He Describes
Their Primitive Modes Of Cooking, Their Beds Of Fragrant Spruce Boughs
Overlaid With Straw, - "Better 'n Any O'
Your spring mattresses, I tell
you!" - the queer box-like bunks along the wall where they "stow
themselves away", and
Where the most active and useful man is, for the
time at least, literally laid on the shelf.
Octavius, thinking how much he would enjoy "roughing it" thus, asks
what they would charge to take a young man to board in camp; and driver
indignantly replies, "Nothin'! Do you suppose we'd charge board? No,
indeed! Just let him come; and if we didn't give him a good time, and
if he didn't get strong and hearty, then we'd be ashamed of ourselves
and sell out."
Here we approach a cove which driver calls the Joggin (as it makes a cut
or jog-in, we presume); and beyond, a wide arm of the Basin is spanned
by a rickety old bridge, at least a quarter of a mile long, named in
honor of her Majesty, - hardly a compliment to that sovereign, we think.
The boards are apparently laid down without nails, and rattle like a
fusillade as our vehicle rolls over them. Here and there planks are
broken or gone entirely, showing the green swirling water beneath. Our
chaperone, having more faith in her own feet than those of the horses,
dismounts and walks across; while we, being naturally reckless and
romantic, are willing to risk our necks for the sake of the charming
views.
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