January xxviii.
Resolving at last to take leave of my good friends at Hamburg, Mynhéer Platia, with two other merchants, and myself, hire a post waggon for Holland. We set forward by seven a clock in the morning, and continue our way two German miles up the river, by the village of Offensey to Blankeness; there we cross the Elbe, and proceed to a town called Buxtchude in the dominion of Sweden, and by night arrive at a poor house in the wood called Arnswoldt. Here we drive in with our waggon, and alight at the same room, which was to receive us and our horses, and be at the same time our chamber and parlour, and the kitchin of our old landlady, who was smoked like a ham of bacon. We found her with her houshold, brooding over a fire hearth in the middle of this apartment, common to her self and cattle. Over which there was no chimney, but a wooden rack well stored with bacon, where the smoke was employed to prepare the provision of the year, without wasting itself at the funnel of a chimney. We are laid on a large heap of straw[141], whilst the cows are chewing the cud on each side, and lulling us to sleep. It was here I first saw the black bread of this country, called bonpournickel; and was told, that this with plenty of swines flesh, and the thick water of this flat country, were the only dainties of the place. However, it was our good fortune not to be reduced to that diet; for we fared well on our hamper, which we brought with us from Hamburg.