Afghanistan -- Fiction; British -- Afghanistan -- Fiction; Kings and rulers -- Fiction; Political fiction
“What did which do? There was a party called Peachey Taliaferro
Carnehan that was with Dravot. Shall I tell you about him? He died out
there in the cold. Slap from the bridge fell old Peachey, turning and
twisting in the air like a penny whirligig that you can sell to the
Amir—No; they was two for three ha’pence, those whirligigs, or I am
much mistaken and woful sore. And then these camels were no use, and
Peachey said to Dravot—‘For the Lord’s sake, let’s get out of
this before our heads are chopped off,’ and with that they killed the
camels all among the mountains, not having anything in particular to
eat, but first they took off the boxes with the guns and the
ammunition, till two men came along driving four mules. Dravot up and
dances in front of them, singing,—‘Sell me four mules.’ Says the
first man,—‘If you are rich enough to buy, you are rich enough to
rob;’ but before ever he could put his hand to his knife, Dravot
breaks his neck over his knee, and the other party runs away. So
Carnehan loaded the mules with the rifles that was taken off the
camels, and together we starts forward into those bitter cold
mountainous parts, and never a road broader than the back of your
hand.”
He paused for a moment, while I asked him if he could remember the
nature of the country through which he had journeyed.
“I am telling you as straight as I can, but my head isn’t as good
as it might be. They drove nails through it to make me hear better how
Dravot died. The country was mountainous and the mules were most
contrary, and the inhabitants was dispersed and solitary. They went up
and up, and down and down, and that other party Carnehan, was imploring
of Dravot not to sing and whistle so loud, for fear of bringing down
the tremenjus avalanches. But Dravot says that if a King couldn’t
sing it wasn’t worth being King, and whacked the mules over the rump,
and never took no heed for ten cold days. We came to a big level valley
all among the mountains, and the mules were near dead, so we killed
them, not having anything in special for them or us to eat. We sat upon
the boxes, and played odd and even with the cartridges that was jolted
out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account