bones of the dead--the penetrating mold that would choke up my mouth
and eyes, and seal me into silence forever! My mind quailed at this
idea--my brain tottered on the verge of madness! I laughed--think of
it!--and my laugh sounded in my ears like the last rattle in the
throat of a dying man. But I could breathe more easily--even in the
stupefaction of my fears--I was conscious of air. Yes!--the blessed
air had rushed in somehow. Revived and encouraged as I recognized
this fact, I felt with both hands till I found the crevice I had
made, and then with frantic haste and strength I pulled and dragged
at the wood, till suddenly the whole side of the coffin gave way,
and I was able to force up the lid. I stretched out my arms--no
weight of earth impeded their movements--I felt nothing but air--
empty air. Yielding to my first strong impulse, I leaped out of the
hateful box, and fell--fell some little distance, bruising my hands
and knees on what seemed to be a stone pavement. Something weighty
fell also, with a dull crashing thud close to me. The darkness was
impenetrable. But there was breathing room, and the atmosphere was
cool and refreshing. With some pain and difficulty I raised myself
to a sitting position where I had fallen. My limbs were stiff and
cramped as well as wounded, and I shivered as with strong ague. But
my senses were clear--the tangled chain of my disordered thoughts
became even and connected--my previous mad excitement gradually
calmed, and I began to consider my condition. I had certainly been
buried alive--there was no doubt of that. Intense pain had, I
suppose, resolved itself into a long trance of unconsciousness--the
people of the inn where I had been taken ill had at once believed me
to be dead of cholera, and with the panic-stricken, indecent haste
common in all Italy, especially at a time of plague, had thrust me
into one of those flimsy coffins which were then being manufactured
by scores in Naples--mere shells of thin deal, nailed together with