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Updated: June 6, 2025
There's a trickle of water running down my back, to begin with." "And my nose it itches; and oh, what a hateful smell! Say something to me, Jack." "My dear," said I, "there is one thing I've been longing these weeks to say: but this seems an odd place for it." "What is't?" I purs'd up my lips to the bunghole, and "I love you," said I.
Then he took out the stick, corked the bunghole tight, laced the cask up in a piece of net, attached the line to the net, and wound it about the cask by rolling the latter round and round, took the cask between his hands, and pushed from the window straight into the current of the Glashburn. In a moment it had swept him to the Lorrie.
'Le' me out, yer swines! le' me out! cried a shrill old voice, following the words with a long dolorous howl, not unlike that of a moonstruck cur. 'Who the devil are you? asked Done. 'What are you doing in there? His words only served to enrage the man in the cask; he had a paroxysm of linguistic fury, and curses spouted from the bunghole a geyser of profanity.
"This is a picture o' the deputation that waited on some o' the members o' the Toon Cooncil at lest election an' priggit wi' them to bide in, altho' they were awfu' anxious to hae dune wi't." "That's like a picture o' a bunghole withoot a barrel roond it," said ane o' Dauvid's laddies. "There's naebody there, Sandy," said Bandy Wobster. "Ay, but that's the deputation tho'," said Sandy.
Her eyes grew bigger and blacker as with her mental vision she glared upon the situation. Presently she spoke, and her voice sounded as if she were in a great empty cask, with her mouth at the bunghole. "Who did this?" she asked. Mrs. Tolbridge was glad to talk; it suited her much better at this time to do the talking than for her companion to do it, and she proceeded quite volubly.
Some men come in on a high tide of feeling, like Billy Bray, the drunken miner, who, released from his debasing slavery and reborn into a vigorous life, cried, "If they were to put me into a barrel I would shout glory out through the bunghole! Praise the Lord!"
I'm willing to bear the burdens the Lord intends specially for me, but Jack belongs to you, and a good-sized heavy burden he is, too, for his age. I can't deny that, if he is a Hathaway. I think he's the kind of a boy that ought to be put in a barrel and fed through the bunghole till he grows up; but of course I'm not used to children's ways. Be as easy with John at first as you can.
In this situation it should not be closely stopped up, but a tile or something similar should be laid on the bunghole, to keep out the dust and insects. At the end of three months or less it will be clear, and fit for use, and may be bottled off. The longer it is kept after it is bottled, the better it will be.
She must have been a girl of a good deal of pluck, for the vessel was not to sail for several days, and she must remain in the hogshead all that time, as the officials of the port might come on board at any moment and discover her, if she should get out of her hiding place. I have no doubt that she was supplied with three or four meals a day through the bunghole.
Well, no girl can say I ever went and set down by her smellin' like a bunghole on a hot day. I don't travel that road. I'll go over there smellin' like a fruit-store, and I'll put that box in her hand and tell her to chaw till she goes to sleep, an then I'll pull her head over on my shoulder and pat them bangs. Hursh, oh, hursh!"
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