Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art, May 1885Various
History
Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art, May 1885
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Literature -- Periodicals
Ashantis and Fantis. I have seen it drawn out, kinkles and all,
eighteen inches from the skull, and thus remain stark on end, until the
lady had time to get it arranged in, for instance, the exact similitude
of a pine-apple, divided into lozenges, with a neat curl in the centre
of each.
So the king of Quisa sat to display his magnificence daily, and to
administer justice. It is the inclination of us superior beings to
imagine that “off with his head,” is the monotonous refrain of every
judgment pronounced by negro royalty. The notion is gathered perhaps
rather from burlesques and comic songs than from inquiry, and I suspect
that shrewd comment and patient debate were often heard in that pretty
court. The general effect of it, even empty, astonished us all, from
Sir Garnet to Tommy Atkins. But we showed our emotion in various ways.
I entered with two young doctors, who had their billet at the palace.
After going through and surveying it in silence, one of them hurriedly
unpacked a trunk, produced his everlasting banjo, and sang an air of
the day: “You know it all depends upon the way in which it’s done!”
This exercise finished, he was equal to discussion.
A natural halting-place, as one may say, at the end of the first march
from Jellalabad is the castle of a great Ghilzai chief, whose name I
forget. He had been an active enemy in the late war; but for reasons
unknown the political department long refused to let us take possession
of this building, which is called Rosarbad, though it was empty; nor
would they even permit us to encamp in the fields and groves about it.
Accordingly a very small post was established on a bleak hillside in
the neighborhood, a spot so stony and barren that pegs would not hold
in the soil. Two nights I passed there are scored in the blackest of
chalk among my experiences of mere wretchedness; for a gale was always
blowing and tents were always collapsing: if one’s own escaped, the
yelling and roaring of other sufferers made life almost as miserable.
As for the horses, they enjoyed a battle scarcely interrupted, and the
squealing all night, with the shouting of furious troopers, banished
sleep. A detachment which had three weeks’ duty at that outpost
lost a quarter of its strength by invaliding, the result of sheer
fatigue. When I add that a night attack was always probable, and often
threatened, the least fanciful of readers may conceive that existence
at Boulé camp was not happy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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