As I put a portion
      of it within 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 operations—again—and again. Notwithstanding its
      terrifically wide sweep (some thirty feet or more) and the
      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
      contrasting 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 attempted 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 machinery 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. I saw that some ten or twelve vibrations would bring the steel in
      actual contact with my robe, and with this observation there
      suddenly came over my spirit all the keen, collected calmness of
      despair. For the first time during many hours—or perhaps days—I
      thought. It now occurred to me that the bandage, or surcingle,
      which enveloped me, was unique. I was tied by no separate cord. The first stroke of the razorlike crescent athwart any portion of
      the band, would so detach it that it might be unwound from my
      person by means of my left hand. But how fearful, in that case,
      the proximity of the steel! The result of the slightest struggle
      how deadly! Was it likely, moreover, that the minions of the
      torturer had not foreseen and provided for this possibility? Was
      it probable that the bandage crossed my bosom in the track of the
      pendulum? Dreading to find my faint, and, as it seemed, my last
      hope frustrated, I so far elevated my head as to obtain a
      distinct view of my breast. The surcingle enveloped my limbs and
      body close in all directions—save in the path of the destroying
      crescent. Scarcely had I dropped my head back into its original position,
      when there flashed upon my mind what I cannot better describe
      than as the unformed half of that idea of deliverance to which I
      have previously alluded, and of which a moiety only floated
      indeterminately through my brain when I raised food to my burning
      lips. The whole thought was now present—feeble, scarcely sane,
      scarcely definite,—but still entire. I proceeded at once, with
      the nervous energy of despair, to attempt its execution. For many hours the immediate vicinity of the low framework upon
      which I lay had been literally swarming with rats. They were
      wild, bold, ravenous—their red eyes glaring upon me as if they
      waited but for motionlessness on my part to make me their prey. “To what food,” I thought, “have they been accustomed in the
      well?”

      They had devoured, in spite of all my efforts to prevent them,
      all but a small remnant of the contents of the dish. I had fallen
      into an habitual see-saw, or wave of the hand about the platter;
      and, at length, the unconscious uniformity of the movement
      deprived it of effect. In their voracity the vermin frequently
      fastened their sharp fangs in my fingers. With the particles of
      the oily and spicy viand which now remained, I thoroughly rubbed
      the bandage wherever I could reach it; then, raising my hand from
      the floor, I lay breathlessly still. At first the ravenous animals were startled and terrified at the
      change—at the cessation of movement. They shrank alarmedly back;
      many sought the well. But this was only for a moment. I had not
      counted in vain upon their voracity. Observing that I remained
      without motion, one or two of the boldest leaped upon the
      frame-work, and smelt at the surcingle. This seemed the signal
      for a general rush. Forth from the well they hurried in fresh
      troops. They clung to the wood—they overran it, and leaped in
      hundreds upon my person. The measured movement of the pendulum
      disturbed them not at all. Avoiding its strokes they busied
      themselves with the anointed bandage. They pressed—they swarmed
      upon me in ever accumulating heaps. They writhed upon my throat;
      their cold lips sought my own; I was half stifled by their
      thronging pressure; disgust, for which the world has no name,
      swelled my bosom, and chilled, with a heavy clamminess, my heart. Yet one minute, and I felt that the struggle would be over. Plainly I perceived the loosening of the bandage. I knew that in
      more than one place it must be already severed. With a more than
      human resolution I lay still.