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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England"

They stayed long in the
kitchen with Burchell, drinking, shouting, singing, and keeping it
up; and the sound of their merry minstrelsy kept me a kind of
company. The night fell, and the shine of the fire brightened and
blinked on the panelled wall. Our illuminated windows must have
been visible not only from the back lane of which Fenn had spoken,
but from the court where the farmers' gig awaited them. In the far
end of the firelit room lay my companions, the one silent, the
other clamorously noisy, the images of death and drunkenness.
Little wonder if I were tempted to join in the choruses below, and
sometimes could hardly refrain from laughter, and sometimes, I
believe, from tears--so unmitigated was the tedium, so cruel the
suspense, of this period.
At last, about six at night, I should fancy, the noisy minstrels
appeared in the court, headed by Fenn with a lantern, and knocking
together as they came. The visitors clambered noisily into the
gig, one of them shook the reins, and they were snatched out of
sight and hearing with a suddenness that partook of the nature of
prodigy. I am well aware there is a Providence for drunken men,
that holds the reins for them and presides over their troubles;
doubtless he had his work cut out for him with this particular
gigful! Fenn rescued his toes with an ejaculation from under the
departing wheels, and turned at once with uncertain steps and
devious lantern to the far end of the court.


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