protested against what the
boatswain said.

The boat brought us back to the ship. Captain Len Guy had not left
his cabin. West, having received no orders, was pacing the deck aft.
I seated myself at the foot of the mainmast, observing the sea which
lay open and free before us.

At this moment the captain came on deck; he was very pale, and his
features looked pinched and weary.

"Mr. Jeorling," said he, "I can affirm conscientiously that I
have done all it was possible to do. Can I hope henceforth that my
brother William and his companions--No! No! We must go
away--before winter--"

He drew himself up, and cast a last glance towards Tsalal Island.

"To-morrow, Jim," he said to West, "to morrow we will make
sail as early as possible."

At this moment a rough voice uttered the words:

"And Pym--poor Pym!"

I recognized this voice.

It was the voice I had heard in my dream.

CHAPTER XVII.
AND PYM?

"And Pym--poor Pym?"

I turned round quickly.

Hunt had spoken. This strange person was standing motionless at a
little distance, gazing fixedly at the horizon.

It was so unusual to hear Hunt's voice on board the schooner, that
the men, whom the unaccustomed sound reached, drew near, moved by
curiosity. Did not his unexpected intervention point to--I had a
presentiment that it did--some wonderful revelation?

A movement of West's hand sent the men forward, leaving only the
mate, the boatswain, Martin Holt, the sailing-master, and Hardy,
with the captain and myself in the vicinity of Hunt. The captain
approached and addressed him:

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'And Pym--poor Pym.'"

"Well, then, what do you mean by repeating the name of the man
whose pernicious advice led my brother to the island on which the
_Jane_ was lost, the greater part of her crew was massacred, and where
we have not found even one left of those who were still here seven
months ago?"

Hunt did not speak.

"Answer, I say--answer!" cried the captain.

Hunt hesitated, not because he did not know what to say, but from a
certain difficulty in expressing his ideas. The latter were quite
clear, but his speech was confused, his words were unconnected. He
had a certain language of his own which sometimes was picturesque,
and his pronunciation was strongly marked by the hoarse accent of
the Indians of the Far West.

"You see," he said, "I do not know how to tell things. My
tongue stops. Understand me, I spoke of Pym, poor P