He lowered his voice, and threw a furtive glance around him. It would be impossible to describe the frightful expression of the half-breed’s face as he thus recalled the terrible scenes of the Grampus. And it was not the expression of a cannibal of Australia or the New Hebrides, but that of a man who is pervaded by an insurmountable horror of himself.
“Was it not on the 1st of March, Dirk Peters,” I asked, “that you perceived for the first time the veil of grey vapour shot with luminous and moving rays?”
“I do not remember, sir, but if Pym says it was so, Pym must be believed.”
“Did he never speak to you of fiery rays which fell from the sky?” I did not use the term “polar aurora,” lest the half-breed should not understand it.
“Never, sir,” said Dirk Peters, after some reflection.
“Did you not remark that the colour of the sea changed, grew white like milk, and that its surface became ruffled around your boat?”
“It may have been so, sir; I did not observe. The boat went on and on, and my head went with it.”
“And then, the fine powder, as fine as ashes, that fell—”
“I don’t remember it.”
“Was it not snow?”