I endeavored to shriek-, and my lips and my parched tongue moved convulsively together in the attempt —­ but no voice issued from the cavernous lungs, which oppressed as if by the weight of some incumbent mountain, gasped and palpitated, with the heart, at every elaborate and struggling inspiration.

The movement of the jaws, in this effort to cry aloud, showed me that they were bound up, as is usual with the dead.  I felt, too, that I lay upon some hard substance, and by something similar my sides were, also, closely compressed.  So far, I had not ventured to stir any of my limbs —­ but now I violently threw up my arms, which had been lying at length, with the wrists crossed.  They struck a solid wooden substance, which extended above my person at an elevation of not more than six inches from my face.  I could no longer doubt that I reposed within a coffin at last.

And now, amid all my infinite miseries, came sweetly the cherub Hope —­ for I thought of my precautions.  I writhed, and made spasmodic exertions to force open the lid:  it would not move.  I felt my wrists for the bell-rope:  it was not to be found.  And now the Comforter fled for ever, and a still sterner Despair reigned triumphant; for I could not help perceiving the absence of the paddings which I had so carefully prepared —­ and then, too, there came suddenly to my nostrils the strong peculiar odor of moist earth.  The conclusion was irresistible.  I was not within the vault.  I had fallen into a trance while absent from home-while among strangers —­ when, or how, I could not remember —­ and it was they who had buried me as a dog —­ nailed up in some common coffin —­ and thrust deep, deep, and for ever, into some ordinary and nameless grave.

As this awful conviction forced itself, thus, into the innermost chambers of my soul, I once again struggled to cry aloud.  And in this second endeavor I succeeded.  A long, wild, and continuous shriek, or yell of agony, resounded through the realms of the subterranean Night.

“Hillo! hillo, there!” said a gruff voice, in reply.

“What the devil’s the matter now!” said a second.

“Get out o’ that!” said a third.

“What do you mean by yowling in that ere kind of style, like a cattymount?” said a fourth; and hereupon I was seized and shaken without ceremony, for several minutes, by a junto of very rough-looking individuals.  They did not arouse me from my slumber —­ for I was wide awake when I screamed —­ but they restored me to the full possession of my memory.

This adventure occurred near Richmond, in Virginia.  Accompanied by a friend, I had proceeded, upon a gunning expedition, some miles down the banks of the James River.  Night approached, and we were overtaken by a storm.  The cabin of a small sloop lying at anchor in the stream, and laden with garden mould, afforded us the only available shelter.  We made the best of it, and passed the night on board.