Our sleeping apartment, I found, was a small room at the right-hand
corner of the barracks--so small that I foresaw our nights would
not be comfortable. There were five truckle beds ranged against the
wall; 'twas clear that each of us would have a bedfellow. The
bedding consisted of a hard straw mattress and a single woollen
coverlet which, judging by its tenuity, had already seen service
with generations of sleepers. Luckily it was early autumn; we
should not need to dread the winter cold for some time to come; and
I was young and lighthearted enough to flatter myself with the
fancy that we should either be released as the sequel to some
terrible defeat of the French, or that we should find some way of
escape.
Being myself long and broad, I made matters even by choosing as my
bedfellow a little fellow named Joseph Runnles, lean as a rake, and
of a quiet and melancholy countenance, thinking that such an one
would not discommode me in either body or mind. My choice was
justified; he neither kicked nor snored, and was so reserved and
silent that I believe I did not exchange with him a dozen words a
week.
Our new quarters proved a deal less dreary than those we had left
at St. Malo. The weather was fine; there was ample elbow room in
the courtyard, and though we were closely watched by the guard
constantly set at the gate, we had our liberty during the day. At
night, when we repaired to our dormitories, the doors opening on
the courtyard were locked, and we could dully hear the tramping of
the sentry along the battlements above our heads.
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