The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 1Poe, Edgar Allan
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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 1
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American; Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849
I gasped convulsively for breath—a shudder resembling
a fit of the ague agitated every nerve and muscle of my frame—I
felt my eyes starting from their sockets—a horrible nausea
overwhelmed me—and at length I fainted away.
“How long I remained in this state it is impossible to say. It
must, however, have been no inconsiderable time, for when I
partially recovered the sense of existence, I found the day
breaking, the balloon at a prodigious height over a wilderness of
ocean, and not a trace of land to be discovered far and wide
within the limits of the vast horizon. My sensations, however,
upon thus recovering, were by no means so rife with agony as
might have been anticipated. Indeed, there was much of incipient
madness in the calm survey which I began to take of my situation.
I drew up to my eyes each of my hands, one after the other, and
wondered what occurrence could have given rise to the swelling of
the veins, and the horrible blackness of the fingernails. I
afterward carefully examined my head, shaking it repeatedly, and
feeling it with minute attention, until I succeeded in satisfying
myself that it was not, as I had more than half suspected, larger
than my balloon. Then, in a knowing manner, I felt in both my
breeches pockets, and, missing therefrom a set of tablets and a
toothpick case, endeavored to account for their disappearance,
and not being able to do so, felt inexpressibly chagrined. It now
occurred to me that I suffered great uneasiness in the joint of
my left ankle, and a dim consciousness of my situation began to
glimmer through my mind. But, strange to say! I was neither
astonished nor horror-stricken. If I felt any emotion at all, it
was a kind of chuckling satisfaction at the cleverness I was
about to display in extricating myself from this dilemma; and I
never, for a moment, looked upon my ultimate safety as a question
susceptible of doubt. For a few minutes I remained wrapped in the
profoundest meditation. I have a distinct recollection of
frequently compressing my lips, putting my forefinger to the side
of my nose, and making use of other gesticulations and grimaces
common to men who, at ease in their arm-chairs, meditate upon
matters of intricacy or importance. Having, as I thought,
sufficiently collected my ideas, I now, with great caution and
deliberation, put my hands behind my back, and unfastened the
large iron buckle which belonged to the waistband of my
inexpressibles. This buckle had three teeth, which, being
somewhat rusty, turned with great difficulty on their axis. I
brought them, however, after some trouble, at right angles to the
body of the buckle, and was glad to find them remain firm in that
position.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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