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
shortest of four splinters from my hand was to die for the
preservation of the rest. Before any one condemn me for this
apparent heartlessness, let him be placed in a situation
precisely similar to my own.
At length delay was no longer possible, and, with a heart almost
bursting from my bosom, I advanced to the region of the
forecastle, where my companions were awaiting me. I held out my
hand with the splinters, and Peters immediately drew. He was
free—his, at least, was not the shortest; and there was now
another chance against my escape. I summoned up all my strength,
and passed the lots to Augustus. He also drew immediately, and he
also was free; and now, whether I should live or die, the chances
were no more than precisely even. At this moment all the
fierceness of the tiger possessed my bosom, and I felt toward my
poor fellow-creature, Parker, the most intense, the most
diabolical hatred. But the feeling did not last; and, at length,
with a convulsive shudder and closed eyes, I held out the two
remaining splinters toward him. It was fully five minutes before
he could summon resolution to draw, during which period of
heartrending suspense I never once opened my eyes. Presently one
of the two lots was quickly drawn from my hand. The decision was
then over, yet I knew not whether it was for me or against me. No
one spoke, and still I dared not satisfy myself by looking at the
splinter I held. Peters at length took me by the hand, and I
forced myself to look up, when I immediately saw by the
countenance of Parker that I was safe, and that he it was who had
been doomed to suffer. Gasping for breath, I fell senseless to
the deck.
I recovered from my swoon in time to behold the consummation of
the tragedy in the death of him who had been chiefly instrumental
in bringing it about. He made no resistance whatever, and was
stabbed in the back by Peters, when he fell instantly dead. I
must not dwell upon the fearful repast which immediately ensued.
Such things may be imagined, but words have no power to impress
the mind with the exquisite horror of their reality. Let it
suffice to say that, having in some measure appeased the raging
thirst which consumed us by the blood of the victim, and having
by common consent taken off the hands, feet, and head, throwing
them together with the entrails, into the sea, we devoured the
rest of the body, piecemeal, during the four ever memorable days
of the seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth of the
month.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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