I never
entered into the feelings of Jack on land so completely as when I
tasted that coffee.
I suppose we had one of the 'private rooms for families' at Reunion
House. It was very small, furnished with a bed, a chair, and some
clothes-pegs; and it derived all that was necessary for the life of
the human animal through two borrowed lights; one looking into the
passage, and the second opening, without sash, into another
apartment, where three men fitfully snored, or in intervals of
wakefulness, drearily mumbled to each other all night long. It
will be observed that this was almost exactly the disposition of
the room in M'Naughten's story. Jones had the bed; I pitched my
camp upon the floor; he did not sleep until near morning, and I,
for my part, never closed an eye.
At sunrise I heard a cannon fired; and shortly afterwards the men
in the next room gave over snoring for good, and began to rustle
over their toilettes. The sound of their voices as they talked was
low and like that of people watching by the sick. Jones, who had
at last begun to doze, tumbled and murmured, and every now and then
opened unconscious eyes upon me where I lay. I found myself
growing eerier and eerier, for I dare say I was a little fevered by
my restless night, and hurried to dress and get downstairs.
You had to pass through the rain, which still fell thick and
resonant, to reach a lavatory on the other side of the court.
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