It was then, in front of the “curtain of vapour,” that Arthur Pym and the half-breed had been separated from each other. Dirk Peters had succeeded in returning from the ice-world to America, whither he had conveyed the notes that were communicated to Edgar Poe.
Hunt was minutely questioned upon all these points and he replied, conformably, he declared, to what the half-breed had told him many times. According to this statement, Dirk Peters had Arthur Pym’s note-book in his pocket at the moment when the ice-block struck them, and thus the journal which the half-breed placed at the disposal of the American romance-writer was saved.
“Understand me,” Hunt repeated, “for I tell you things as I have them from Dirk Peters. While the drift was carrying him away, he cried out with all his strength. Pym, poor Pym, had already disappeared in the midst of the vapour. The half-breed, feeding upon raw fish, which he contrived to catch, was carried back by a cross current to Tsalal Island, where he landed half dead from hunger.”
“To Tsalal Island!” exclaimed Captain Len Guy. “And how long was it since they had left it?”
“Three weeks—yes, three weeks at the farthest, so Dirk Peters told me.”
“Then he must have found all that remained of the crew of the Jane—my brother William and those who had survived with him?”
“No,” replied Hunt; “and Dirk Peters always believed that they had perished—yes, to the very last man. There was no one upon the island.”
“No one?”
“Not a living soul.”
“But the population?”