A vote of thanks was
proposed for the cook, and carried unanimously. The wines were
excellent. We had golden Mediasch, one of the best wines grown in
Transylvania, Roszamaber from Karlsburg and Bakatar. The peculiarity
about the first-named wine is that it produces an agreeable pricking on
the tongue, called in German _tschirpsen_.
Before turning in we had a smoke, accompanied by tea with rum, the
invariable substitute for milk in Hungary.
As there were four big fires burning in the clearing outside the hut,
the whole scene was very bright and cheerful. The wood crackled briskly,
the flames lit up the green foliage, and the moving figures of our
attendants gave animation to the picture. Amongst ourselves there were a
few snatches of song, and from up the hill where the Wallacks were
camped came a chorus of not unmusical voices. One after another of our
party dropped off, betaking himself to his natural rest. I was not the
last, and must have slept as soon as I pulled the plaid over my ears,
for I remembered nothing more.
I daresay I slept two or three hours; it may have been more or less, I
don't know, but the next moment of consciousness, or semi-consciousness,
was an uneasy feeling that a thief was trying to carry off a large tin
bath that belonged to me, in my dream. As he dragged it away it seemed
to me that he bumped it with all his might, making a horrible row.
Meanwhile, oppressed by nightmare, I could not budge an inch nor utter a
cry, though I would have given the world to stop the thief.
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