The International Monthly, Volume 4, No. 3, October, 1851Various
History
The International Monthly, Volume 4, No. 3, October, 1851
Various
Art, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- History -- Periodicals
After some trouble, we got the door open, and found that the hut was
fortunately not entirely filled with hay; a space about six or eight feet
broad had been boarded off between it and the outer wall for the use of the
wild-hauer. This was to serve us as parlor and kitchen and all, except
bed-room, which was to be sought for in the hay-stack itself. Our floor was
the bare earth; the logs which formed the wall were badly jointed, and the
wind whistled through the gaping cracks in the most uncomfortable manner;
one could almost fancy that it was trying to articulate the dreaded word,
rheu--matism.
However, the ever-active Joseph, bustling about, found some dry wood, and
we made a blazing fire on the floor at the imminent risk of burning our
beds, and slightly thawed ourselves; we continued our researches, and found
a shallow wooden pail, carefully covered over, holding some two gallons of
sour milk, left by the charitable hay-man some fortnight before, for the
use of any benighted hunter who might have the luck to stumble on the hut,
and one of those abominable one-legged milking-stools, so common in that
part of the world, which, having vainly endeavored to sit on, and having
tumbled into the fire in consequence, to Joseph's intense amusement, I
hurled madly over the hay out into the storm.
As the clatter made amongst the shingles of the roof by its hasty exist
subsided, we heard a noise which struck terror into both our hearts, and
would doubtless have chilled our very marrow, if it had not been below
freezing-point already. Devils! Berg-geister! Fly! out into the black
storm! over the precipice! into the torrent! before some fearful mopping
and mowing face, too ghastly horrible for human eye-ball to see without
bursting, or human brain to conceive without madness, gibber out upon us
from that dark corner! Listen: there it is again! And--mew-w-w-w-w! down
tumbled between us a miserable, half-grown, gray kitten, nearly dead with
cold and starvation, doubtless absent on some poaching expedition when the
hut was deserted, and not thought worth the going back for. Oh! the joy of
that unfortunate little beast at seeing man and fire once more! How she
staggered about with tail erect, vainly trying to mew and purr at the same
time! having to be perpetually pulled out of the fire, and "put out," to
prevent her playing the part of one of Samson's foxes with our beds,
filling the cabin with unspeakable smells of singed hair! And now she would
persist in walking up our backs, and tickling us to madness with her
scorched tail!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account