Can Such Things Be [9]
Sierra Nevada, where one may sleep in comfort on the pine needles, without covering. I am fond of solitude and love the night, so my resolution to 'camp out' was soon taken, and by the time that it was dark I had made my bed of boughs and grasses in a corner of the room and was roasting a quail at a fire that I had kindled on the hearth. The smoke escaped out of the ruined chimney, the light illuminated the room with a kindly glow, and as I ate my simple meal of plain bird and drank the remains of a bottle of red wine which had served me all the afternoon in place of the water, which the region did not supply, I ex- perienced a sense of comfort which better fare and accommodations do not always give. Nevertheless, there was something lacking. I had a sense of comfort, but not of security. I detected myself staring more frequently at the open doorway and blank window than I could find warrant for doing. Outside these apertures all was black, and I was unable to repress a certain feeling of apprehen- sion as my fancy pictured the outer world and filled it with unfriendly entities, natural and supernatural --chief among which, in their respective classes were the grizzly bear, which I knew was occasionally still seen in that region, and the ghost, which I had reason to think was not. Unfortunately, our feelings do not always respect the law of probabilities, and to me that evening, the possible and the impossible were equally disquieting. Every one who has had experience in the matter must have observed that one confronts the actual and imaginary perils of the night with far less appre- hension in the open air than in a house with an open doorway. I felt this now as I lay on my leafy couch in a corner of the room next to the chimney and per- mitted my fire to die out. So strong became my sense of the presence of something malign and men- acing in the place, that I found myself almost un- able to withdraw my eyes from the opening, as in the deepening darkness it became more and more indistinct. And when the last little flame flickered and went out I grasped the shotgun which I had laid at my side and actually turned the muzzle in the direction of the now invisible entrance, my thumb on one of the hammers, ready to cock the piece, my breath suspended, my muscles rigid and tense. But later I laid down the weapon with a sense of shame and mortification. What did I fear, and why?--I, to whom the night had been a more familiar face Than that of man--
I, in whom that element of hereditary superstition from which none of us is altogether free had given to solitude and darkness and silence only a more alluring interest and charm! I was unable to com- prehend my folly, and losing in the conjecture the thing conjectured of, I fell asleep. And then I dreamed. I was in a great city in a foreign land--a city whose people were of my own race, with minor differences of speech and costume; yet precisely what these were I could not say; my sense of them was indistinct. The city was dominated by a great castle upon an overlooking height whose name I knew, but could not speak. I walked through many streets, some broad and straight with high, modern buildings, some narrow, gloomy, and tortuous, be- tween the gables of quaint old houses whose over- hanging stories, elaborately ornamented with carv- ings in wood and stone, almost met above my head. I sought some one whom I had never seen, yet knew that I should recognize when found. My quest was not aimless and fortuitous; it had a definite method. I turned from one street into another with- out hesitation and threaded a maze of intricate passages, devoid of the fear of losing my way. Presently I stopped before a low door in a plain stone house which might have been the dwelling of an artisan of the better sort, and without announc- ing myself, entered. The room, rather sparely fur- nished, and lighted by a single window with small diamond-shaped panes, had but two occupants. a man and a woman. They took no notice of my intrusion, a circumstance which, in the
I, in whom that element of hereditary superstition from which none of us is altogether free had given to solitude and darkness and silence only a more alluring interest and charm! I was unable to com- prehend my folly, and losing in the conjecture the thing conjectured of, I fell asleep. And then I dreamed. I was in a great city in a foreign land--a city whose people were of my own race, with minor differences of speech and costume; yet precisely what these were I could not say; my sense of them was indistinct. The city was dominated by a great castle upon an overlooking height whose name I knew, but could not speak. I walked through many streets, some broad and straight with high, modern buildings, some narrow, gloomy, and tortuous, be- tween the gables of quaint old houses whose over- hanging stories, elaborately ornamented with carv- ings in wood and stone, almost met above my head. I sought some one whom I had never seen, yet knew that I should recognize when found. My quest was not aimless and fortuitous; it had a definite method. I turned from one street into another with- out hesitation and threaded a maze of intricate passages, devoid of the fear of losing my way. Presently I stopped before a low door in a plain stone house which might have been the dwelling of an artisan of the better sort, and without announc- ing myself, entered. The room, rather sparely fur- nished, and lighted by a single window with small diamond-shaped panes, had but two occupants. a man and a woman. They took no notice of my intrusion, a circumstance which, in the