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“
Exactly
?
”
“
Exactly
.
”
“
There
is
,
then
,
no
doubt
that
we
are
on
Tsalal
Island
?
”
“
None
,
Mr
.
Jeorling
,
if
Tsalal
Island
lies
where
Arthur
Pym
places
it
.
”
This
was
quite
true
,
there
could
be
no
doubt
on
the
point
,
and
yet
of
all
that
Arthur
Pym
described
nothing
existed
,
or
rather
,
nothing
was
any
longer
to
be
seen
.
Not
a
tree
,
not
a
shrub
,
not
a
plant
was
visible
in
the
landscape
.
There
was
no
sign
of
the
wooded
hills
between
which
the
village
of
Klock
-
Klock
ought
to
lie
,
or
of
the
streams
from
which
the
crew
of
the
Jane
had
not
ventured
to
drink
.
There
was
no
water
anywhere
;
but
everywhere
absolute
,
awful
drought
.
Nevertheless
,
Hunt
walked
on
rapidly
,
without
showing
any
hesitation
.
It
seemed
as
though
he
was
led
by
a
natural
instinct
,
“
a
bee
’
s
flight
,
”
as
we
say
in
America
.
I
know
not
what
presentiment
induced
us
to
follow
him
as
the
best
of
guides
,
a
Chingachgook
,
a
Renard
-
Subtil
.
And
why
not
?
Was
not
he
the
fellow
-
countryman
of
Fenimore
Cooper
’
s
heroes
?
But
,
I
must
repeat
that
we
had
not
before
our
eyes
that
fabulous
land
which
Arthur
Pym
described
.
The
soil
we
were
treading
had
been
ravaged
,
wrecked
,
torn
by
convulsion
.
It
was
black
,
a
cindery
black
,
as
though
it
had
been
vomited
from
the
earth
under
the
action
of
Plutonian
forces
;
it
suggested
that
some
appalling
and
irresistible
cataclysm
had
overturned
the
whole
of
its
surface
.
Not
one
of
the
animals
mentioned
in
the
narrative
was
to
be
seen
,
and
even
the
penguins
which
abound
in
the
Antarctic
regions
had
fled
from
this
uninhabitable
land
.
Its
stern
silence
and
solitude
made
it
a
hideous
desert
.
No
human
being
was
to
be
seen
either
on
the
coast
or
in
the
interior
.
Did
any
chance
of
finding
William
Guy
and
the
survivors
of
the
Jane
exist
in
the
midst
of
this
scene
of
desolation
?
I
looked
at
Captain
Len
Guy
.
His
pale
face
,
dim
eyes
,
and
knit
brow
told
too
plainly
that
hope
was
beginning
to
die
within
his
breast
.
