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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
101
At
the
foot
of
the
cliffs
on
the
return
journey
met
an
old
man
gathering
sticks.
As
he
ambled
along
dropping
sticks
into
a
long
sack
he
called
out
casually,
"Do
you
believe
in
Jesus
Christ?"
in
the
tone
of
voice
in
which
one
would
say,
"I
think
we
shall
have
some
rain
before
night."
"Aye,
aye,"
came
the
answer
without
hesitation
from
a
boy
lying
on
his
back
in
the
sands
a
few
yards
distant,
"and
that
He
died
to
save
me."
Life
is
full
of
surprises
like
this.
The
only
other
sounds
I
have
heard
to-day
were
the
Herring
Gull's
cackle.
Your
own
gardener
will
one
day
look
over
his
rake
and
give
you
the
correct
chemical
formula
for
carbonic
acid
gas.
I
met
a
postman
once
reading
Shelley
as
he
walked
his
rounds.
June
28.
I
am
writing
this
by
the
lamp
in
the
cabin
among
the
sandhills
waiting
for
H----
to
arrive
from
town
with
provisions.
I
wear
a
pair
of
bags,
a
dirty
sweater,
and
go
without
hat
or
shoes
and
stockings.
There
is
a
"Deadwood
Dick"
atmosphere
here.
I'm
a
sort
of
bronco-breaker
or
rancher
off
duty
writing
home.
In
a
minute
I
haven't
the
slightest
doubt,
H----
will
gallop
into
the
compound,
tether
his
colt
and
come
in
"raising
Cain"
for
a
belly-full
of
red
meat....
If
I
am
going
to
live
after
all
(touch
wood)
I
shall
go
abroad
and
be
in
the
open.
I
eat
greedily,
am
getting
very
sunburnt,
am
growing
hairy
(that
means
strength!),
and
utter
portentous
oaths.
If
I
stayed
here
much
longer
I
should
grow
a
tail
and
climb
trees.
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