[CHAPTER XLI.]
I am not a Stephano, but a cramp.
Tempest.
Let every man shift for all the rest, and let no man
Take care for himself; for all is but fortune.
Ibid.
The barn contained no fodder except damp husks. Burrowing into these, we wrapped our dripping coats about us, covered ourselves, faces and all, and shivered through the day, so weary that we drowsed a little, but too uncomfortable for any refreshing slumbers.
Rising at dark, with skins irritated by atoms of husk which had penetrated our clothing, we combed out our matted hair and beards—a very faint essay toward making our toilets. Hats, gloves, handkerchiefs, and haversacks, were hopelessly lost in the fodder. Hungry, cold, rheumatic, aching at every joint, we seemed to have exhausted our slender endurance.
A Cabin of Friendly Negroes.