The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2Poe, Edgar Allan
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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American; Short stories
Upon awaking, and stretching forth an arm, I found beside me a
loaf and a pitcher with water. I was too much exhausted to
reflect upon this circumstance, but ate and drank with avidity.
Shortly afterward, I resumed my tour around the prison, and with
much toil came at last upon the fragment of the serge. Up to the
period when I fell I had counted fifty-two paces, and upon
resuming my walk, I had counted forty-eight more—when I arrived
at the rag. There were in all, then, a hundred paces; and,
admitting two paces to the yard, I presumed the dungeon to be
fifty yards in circuit. I had met, however, with many angles in
the wall, and thus I could form no guess at the shape of the
vault, for vault I could not help supposing it to be.
I had little object—certainly no hope—in these researches; but a
vague curiosity prompted me to continue them. Quitting the wall,
I resolved to cross the area of the enclosure. At first I
proceeded with extreme caution, for the floor, although seemingly
of solid material, was treacherous with slime. At length,
however, I took courage, and did not hesitate to step firmly;
endeavoring to cross in as direct a line as possible. I had
advanced some ten or twelve paces in this manner, when the
remnant of the torn hem of my robe became entangled between my
legs. I stepped on it, and fell violently on my face.
In the confusion attending my fall, I did not immediately
apprehend a somewhat startling circumstance, which yet, in a few
seconds afterward, and while I still lay prostrate, arrested my
attention. It was this: my chin rested upon the floor of the
prison, but my lips and the upper portion of my head, although
seemingly at a less elevation than the chin, touched nothing. At
the same time my forehead seemed bathed in a clammy vapor, and
the peculiar smell of decayed fungus arose to my nostrils. I put
forward my arm, and shuddered to find that I had fallen at the
very brink of a circular pit, whose extent, of course, I had no
means of ascertaining at the moment. Groping about the masonry
just below the margin, I succeeded in dislodging a small
fragment, and let it fall into the abyss. For many seconds I
hearkened to its reverberations as it dashed against the sides of
the chasm in its descent; at length there was a sullen plunge
into water, succeeded by loud echoes. At the same moment there
came a sound resembling the quick opening, and as rapid closing
of a door overhead, while a faint gleam of light flashed suddenly
through the gloom, and as suddenly faded away.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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