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
The thought instantly occurred to me that the paper was a note
from Augustus, and that some unaccountable accident having
happened to prevent his relieving me from my dungeon, he had
devised this method of acquainting me with the true state of
affairs. Trembling with eagerness, I now commenced another search
for my phosphorus matches and tapers. I had a confused
recollection of having put them carefully away just before
falling asleep; and, indeed, previously to my last journey to the
trap, I had been able to remember the exact spot where I had
deposited them. But now I endeavored in vain to call it to mind,
and busied myself for a full hour in a fruitless and vexatious
search for the missing articles; never, surely, was there a more
tantalizing state of anxiety and suspense. At length, while
groping about, with my head close to the ballast, near the
opening of the box, and outside of it, I perceived a faint
glimmering of light in the direction of the steerage. Greatly
surprised, I endeavored to make my way toward it, as it appeared
to be but a few feet from my position. Scarcely had I moved with
this intention, when I lost sight of the glimmer entirely, and,
before I could bring it into view again, was obliged to feel
along by the box until I had exactly resumed my original
situation. Now, moving my head with caution to and fro, I found
that, by proceeding slowly, with great care, in an opposite
direction to that in which I had at first started, I was enabled
to draw near the light, still keeping it in view. Presently I
came directly upon it (having squeezed my way through innumerable
narrow windings), and found that it proceeded from some fragments
of my matches lying in an empty barrel turned upon its side. I
was wondering how they came in such a place, when my hand fell
upon two or three pieces of taper wax, which had been evidently
mumbled by the dog. I concluded at once that he had devoured the
whole of my supply of candles, and I felt hopeless of being ever
able to read the note of Augustus. The small remnants of the wax
were so mashed up among other rubbish in the barrel, that I
despaired of deriving any service from them, and left them as
they were. The phosphorus, of which there was only a speck or
two, I gathered up as well as I could, and returned with it,
after much difficulty, to my box, where Tiger had all the while
remained.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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