iven in Edgar Poe's narrative are
curiously minute at this point)--and then by the glimmer that
lasted less than a second he discerned just seven words at the end
of a sentence. Terrifying words these were: _blood--remain
hidden--life depends on it_.

What did these words mean? Let us consider the situation of Arthur
Pym, at the bottom of the ship's hold, between the boards of a
chest, without light, without water, with only ardent liquor to
quench his thirst! And this warning to remain hidden, preceded by
the word "blood "--that supreme word, king of words, so full of
mystery, of suffering, of terror! Had there been strife on board the
_Grampus_? Had the brig been attacked by pirates? Had the crew
mutinied? How long had this state of things lasted?

It might be thought that the marvellous poet had exhausted the
resources of his imagination in the terror of such a situation; but
it was not so. There is more to come!

Arthur Pym lay stretched upon his mattress, incapable of thought, in
a sort of lethargy; suddenly he became aware of a singular sound, a
kind of continuous whistling breathing. It was Tiger, panting, Tiger
with eyes that glared in the midst of the darkness, Tiger with
gnashing teeth--Tiger gone mad. Another moment and the dog had
sprung upon Arthur Pym, who, wound up to the highest pitch of
horror, recovered sufficient strength to ward off his fangs, and
wrapping around him a blanket which Tiger had torn with his white
teeth, he slipped out of the chest, and shut the sliding side upon
the snapping and struggling brute.

Arthur Pym contrived to slip through the stowage of the hold, but
his head swam, and, falling against a bale, he let his knife drop
from his hand.

Just as he felt himself breathing his last sigh he heard his name
pronounced, and a bottle of water was held to his lips. He swallowed
the whole of its contents, and experienced the most exquisite of
pleasures.

A few minutes later, Augustus Barnard, seated with his comrade in a
corner of the hold, told him all that had occurred on board the brig.

Up to this point, I repeat, the story is admissible, but we have not
yet come to the events which "surpass all probability by their
marvellousness."

The crew of the _Grampus_ numbered thirty-six men, including the
Barnards, father and son. After the brig had put to sea on the 20th
of June, Augustus Barnard had made several attempts to rejoin Arthur
Pym in his hiding place, but in vain. On