All this I saw indistinctly and by much effort: for my personal condi- tion had been greatly changed during slumber. I
now lay
upon
my back, and at full length, on
a species of low framework of wood. To this I was securely bound by a long strap resembling a
surcingle. It passed in many convolutions about
my limbs and body, leaving at
liberty only my head,
and
my left arm
to such
extent
that
I could, by dint
of much exertion, supply
myself with food from an earthen dish
which lay by my
side
on the floor. I saw, to my horror, that the pitcher had
been removed. I
say to my horror; for I was
consumed with
intolerable thirst.
This
thirst
it ap- peared to be the design of my persecutors to stimulate: for the food in the dish was meat pungently seasoned.
Looking upward, I
surveyed the ceiling of my prison. It was some
thirty or forty feet overhead, and
constructed much
as the side
walls.
In one of its panels a very singular figure
riveted my
whole attention. It
was the painted figure of Time as he is commonly represented, save that, in lieu of a scythe,
he held what, at a casual glance, I supposed to
be the pictured image of a huge pendulum such as we see on antique clocks. There was something,
however, in the appearance
of this machine which
caused me
to regard it
more attentively. While I gazed directly upward at
it (for its position was immediately over my own) I fancied
that
I saw it in motion. In an instant afterward the fancy was confirmed. Its
sweep was brief,
and of course
slow.
I watched it
for some minutes, somewhat in fear, but
more
in wonder. Wearied
at length with
observing its dull movement, I turned
my eyes upon the other objects in the cell.
A slight noise
attracted my notice, and, looking to
the floor, I saw several
enormous rats traversing it. They had issued from the well,
which
lay just within view
to my right.
Even then, while I gazed, they
came up in troops, hurriedly, with ravenous eyes, allured by
the scent of the meat. From this it required much effort and attention to scare them
away.
It might have
been half an hour, perhaps even an hour,
(for in cast my I could take but imperfect note of time)
before
I again cast my eyes up- ward. What I then
saw
confounded and
amazed me. The sweep of the pendulum had increased in extent by nearly
a yard. As a natural consequence, its velocity was also
much greater. But what mainly disturbed me was the idea that had perceptibly descended.
I now observed—with what
horror it is needless to say—that its nether extremity
was formed of a crescent
of glittering
steel, about a foot in length from horn to horn;
the horns upward, and
the
under edge
evidently as keen as that
of a razor.
Like a razor also,
it seemed massy and heavy,
tapering from
the edge in- to a solid
and
broad structure above. It was
appended to a weighty rod of brass, and the whole hissed as it swung through the air.
I could no longer
doubt the
doom
prepared for me by monkish in- genuity in
torture. My cognizance of
the pit had become known to
the inquisitorial agents—the pit whose horrors had been destined for so bold a recusant as myself—the pit, typical of hell, and regarded by
rumor
as the Ultima
Thule
of all their
punishments. The
plunge into
this
pit
I had avoided by the merest of
accidents, I knew that
surprise, or entrapment into torment, formed an important portion of all the grotesquerie of these dungeon deaths. Having failed to fall, it was no part
of the demon plan
to hurl
me into the abyss; and thus
(there
being no alternative) a different
and
a milder destruction awaited me. Milder! I half smiled in my agony as
I thought of such application of such a term.
What boots
it to tell of the
long,
long
hours of horror more than mor- tal, during which I counted the
rushing vibrations of
the steel! Inch by inch—line
by line—with a descent only appreciable at
intervals that seemed ages—down
and still
down
it came! Days passed—it might have been that many days passed—ere it swept so closely over
me
as to fan me with its acrid breath. The odor of the sharp steel forced itself
into my nostrils. I prayed—I wearied heaven with
my prayer for its more
speedy descent. I
grew frantically mad, and struggled to force
myself upward
against the sweep of the
fearful
scimitar. And
then
I fell suddenly calm, and lay smiling at the glittering death,
as a child at some rare bauble.
There was another interval of utter insensibility; it
was brief; for, upon again
lapsing into
life there
had
been
no perceptible descent in the pen-
dulum. But it might have been long; for I knew there were demons who took note of my
swoon, and
who
could
have
arrested the
vibration at
pleasure. Upon my recovery, too, I felt very—oh, inexpressibly sick and weak,
as if through long inanition. Even amid the agonies of that period, the human nature craved food. With painful effort I outstretched my
left arm as far as my bonds
permitted, and took
possession of the small
remnant which had been spared me by the rats. As I put
a portion of it with-
in my lips,
there rushed to
my mind a half formed thought of
joy—of hope. Yet what business had I with hope? It was,
as I say, a half formed thought—man has many such which are never
completed. I felt that
it was of joy—of hope; but felt
also that it had perished in
its formation. In vain I struggled to perfect—to regain it. Long suffering had
nearly
annihilated all my ordinary powers of mind. I was an
imbecile—an
idiot.
The vibration of the pendulum was at right
angles
to my length. I saw that
the
crescent
was designed to cross the region of the heart. It would fray the serge
of my robe—it
would return and repeat its opera- tions—again—and
again. Notwithstanding terrifically wide sweep (some
thirty feet or more)
and
the
its hissing vigor of its descent, sufficient to
sunder these very walls of iron, still the fraying of my robe
would be all that,
for
several
minutes, it
would accomplish. And at this
thought I paused. I dared not go farther than
this reflection. I
dwelt
upon it with a pertinacity of attention—as if, in so dwelling, I
could arrest here the descent
of the steel. I forced myself
to ponder upon the sound of the crescent as it should pass across the garment—upon the
peculiar thrilling sensation which the friction of cloth produces on the nerves. I pondered upon all this frivolity
until my
teeth were on edge.
Down—steadily down it crept. I took
a frenzied pleasure
in contrast- ing
its downward with its lateral
velocity.
To the right—to the left—far and wide—with the shriek of a damned spirit; to my heart with
the stealthy pace of the tiger! I alternately laughed
and howled as
the one or the other idea
grew predominant.
Down—certainly, relentlessly down! It vibrated within three
inches
of my bosom!
I struggled violently, furiously, to free my left arm. This
was free only from the elbow
to the hand.
I could reach the latter, from the platter beside me, to my mouth, with great effort, but no farther. Could I have
broken the fastenings above the elbow, I would have
seized
and
at- tempted to
arrest the pendulum. I
might
as well have attempted to arrest an avalanche!
Down—still unceasingly—still inevitably down! I gasped and struggled at each vibration. I shrunk convulsively at its every
sweep. My
eyes followed its
outward or upward whirls
with
the
eagerness of the most unmeaning despair; they closed themselves spasmodically at the descent, although death would have been a relief,
oh! how unspeakable! Still I quivered in every nerve
to
think
how
slight
a sinking of
the ma-
chinery would precipitate that keen, glistening axe upon my
bosom. It was hope that prompted the nerve to quiver—the frame
to shrink. It
was hope—the hope that
triumphs on
the
rack—that whispers to the death- condemned even in the dungeons of the Inquisition.