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individuals. They did not arouse me from my slumber--for I was wide
awake when I screamed--but they restored me to the full possession of my
memory.
This adventure occurred near Richmond, in Virginia. Accompanied by a
friend, I had proceeded, upon a gunning expedition, some miles down the
banks of the James River. Night approached, and we were overtaken by
a storm. The cabin of a small sloop lying at anchor in the stream, and
laden with garden mould, afforded us the only available shelter. We made
the best of it, and passed the night on board. I slept in one of the
only two berths in the vessel--and the berths of a sloop of sixty or
twenty tons need scarcely be described. That which I occupied had no
bedding of any kind. Its extreme width was eighteen inches. The distance
of its bottom from the deck overhead was precisely the same. I found it
a matter of exceeding difficulty to squeeze myself in. Nevertheless, I
slept soundly, and the whole of my vision--for it was no dream, and no
nightmare--arose naturally from the circumstances of my position--from
my ordinary bias of thought--and from the difficulty, to which I have
alluded, of collecting my senses, and especially of regaining my memory,
for a long time after awaking from slumber. The men who shook me were
the crew of the sloop, and some laborers engaged to unload it. From the
load itself came the earthly smell. The bandage about the jaws was a
silk handkerchief in which I had bound up my head, in default of my
customary nightcap.
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