This also was the shuddering
      exclamatives of Tsalal upon discovering the carcass of the
      _white_materials in possession of Mr. Pym. This also was the
      shriek of the swift-flying, _white, _and gigantic birds which
      issued from the vapory _white_curtain of the South. Nothing
      _white_was to be found at Tsalal, and nothing otherwise in the
      subsequent voyage to the region beyond. It is not impossible that
      “Tsalal,” the appellation of the island of the chasms, may be
      found, upon minute philological scrutiny, to betray either some
      alliance with the chasms themselves, or some reference to the
      Ethiopian characters so mysteriously written in their windings. _“I have graven it within the hills, and my vengeance upon the
      dust within the rock.”_




NOTES TO THE THIRD VOLUME


      {*1} Whaling vessels are usually fitted with iron oil-tanks—why
      the _Grampus_ was not I have never been able to ascertain. {*2} The case of the brig _Polly_, of Boston, is one so much in
      point, and her fate, in many respects, so remarkably similar to
      our own, that I cannot forbear alluding to it here. This vessel,
      of one hundred and thirty tons burden, sailed from Boston, with a
      cargo of lumber and provisions, for Santa Croix, on the twelfth
      of December, 1811, under the command of Captain Casneau. There
      were eight souls on board besides the captain—the mate, four
      seamen, and the cook, together with a Mr. Hunt, and a negro girl
      belonging to him. On the fifteenth, having cleared the shoal of
      Georges, she sprung a leak in a gale of wind from the southeast,
      and was finally capsized; but, the masts going by the board, she
      afterward righted. They remained in this situation, without fire,
      and with very little provision, for the period of one hundred and
      ninety-one days (from December the fifteenth to June the
      twentieth), when Captain Casneau and Samuel Badger, the only
      survivors, were taken off the wreck by the Fame, of Hull, Captain
      Featherstone, bound home from Rio Janeiro. When picked up, they
      were in latitude 28 degrees N., longitude 13 degrees W., having
      drifted above two thousand miles! On the ninth of July the Fame
      fell in with the brig Dromero, Captain Perkins, who landed the
      two sufferers in Kennebeck. The narrative from which we gather
      these details ends in the following words:

      “It is natural to inquire how they could float such a vast
      distance, upon the most frequented part of the Atlantic, and not
      be discovered all this time. They were passed by more than a
      dozen sail, one of which came so nigh them that they could
      distinctly see the people on deck and on the rigging looking at
      them; but, to the inexpressible disappointment of the starving
      and freezing men, they stifled the dictates of compassion,
      hoisted sail, and cruelly abandoned them to their fate.”

      {*3} Among the vessels which at various times have professed to
      meet with the Auroras may be mentioned the ship San Miguel, in
      1769; the ship Aurora, in 1774; the brig Pearl, in 1779; and the
      ship Dolores, in 1790. They all agree in giving the mean latitude
      fifty-three degrees south. {*4} The terms morning and evening, which I have made use of to
      avoid confusion in my narrative, as far as possible, must not, of
      course, be taken in their ordinary sense. For a long time past we
      had had no night at all, the daylight being continual. The dates
      throughout are according to nautical time, and the bearing must
      be understood as per compass. I would also remark, in this place,
      that I cannot, in the first portion of what is here written,
      pretend to strict accuracy in respect to dates, or latitudes and
      longitudes, having kept no regular journal until after the period
      of which this first portion treats. In many instances I have
      relied altogether upon memory. {*5} This day was rendered remarkable by our observing in the
      south several huge wreaths of the grayish vapour I have spoken
      of. {*6} The marl was also black; indeed, we noticed no light colored
      substances of any kind upon the island. {*7}For obvious reasons I cannot pretend to strict accuracy in
      these dates. They are given principally with a view to perspicity
      of narrative, and as set down in my pencil memorandum. LIGEIA


      And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the
      mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great
      will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth
      not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save
      only through the weakness of his feeble will.—_Joseph Glanvill_. I cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely
      where, I first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia. Long years
      have since elapsed, and my memory is feeble through much
      suffering. Or, perhaps, I cannot now bring these points to mind,
      because, in truth, the character of my beloved, her rare
      learning, her singular yet placid cast of beauty, and the
      thrilling and enthralling eloquence of her low musical language,
      made their way into my heart by paces so steadily and stealthily
      progressive that they have been unnoticed and unknown. Yet I
      believe that I met her first and most frequently in some large,
      old, decaying city near the Rhine. Of her family—I have surely
      heard her speak. That it is of a remotely ancient date cannot be
      doubted. Ligeia! Ligeia! Buried in studies of a nature more than
      all else adapted to deaden impressions of the outward world, it
      is by that sweet word alone—by Ligeia—that I bring before mine
      eyes in fancy the image of her who is no more. And now, while I
      write, a recollection flashes upon me that I have never known the
      paternal name of her who was my friend and my betrothed, and who
      became the partner of my studies, and finally the wife of my
      bosom. Was it a playful charge on the part of my Ligeia? or was
      it a test of my strength of affection, that I should institute no
      inquiries upon this point? or was it rather a caprice of my own—a
      wildly romantic offering on the shrine of the most passionate
      devotion? I but indistinctly recall the fact itself—what wonder
      that I have utterly forgotten the circumstances which originated
      or attended it? And, indeed, if ever that spirit which is
      entitled _Romance_—if ever she, the wan and the misty-winged
      _Ashtophet_ of idolatrous Egypt, presided, as they tell, over
      marriages ill-omened, then most surely she presided over mine. There is one dear topic, however, on which my memory fails me
      not. It is the person of Ligeia.