Roughing It by Mark Twain

redisposed them in such a way as to make our bed as level as possible.

And we did improve it, too, though after all our work it had an upheaved

and billowy look about it, like a little piece of a stormy sea. Next we

hunted up our boots from odd nooks among the mail-bags where they had

settled, and put them on. Then we got down our coats, vests, pantaloons

and heavy woolen shirts, from the arm-loops where they had been swinging

all day, and clothed ourselves in them–for, there being no ladies either

at the stations or in the coach, and the weather being hot, we had looked

to our comfort by stripping to our underclothing, at nine o’clock in the

morning. All things being now ready, we stowed the uneasy Dictionary

where it would lie as quiet as possible, and placed the water-canteens

and pistols where we could find them in the dark. Then we smoked a final

pipe, and swapped a final yarn; after which, we put the pipes, tobacco

and bag of coin in snug holes and caves among the mail-bags, and then

fastened down the coach curtains all around, and made the place as “dark

as the inside of a cow,” as the conductor phrased it in his picturesque

way. It was certainly as dark as any place could be–nothing was even

dimly visible in it. And finally, we rolled ourselves up like silk-

worms, each person in his own blanket, and sank peacefully to sleep.

Whenever the stage stopped to change horses, we would wake up, and try to

recollect where we were–and succeed–and in a minute or two the stage

would be off again, and we likewise. We began to get into country, now,

threaded here and there with little streams. These had high, steep banks

on each side, and every time we flew down one bank and scrambled up the

other, our party inside got mixed somewhat. First we would all be down

in a pile at the forward end of the stage, nearly in a sitting posture,

and in a second we would shoot to the other end, and stand on our heads.

And we would sprawl and kick, too, and ward off ends and corners of mail-

bags that came lumbering over us and about us; and as the dust rose from

the tumult, we would all sneeze in chorus, and the majority of us would

grumble, and probably say some hasty thing, like: “Take your elbow out of

my ribs!–can’t you quit crowding?”

Every time we avalanched from one end of the stage to the other, the

Unabridged Dictionary would come too; and every time it came it damaged

somebody. One trip it “barked” the Secretary’s elbow; the next trip it

hurt me in the stomach, and the third it tilted Bemis’s nose up till he

could look down his nostrils–he said. The pistols and coin soon settled

to the bottom, but the pipes, pipe-stems, tobacco and canteens clattered

and floundered after the Dictionary every time it made an assault on us,

and aided and abetted the book by spilling tobacco in our eyes, and water

down our backs.

Still, all things considered, it was a very comfortable night. It wore

gradually away, and when at last a cold gray light was visible through

the puckers and chinks in the curtains, we yawned and stretched with

satisfaction, shed our cocoons, and felt that we had slept as much as was

necessary. By and by, as the sun rose up and warmed the world, we pulled

off our clothes and got ready for breakfast. We were just pleasantly in

time, for five minutes afterward the driver sent the weird music of his

bugle winding over the grassy solitudes, and presently we detected a low

hut or two in the distance. Then the rattling of the coach, the clatter

of our six horses’ hoofs, and the driver’s crisp commands, awoke to a

louder and stronger emphasis, and we went sweeping down on the station at

our smartest speed. It was fascinating–that old overland stagecoaching.

We jumped out in undress uniform. The driver tossed his gathered reins

out on the ground, gaped and stretched complacently, drew off his heavy