Accidents and climatic conditions kept my mind in a perpetual state of unrest.
Our dining-room door opened through two small rooms into the kitchen, and one day, as I sat at the table, waiting for Jack to come in to supper, I heard a strange sort of crashing noise.

Looking towards the kitchen, through the vista of open doorways, I saw Ellen rush to the door which led to the courtyard.

She turned a livid white, threw up her hands, and cried, "Great God! the Captain!" She was transfixed with horror.
I flew to the door, and saw that the pump had collapsed and gone down into the deep sulphur well.

In a second, Jack's head and hands appeared at the edge; he seemed to be caught in the debris of rotten timber.
Before I could get to him, he had scrambled half way out.

"Don't come near this place," he cried, "it's all caving in!" And so it seemed; for, as he worked himself up and out, the entire structure feel in, and half the corral with it, as it looked to me.
Jack escaped what might have been an unlucky bath in his sulphur well, and we all recovered our composure as best we could.
Surely, if life was dull at Ehrenberg, it could not be called exactly monotonous.