rnities.

Jerome Searing, the man of courage, the formidable enemy, the strong,
resolute warrior, was as pale as a ghost. His jaw was fallen; his eyes
protruded; he trembled in every fibre; a cold sweat bathed his entire
body; he screamed with fear. He was not insane--he was terrified.

In groping about with his torn and bleeding hand he seized at last a
strip of board, and, pulling, felt it give way. It lay parallel with his
body, and by bending his elbow as much as the contracted space would
permit, he could draw it a few inches at a time. Finally it was
altogether loosened from the wreckage covering his legs; he could lift
it clear of the ground its whole length. A great hope came into his
mind: perhaps he could work it upward, that is to say backward, far
enough to lift the end and push aside the rifle; or, if that were too
tightly wedged, so place the strip of board as to deflect the bullet.
With this object he passed it backward inch by inch, hardly daring to
breathe lest that act somehow defeat his intent, and more than ever
unable to remove his eyes from the rifle, which might perhaps now hasten
to improve its waning opportunity. Something at least had been gained:
in the occupation of his mind in this attempt at self-defense he was
less sensible of the pain in his head and had ceased to wince. But he
was still dreadfully frightened and his teeth rattled like castanets.

The strip of board ceased to move to the suasion of his hand. He tugged
at it with all his strength, changed the direction of its length all he
could, but it had met some extended obstruction behind him and the end
in front was still too far away to clear the pile of debris and reach
the muzzle of the gun. It extended, indeed, nearly as far as the trigger
guard, which, uncovered by the rubbish, he could imperfectly see with
his right eye. He tried to break the strip with his hand, but had no
leverage. In his defeat, all his terror returned, augmented tenfold. The
black aperture of the rifle appeared to threaten a sharper and more
imminent death in punishment of his rebellion. The track of the bullet
through his head ached with an intenser anguish. He began to tremble
again.

Suddenly he became composed. His tremor subsided. He clenched his teeth
and drew down his eyebrows. He had not exhausted his means of defense; a
new design had shaped itself in his mind--another plan of battle.
Raising the front end of the strip of board, he carefully pus