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
When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a depth of
five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became manifest. A
general pause ensued, and I began to hope that the farce was at
an end. Legrand, however, although evidently much disconcerted,
wiped his brow thoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavated the
entire circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged
the limit, and went to the farther depth of two feet. Still
nothing appeared. The gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at
length clambered from the pit, with the bitterest disappointment
imprinted upon every feature, and proceeded, slowly and
reluctantly, to put on his coat, which he had thrown off at the
beginning of his labor. In the mean time I made no remark.
Jupiter, at a signal from his master, began to gather up his
tools. This done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we turned in
profound silence towards home.
We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when,
with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized him by
the collar. The astonished negro opened his eyes and mouth to the
fullest extent, let fall the spades, and fell upon his knees.
“You scoundrel,” said Legrand, hissing out the syllables from
between his clenched teeth—“you infernal black villain!—speak, I
tell you!—answer me this instant, without
prevarication!—which—which is your left eye?”
“Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for sartain?”
roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his right
organ of vision, and holding it there with a desperate
pertinacity, as if in immediate dread of his master’s attempt at
a gouge.
“I thought so!—I knew it! hurrah!” vociferated Legrand, letting
the negro go, and executing a series of curvets and caracols,
much to the astonishment of his valet, who, arising from his
knees, looked, mutely, from his master to myself, and then from
myself to his master.
“Come! we must go back,” said the latter, “the game’s not up
yet;” and he again led the way to the tulip-tree.
“Jupiter,” said he, when we reached its foot, “come here! was the
skull nailed to the limb with the face outwards, or with the face
to the limb?”
“De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes
good, widout any trouble.”
“Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you dropped
the beetle?”—here Legrand touched each of Jupiter’s eyes.
“’Twas dis eye, massa—de lef eye—jis as you tell me,” and here it
was his right eye that the negro indicated.
“That will do—we must try it again.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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