At last all sleepiness forsook me. I recognized the fact that I was
hopelessly and permanently wide-awake. Wide-awake, and feverish and
thirsty. When I had lain tossing there as long as I could endure it, it
occurred to me that it would be a good idea to dress and go out in the
great square and take a refreshing wash in the fountain, and smoke and
reflect there until the remnant of the night was gone.
I believed I could dress in the dark without waking Harris. I had
banished my shoes after the mouse, but my slippers would do for a summer
night. So I rose softly, and gradually got on everything—down to one
sock. I couldn’t seem to get on the track of that sock, any way I could
fix it. But I had to have it; so I went down on my hands and knees, with
one slipper on and the other in my hand, and began to paw gently around
and rake the floor, but with no success. I enlarged my circle, and went
on pawing and raking. With every pressure of my knee, how the floor
creaked! and every time I chanced to rake against any article, it seemed
to give out thirty-five or thirty-six times more noise than it would
have in the daytime. In those cases I always stopped and held my breath
till I was sure Harris had not awakened—then I crept along again. I
moved on and on, but I could not find the sock; I could not seem to find
anything but furniture. I could not remember that there was much
furniture in the room when I went to bed, but the place was alive with
it now—especially chairs—chairs everywhere—had a couple of families
moved in, in the meantime? And I never could seem to glance on one of
those chairs, but always struck it full and square with my head. My
temper rose, by steady and sure degrees, and as I pawed on and on, I
fell to making vicious comments under my breath.
Finally, with a venomous access of irritation, I said I would leave
without the sock; so I rose up and made straight for the door—as I
supposed—and suddenly confronted my dim spectral image in the mirror. It
startled the breath out of me, for an instant; it was also showed me
that I was lost, and had no sort of idea where I was. When I realized
this, I was so angry that I had to sit down on the floor and take hold
of something to keep from lifting the roof off with an explosion of
opinion. If there had been only one mirror, it might possibly have
helped to locate me; but there were two, and two were as bad as a
thousand; besides, these were on opposite sides of the room. I could see
the dim blur of the windows, but in my turned-around condition they were
exactly where they ought not to be, and so they only confused me instead
of helping me.
I started to get up, and knocked down an umbrella; it made a noise like
a pistol-shot when it struck that hard, slick, carpetless floor; I
grated my teeth and held my breath—Harris did not stir. I set the
umbrella slowly and carefully against the wall, but as soon as I took my
hand away, its heel slipped from under it and down it came again with
another bang. I shrunk together and listened a moment in silent fury—no
harm done, everything quiet. With the most painstaking care and nicety I
stood the umbrella up once more, took my hand away, and down it came
again.
I have been strictly reared, but if it had not been so dark and solemn
and awful there in that lonely, vast room, I do believe I should have
said something then which could not have been put in a Sunday-school
book without injuring the sale of it. If my reasoning powers had not
been already sapped dry by my harassments, I would have known better
than to try to set an umbrella on end on one of those glassy German
floors in the dark; it can’t be done in the daytime without four
failures to one success. I had one comfort, though—Harris was yet still
and silent—he had not stirred.
The umbrella could not locate me—there were four standing around the
room, and all alike. I thought I would feel along the wall and find the
door in that way. I rose up and began this operation, but raked down a
picture. It was not a large one, but it made noise enough for a
panorama. Harris gave out no sound, but I felt that if I experimented
any further with the pictures I should be sure to wake him. Better give
up trying to get out. Yes, I would find King Arthur’s Round Table once
more—I had already found it several times—and used it for a base of
departure on an exploring tour for my bed; if I could find my bed I
could find my water-pitcher. I would quench my raging thirst and turn
in. So I started on my hands and knees, because I could go faster that
way, and with more confidence, too, and not knock things down. By and by
I found the table—with my head—rubbed the bruise a little, then rose up
and started, with hands abroad and fingers spread, to balance myself. I
found a chair; then the wall; then another chair; then a sofa; then an
alpenstock, then another sofa; this confounded me, for I had thought
there was only one sofa. I hunted up the table again and took a fresh
start; found some more chairs.
It occurred to me, now, as it ought to have done before, that as the
table was round, it was therefore no value as a place to aim from; so I
moved off once more and at random among the wilderness of chairs and
sofas—wandered off into unfamiliar regions, and presently knocked a
candlestick off a mantelpiece and knocked off a lamp, grabbed at the
lamp and knocked off a water-pitcher with a rattling crash, and thought
to myself, “I’ve found you at last—I judged I was close upon you.”
Harris shouted “murder,” and “thieves,” and finished with “I’m
absolutely drowned.”
The crash had roused the house. Mr. X. pranced in, in his long
night-garment, with a candle, young Z. after him with another candle; a
procession swept in at another door, with candles and lanterns—landlord
and two German guests in their nightgowns, and a chambermaid in hers.
I looked around; I was at Harris’s bed, a sabbath day’s journey from my
own. There was only one sofa; it was against the wall; there was only
one chair where a body could get at it—I had been revolving around it
like a planet, and colliding with it like a comet half the night.
I explained how I had been employing myself, and why. Then the
landlord’s party left, and the rest of us set about our preparations for
breakfast, for the dawn was ready to break. I glanced furtively at my
pedometer, and found I had made 47 miles. But I did not care, for I had
come out for a pedestrian tour anyway.