- end_line
- 10118
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:26.985Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10073
- text
- the slates were laid. The roof shedding the water four ways from a high
point in the centre, the space beneath was much like that of a general’s
marquee--only midway broken by a labyrinth of timbers, for braces, from
which waved innumerable cobwebs, that, of a summer’s noon, shone like
Bagdad tissues and gauzes. On every hand, some strange insect was seen,
flying, or running, or creeping, on rafter and floor.
Under the apex of the roof was a rude, narrow, decrepit step-ladder,
something like a Gothic pulpit-stairway, leading to a pulpit-like
platform, from which a still narrower ladder--a sort of Jacob’s
ladder--led somewhat higher to the lofty scuttle. The slide of this
scuttle was about two feet square, all in one piece, furnishing a
massive frame for a single small pane of glass, inserted into it like a
bull’s-eye. The light of the garret came from this sole source,
filtrated through a dense curtain of cobwebs. Indeed, the whole stairs,
and platform, and ladder, were festooned, and carpeted, and canopied
with cobwebs; which, in funereal accumulations, hung, too, from the
groined, murky ceiling, like the Carolina moss in the cypress forest. In
these cobwebs swung, as in aerial catacombs, myriads of all tribes of
mummied insects.
Climbing the stairs to the platform, and pausing there, to recover my
breath, a curious scene was presented. The sun was about half-way up.
Piercing the little skylight, it slopingly bored a rainbowed tunnel
clear across the darkness of the garret. Here, millions of butterfly
moles were swarming. Against the skylight itself, with a cymbal-like
buzzing, thousands of insects clustered in a golden mob.
Wishing to shed a clearer light through the place, I sought to withdraw
the scuttle-slide. But no sign of latch or hasp was visible. Only after
long peering, did I discover a little padlock, imbedded, like an oyster
at the bottom of the sea, amid matted masses of weedy webs, chrysalides,
and insectivorous eggs. Brushing these away, I found it locked. With a
crooked nail, I tried to pick the lock, when scores of small ants and
flies, half-torpid, crawled forth from the keyhole, and, feeling the
warmth of the sun in the pane, began frisking around me. Others
appeared. Presently I was overrun by them. As if incensed at this
invasion of their retreat, countless bands darted up from below, beating
about my head, like hornets. At last, with a sudden jerk, I burst open
the scuttle. And ah! what a change. As from the gloom of the grave and
the companionship of worms, men shall at last rapturously rise into the
living greenness and glory-immortal, so, from my cobwebbed old garret, I
thrust forth my head into the balmy air, and found myself hailed by the
verdant tops of great trees, growing in the little garden below--trees,
whose leaves soared high above my topmost slate.
- title
- Chunk 2