You see how the land lies; I
can't help it."
This was spoken in a low tone, then aloud--"There are books on that
shelf behind the canvass screen; if you can settle to them, they may
amuse you."
He left me, and I sat down disconsolate enough. I found some Spanish
books, and a volume of Lord Byron's poetry, containing the first canto
of Childe Harold, two numbers of Blackwood, with several other English
books and magazines, the names of the owners on all of them being
carefully erased.
But there was nothing else that indicated the marauding life of friend
Obediah, whose apartment I conjectured was now my prison, if I except a
pretty extensive assortment of arms, pistols, and cutlasses, and a range
of massive cases, with iron clamps, which were ranged along one side of
the room. I paid my respects to the provender and claret; the hashed
chicken was particularly good; bones rather large or so, but flesh white
and delicate. Had I known that I was dining upon a guana, or large wood
lizard, I scarcely think I would have made so hearty a meal. Long cork,
No. 2, followed ditto, No. 1; and as the shades of evening, as poets
say, began to fall by the time I had finished it, I toppled quietly into
my cot, said my prayers such as they were, and fell asleep.
It must have been towards morning, from the damp freshness of the air
that came through the open window, when I was roused by the howling of a
dog, a sound which always moves me.
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