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Updated: May 1, 2025
Bump. Bump-bump. Bump. I sat up in bed and listened intently. It seemed to me as if someone with a muffled hammer were trying to knock bricks out of the wall. The bumping continued irregularly, yet uninterruptedly. My bed was by the window. I reached out my hand and drew aside a corner of the curtain. The sunlight streamed into the room. I looked at my watch: it was ten minutes past five.
And be real still, Joe, and don't ask her questions, 'cause she's miserable, and is in for a long sick spell if she doesn't look out." So Joel went off, wishing there weren't any such things in the world as preserve-kettles, and presently, back he came, dragging it after him "bump-bump." "Oh, Joe," cried Mrs. Pepper, in dismay, "how could you!"
It was a common native disease on Santa Anna, he said, as he was helped down the companion ladder, his dead arm dropping, bump-bump, from step to step. He was certainly the ghastliest guest we ever entertained, and we've had not a few lepers and elephantiasis victims on board. Martin inquired about yaws, for here was a man who ought to know.
But the dolour of my mind was surpassed by the discomfort of my body. I was broken with pains and weariness, and I had a desperate headache. Also, before we had gone a mile, I began to think that I should split in two. The paces of my beast were uneven, to say the best of it, and the bump-bump was like being on the rack.
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