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
Many years elapsed, however, before I was aware of this
fact. A natural shame and regret for his weakness and indecision
prevented Augustus from confiding to me at once what a more
intimate and unreserved communion afterward induced him to
reveal. Upon finding his further progress in the hold impeded by
obstacles which he could not overcome, he had resolved to abandon
his attempt at reaching me, and return at once to the forecastle.
Before condemning him entirely on this head, the harassing
circumstances which embarrassed him should be taken into
consideration. The night was fast wearing away, and his absence
from the forecastle might be discovered; and indeed would
necessarily be so, if he should fail to get back to the berth by
daybreak. His candle was expiring in the socket, and there would
be the greatest difficulty in retracing his way to the hatchway
in the dark. It must be allowed, too, that he had every good
reason to believe me dead; in which event no benefit could result
to me from his reaching the box, and a world of danger would be
encountered to no purpose by himself. He had repeatedly called,
and I had made him no answer. I had been now eleven days and
nights with no more water than that contained in the jug which he
had left with me—a supply which it was not at all probable I had
hoarded in the beginning of my confinement, as I had every cause
to expect a speedy release. The atmosphere of the hold, too, must
have appeared to him, coming from the comparatively open air of
the steerage, of a nature absolutely poisonous, and by far more
intolerable than it had seemed to me upon my first taking up my
quarters in the box—the hatchways at that time having been
constantly open for many months previous. Add to these
considerations that of the scene of bloodshed and terror so
lately witnessed by my friend; his confinement, privations, and
narrow escapes from death, together with the frail and equivocal
tenure by which he still existed—circumstances all so well
calculated to prostrate every energy of mind—and the reader will
be easily brought, as I have been, to regard his apparent falling
off in friendship and in faith with sentiments rather of sorrow
than of anger.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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