I had mastered the
intoxicating rage which was mounting to my head like the fumes of
alcohol; I had silenced my screams, for I feared that if I again cried
out aloud I should be undone. But now I yelled; I shouted; unearthly
howls which I could not repress came from my relaxed throat. I called
for help in a voice that I did not recognize, growing wilder with each
fresh appeal and crying out that I would not die. I also tore at the
wood with my nails; I writhed with the contortions of a caged wolf. I do
not know how long this fit of madness lasted, but I can still feel the
relentless hardness of the box that imprisoned me; I can still hear the
storm of shrieks and sobs with which I filled it; a remaining glimmer of
reason made me try to stop, but I could not do so.
Great exhaustion followed. I lay waiting for death in a state of
somnolent pain. The coffin was like stone, which no effort could break,
and the conviction that I was powerless left me unnerved, without
courage to make any fresh attempts. Another suffering--hunger--was
presently added to cold and want of air. The torture soon became
intolerable. With my finger I tried to pull small pinches of earth
through the hole of the dislodged knot, and I swallowed them eagerly,
only increasing my torment.
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