The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3Poe, Edgar Allan
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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American
Upon standing erect, with this end in view, I found the
undertaking even a more serious task than my fears had led me to
imagine. On each side of the narrow passage arose a complete wall
of various heavy lumber, which the least blunder on my part might
be the means of bringing down upon my head; or, if this accident
did not occur, the path might be effectually blocked up against
my return by the descending mass, as it was in front by the
obstacle there. The crate itself was a long and unwieldy box,
upon which no foothold could be obtained. In vain I attempted, by
every means in my power, to reach the top, with the hope of being
thus enabled to draw myself up. Had I succeeded in reaching it,
it is certain that my strength would have proved utterly
inadequate to the task of getting over, and it was better in
every respect that I failed. At length, in a desperate effort to
force the crate from its ground, I felt a strong vibration in the
side next me. I thrust my hand eagerly to the edge of the planks,
and found that a very large one was loose. With my pocket-knife,
which, luckily, I had with me, I succeeded, after great labour,
in prying it entirely off; and getting it through the aperture,
discovered, to my exceeding joy, that there were no boards on the
opposite side—in other words, that the top was wanting, it being
the bottom through which I had forced my way. I now met with no
important difficulty in proceeding along the line until I finally
reached the nail. With a beating heart I stood erect, and with a
gentle touch pressed against the cover of the trap. It did not
rise as soon as I had expected, and I pressed it with somewhat
more determination, still dreading lest some other person than
Augustus might be in his state-room. The door, however, to my
astonishment, remained steady, and I became somewhat uneasy, for
I knew that it had formerly required but little or no effort to
remove it. I pushed it strongly—it was nevertheless firm: with
all my strength—it still did not give way: with rage, with fury,
with despair—it set at defiance my utmost efforts; and it was
evident, from the unyielding nature of the resistance, that the
hole had either been discovered and effectually nailed up, or
that some immense weight had been placed upon it, which it was
useless to think of removing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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