The wind roared
unwearyingly among the trees; I could hear the boughs tossing and the
leaves churning through half a mile of forest; yet the scene of my
encampment was not only as black as the pit, but admirably sheltered.
At
the second match the wick caught flame. The light was both livid and
shifting; but it cut me off from the universe, and doubled the darkness
of the surrounding night.
I tied Modestine more conveniently for herself, and broke up half the
black bread for her supper, reserving the other half against the morning.
Then I gathered what I should want within reach, took off my wet boots
and gaiters, which I wrapped in my waterproof, arranged my knapsack for a
pillow under the flap of my sleeping-bag, insinuated my limbs into the
interior, and buckled myself in like a bambino. I opened a tin of
Bologna sausage and broke a cake of chocolate, and that was all I had to
eat. It may sound offensive, but I ate them together, bite by bite, by
way of bread and meat. All I had to wash down this revolting mixture was
neat brandy: a revolting beverage in itself. But I was rare and hungry;
ate well, and smoked one of the best cigarettes in my experience. Then I
put a stone in my straw hat, pulled the flap of my fur cap over my neck
and eyes, put my revolver ready to my hand, and snuggled well down among
the sheepskins.
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