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
In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was
just setting when we entered a region infinitely more dreary than
any yet seen. It was a species of table land, near the summit of
an almost inaccessible hill, densely wooded from base to
pinnacle, and interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie
loosely upon the soil, and in many cases were prevented from
precipitating themselves into the valleys below, merely by the
support of the trees against which they reclined. Deep ravines,
in various directions, gave an air of still sterner solemnity to
the scene.
The natural platform to which we had clambered was thickly
overgrown with brambles, through which we soon discovered that it
would have been impossible to force our way but for the scythe;
and Jupiter, by direction of his master, proceeded to clear for
us a path to the foot of an enormously tall tulip-tree, which
stood, with some eight or ten oaks, upon the level, and far
surpassed them all, and all other trees which I had then ever
seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form, in the wide spread
of its branches, and in the general majesty of its appearance.
When we reached this tree, Legrand turned to Jupiter, and asked
him if he thought he could climb it. The old man seemed a little
staggered by the question, and for some moments made no reply. At
length he approached the huge trunk, walked slowly around it, and
examined it with minute attention. When he had completed his
scrutiny, he merely said,
“Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life.”
“Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too
dark to see what we are about.”
“How far mus go up, massa?” inquired Jupiter.
“Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which way
to go—and here—stop! take this beetle with you.”
“De bug, Massa Will!—de goole-bug!” cried the negro, drawing back
in dismay—“what for mus tote de bug way up de tree?—d—n if I do!”
“If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take hold
of a harmless little dead beetle, why you can carry it up by this
string—but, if you do not take it up with you in some way, I
shall be under the necessity of breaking your head with this
shovel.”
“What de matter now, massa?” said Jup, evidently shamed into
compliance; “always want for to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was
only funnin any how. _Me_ feered de bug! what I keer for de bug?”
Here he took cautiously hold of the extreme end of the string,
and, maintaining the insect as far from his person as
circumstances would permit, prepared to ascend the tree.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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