets from the mattress. These I now threw over him, and before he
could extricate himself I had got through the door and closed it
effectually against his pursuit. In this struggle, however, I had been
forced to drop the morsel of ham-skin, and I now found my whole stock
of provisions reduced to a single gill of liqueur. As this reflection
crossed my mind, I felt myself actuated by one of those fits of
perverseness which might be supposed to influence a spoiled child in
similar circumstances, and, raising the bottle to my lips, I drained it
to the last drop, and dashed it furiously upon the floor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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