The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 4Poe, Edgar Allan
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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 4
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American; Short stories
Hereupon all, one after another (there were nine in company),
believed it their duty to pull me by the ear. A young practising
physician, too, having applied a pocket-mirror to my mouth, and
found me without breath, the assertion of my persecutor was
pronounced a true bill; and the whole party expressed a
determination to endure tamely no such impositions for the
future, and to proceed no farther with any such carcasses for the
present.
I was here, accordingly, thrown out at the sign of the “Crow” (by
which tavern the coach happened to be passing), without meeting
with any farther accident than the breaking of both my arms,
under the left hind wheel of the vehicle. I must besides do the
driver the justice to state that he did not forget to throw after
me the largest of my trunks, which, unfortunately falling on my
head, fractured my skull in a manner at once interesting and
extraordinary.
The landlord of the “Crow,” who is a hospitable man, finding that
my trunk contained sufficient to indemnify him for any little
trouble he might take in my behalf, sent forthwith for a surgeon
of his acquaintance, and delivered me to his care with a bill and
receipt for ten dollars.
The purchaser took me to his apartments and commenced operations
immediately. Having cut off my ears, however, he discovered signs
of animation. He now rang the bell, and sent for a neighboring
apothecary with whom to consult in the emergency. In case of his
suspicions with regard to my existence proving ultimately
correct, he, in the meantime, made an incision in my stomach, and
removed several of my viscera for private dissection.
The apothecary had an idea that I was actually dead. This idea I
endeavored to confute, kicking and plunging with all my might,
and making the most furious contortions—for the operations of the
surgeon had, in a measure, restored me to the possession of my
faculties. All, however, was attributed to the effects of a new
galvanic battery, wherewith the apothecary, who is really a man
of information, performed several curious experiments, in which,
from my personal share in their fulfillment, I could not help
feeling deeply interested. It was a course of mortification to
me, nevertheless, that although I made several attempts at
conversation, my powers of speech were so entirely in abeyance,
that I could not even open my mouth; much less, then, make reply
to some ingenious but fanciful theories of which, under other
circumstances, my minute acquaintance with the Hippocratian
pathology would have afforded me a ready confutation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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