Poe, Edgar Allen / 2008-06-20 00:00:00
1843
THE GOLD-BUG
by Edgar Allan Poe
THE GOLD-BUG
What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.
All in the Wrong.
MANY years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand.
He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a
series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid the
mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans,
the city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's
Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.
This Island is a very singular one. It consists of little else
than the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at no
point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the main
land by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a
wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The
vegetation, as might be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish.
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