The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 02: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and CiviliansBierce, Ambrose
History
The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 02: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians
Bierce, Ambrose
Horror tales, American; Paranormal fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; War stories, American
He was caught in a reclining posture, his back firmly supported by a
solid beam. Another lay across his breast, but he had been able to
shrink a little away from it so that it no longer oppressed him, though
it was immovable. A brace joining it at an angle had wedged him against
a pile of boards on his left, fastening the arm on that side. His legs,
slightly parted and straight along the ground, were covered upward to
the knees with a mass of debris which towered above his narrow horizon.
His head was as rigidly fixed as in a vise; he could move his eyes, his
chin--no more. Only his right arm was partly free. "You must help us out
of this," he said to it. But he could not get it from under the heavy
timber athwart his chest, nor move it outward more than six inches at
the elbow.
Searing was not seriously injured, nor did he suffer pain. A smart rap
on the head from a flying fragment of the splintered post, incurred
simultaneously with the frightfully sudden shock to the nervous system,
had momentarily dazed him. His term of unconsciousness, including the
period of recovery, during which he had had the strange fancies, had
probably not exceeded a few seconds, for the dust of the wreck had not
wholly cleared away as he began an intelligent survey of the situation.
With his partly free right hand he now tried to get hold of the beam
that lay across, but not quite against, his breast. In no way could he
do so. He was unable to depress the shoulder so as to push the elbow
beyond that edge of the timber which was nearest his knees; failing in
that, he could not raise the forearm and hand to grasp the beam. The
brace that made an angle with it downward and backward prevented him
from doing anything in that direction, and between it and his body the
space was not half so wide as the length of his forearm. Obviously he
could not get his hand under the beam nor over it; the hand could not,
in fact, touch it at all. Having demonstrated his inability, he
desisted, and began to think whether he could reach any of the débris
piled upon his legs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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