The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3Poe, Edgar Allan
General
The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American
Tying the handkerchiefs now to the second
peg, he descended to a station below the third, taking care not
to go too far down. By these means (means which I should never
have conceived of myself, and for which we were indebted
altogether to Peters’ ingenuity and resolution) my companion
finally succeeded, with the occasional aid of projections in the
cliff, in reaching the bottom without accident.
It was some time before I could summon sufficient resolution to
follow him; but I did at length attempt it. Peters had taken off
his shirt before descending, and this, with my own, formed the
rope necessary for the adventure. After throwing down the musket
found in the chasm, I fastened this rope to the bushes, and let
myself down rapidly, striving, by the vigor of my movements, to
banish the trepidation which I could overcome in no other manner.
This answered sufficiently well for the first four or five steps;
but presently I found my imagination growing terribly excited by
thoughts of the vast depths yet to be descended, and the
precarious nature of the pegs and soapstone holes which were my
only support. It was in vain I endeavored to banish these
reflections, and to keep my eyes steadily bent upon the flat
surface of the cliff before me. The more earnestly I struggled
_not to think,_the more intensely vivid became my conceptions,
and the more horribly distinct. At length arrived that crisis of
fancy, so fearful in all similar cases, the crisis in which we
began to anticipate the feelings with which we _shall_fall—to
picture to ourselves the sickness, and dizziness, and the last
struggle, and the half swoon, and the final bitterness of the
rushing and headlong descent. And now I found these fancies
creating their own realities, and all imagined horrors crowding
upon me in fact. I felt my knees strike violently together, while
my fingers were gradually but certainly relaxing their grasp.
There was a ringing in my ears, and I said, “This is my knell of
death!” And now I was consumed with the irrepressible desire of
looking below. I could not, I would not, confine my glances to
the cliff; and, with a wild, indefinable emotion, half of horror,
half of a relieved oppression, I threw my vision far down into
the abyss. For one moment my fingers clutched convulsively upon
their hold, while, with the movement, the faintest possible idea
of ultimate escape wandered, like a shadow, through my mind—in
the next my whole soul was pervaded with a longing to fall; a
desire, a yearning, a passion utterly uncontrollable. I let go at
once my grasp upon the peg, and, turning half round from the
precipice, remained tottering for an instant against its naked
face. But now there came a spinning of the brain; a
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