



Produced by David Widger




The Works of Edgar Allan Poe

by Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven Edition

VOLUME III. Contents

 NARRATIVE OF A. GORDON PYM
 CHAPTER 1
 CHAPTER 2
 CHAPTER 3
 CHAPTER 4
 CHAPTER 5
 CHAPTER 6
 CHAPTER 7
 CHAPTER 8
 CHAPTER 9
 CHAPTER 10
 CHAPTER 11
 CHAPTER 12
 CHAPTER 13
 CHAPTER 14
 CHAPTER 15
 CHAPTER 16
 CHAPTER 17
 CHAPTER 18
 CHAPTER 19
 CHAPTER 20
 CHAPTER 21
 CHAPTER 22
 CHAPTER 23
 CHAPTER 24
 CHAPTER 25
 NOTES TO THE THIRD VOLUME

 LIGEIA
 MORELLA
 A TALE OF THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS
 THE SPECTACLES
 KING PEST
 THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK




NARRATIVE OF A. GORDON PYM

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

      Upon my return to the United States a few months ago, after the
      extraordinary series of adventure in the South Seas and
      elsewhere, of which an account is given in the following pages,
      accident threw me into the society of several gentlemen in
      Richmond, Va., who felt deep interest in all matters relating to
      the regions I had visited, and who were constantly urging it upon
      me, as a duty, to give my narrative to the public. I had several
      reasons, however, for declining to do so, some of which were of a
      nature altogether private, and concern no person but myself;
      others not so much so. One consideration which deterred me was
      that, having kept no journal during a greater portion of the time
      in which I was absent, I feared I should not be able to write,
      from mere memory, a statement so minute and connected as to have
      the _appearance_of that truth it would really possess, barring
      only the natural and unavoidable exaggeration to which all of us
      are prone when detailing events which have had powerful influence
      in exciting the imaginative faculties. Another reason was, that
      the incidents to be narrated were of a nature so positively
      marvellous that, unsupported as my assertions must necessarily be
      (except by the evidence of a single individual, and he a
      half-breed Indian), I could only hope for belief among my family,
      and those of my friends who have had reason, through life, to put
      faith in my veracity—the probability being that the public at
      large would regard what I should put forth as merely an impudent
      and ingenious fiction. A distrust in my own abilities as a writer
      was, nevertheless, one of the principal causes which prevented me
      from complying with the suggestions of my advisers. Among those gentlemen in Virginia who expressed the greatest
      interest in my statement, more particularly in regard to that
      portion of it which related to the Antarctic Ocean, was Mr. Poe,
      lately editor of the “Southern Literary Messenger,” a monthly
      magazine, published by Mr. Thomas W. White, in the city of
      Richmond. He strongly advised me, among others, to prepare at
      once a full account of what I had seen and undergone, and trust
      to the shrewdness and common-sense of the public—insisting, with
      great plausibility, that however roughly, as regards mere
      authorship, my book should be got up, its very uncouthness, if
      there were any, would give it all the better chance of being
      received as truth. Notwithstanding this representation, I did not make up my mind to
      do as he suggested. He afterward proposed (finding that I would
      not stir in the matter) that I should allow him to draw up, in
      his own words, a narrative of the earlier portion of my
      adventures, from facts afforded by myself, publishing it in the
      “Southern Messenger” _under the garb of fiction. _To this,
      perceiving no objection, I consented, stipulating only that my
      real name should be retained. Two numbers of the pretended
      fiction appeared, consequently, in the “Messenger” for January
      and February (1837), and, in order that it might certainly be
      regarded as fiction, the name of Mr. Poe was affixed to the
      articles in the table of contents of the magazine. The manner in which this ruse was received has induced me at
      length to undertake a regular compilation and publication of the
      adventures in question; for I found that, in spite of the air of
      fable which had been so ingeniously thrown around that portion of
      my statement which appeared in the “Messenger” (without altering
      or distorting a single fact), the public were still not at all
      disposed to receive it as fable, and several letters were sent to
      Mr. P.’s address, distinctly expressing a conviction to the
      contrary. I thence concluded that the facts of my narrative would
      prove of such a nature as to carry with them sufficient evidence
      of their own authenticity, and that I had consequently little to
      fear on the score of popular incredulity. This _exposé_being made, it will be seen at once how much of what
      follows I claim to be my own writing; and it will also be
      understood that no fact is misrepresented in the first few pages
      which were written by Mr. Poe. Even to those readers who have not
      seen the “Messenger,” it will be unnecessary to point out where
      his portion ends and my own commences; the difference in point of
      style will be readily perceived. A. G. PYM. CHAPTER 1


      My name is Arthur Gordon Pym. My father was a respectable trader
      in sea-stores at Nantucket, where I was born. My maternal
      grandfather was an attorney in good practice. He was fortunate in
      every thing, and had speculated very successfully in stocks of
      the Edgarton New Bank, as it was formerly called. By these and
      other means he had managed to lay by a tolerable sum of money. He
      was more attached to myself, I believe, than to any other person
      in the world, and I expected to inherit the most of his property
      at his death. He sent me, at six years of age, to the school of
      old Mr. Ricketts, a gentleman with only one arm and of eccentric
      manners—he is well known to almost every person who has visited
      New Bedford. I stayed at his school until I was sixteen, when I
      left him for Mr. E. Ronald’s academy on the hill. Here I became
      intimate with the son of Mr. Barnard, a sea-captain, who
      generally sailed in the employ of Lloyd and Vredenburgh—Mr. Barnard is also very well known in New Bedford, and has many
      relations, I am certain, in Edgarton. His son was named Augustus,
      and he was nearly two years older than myself. He had been on a
      whaling voyage with his father in the John Donaldson, and was
      always talking to me of his adventures in the South Pacific
      Ocean. I used frequently to go home with him, and remain all day,
      and sometimes all night.