We shall now be free to do what seems good in our eyes for several days without the trouble of baking: altogether our stock of provisions is enormous. This is always the way in camp life; first a week of existence on the verge of starvation, and then a time of milk and honey and tables overflowing with plenty.
August 19.—
Some of the bread that John makes is rather heavy. Yesterday we were constrained to point this fact out to him. He pretended not to be able to see it, and in support of his theory ate at supper a quantity of the rolls that we had condemned. The consequence was that about two o’clock A.M. we were roused from our peaceful slumbers by John jumping spasmodically out of bed and rushing to the tent door, uttering at the same time most ghastly yells. At the door he appeared to be awake, so we said, sitting up in bed with our hair on end,—
‘Now then, John. What’s the row?’ To which he answered very quietly,—
‘Why, my line’s caught on that rock over there. I wish you would stop the boat a minute.’
Then he went gently to bed again and continued his unbroken slumbers.
A sleeping man is selfishly regardless of the disquiet he brings on his fellow-creatures, and John, although he must have dreamt all sorts of funny things, did not dream that he was disturbing our night’s rest.
The other night when we were returning from our visit to Rus Vand, John casually seated himself on a rock at the extreme top of the mountain. It was quite dark except for a subdued glow of light caused by the setting moon behind the mountains on the other side of Gjendin Lake. Now the Skipper and Esau take a good deal of interest in moons, because they are considerably affected by the pallid luminary when at the full; consequently they were aware that she had already passed her highest point for that night, and would not show above the peaks until the following evening; but John did not know this, and so when we asked his reason for sitting down on a very sharp and cold stone 5,000 feet above sea level, with the quicksilver right through the bottom of the thermometer, at a time when all honest folk were in bed, he replied,—
‘You fellows go on; I’m going to wait here and see the moon rise.’
We never disturb a man when he feels poetical, lest it should break out in some more dangerous form; so we left him on his ‘cold grey stone,’ and made the best of our way to camp.