Afghanistan -- Fiction; British -- Afghanistan -- Fiction; Kings and rulers -- Fiction; Political fiction
“And that’s all we know, except that no one has gone there, and
they fight, and in any place where they fight a man who knows how to
drill men can always be a King. We shall go to those parts and say to
any King we find—‘D’ you want to vanquish your foes?’ and we
will show him how to drill men; for that we know better than anything
else. Then we will subvert that King and seize his Throne and establish
a Dy-nasty.”
“You’ll be cut to pieces before you’re fifty miles across the
Border,” I said. “You have to travel through Afghanistan to get to
that country. It’s one mass of mountains and peaks and glaciers, and
no Englishman has been through it. The people are utter brutes, and
even if you reached them you couldn’t do anything.”
“That’s more like,” said Carnehan. “If you could think us a
little more mad we would be more pleased. We have come to you to know
about this country, to read a book about it, and to be shown maps. We
want you to tell us that we are fools and to show us your books.” He
turned to the book-cases.
“Are you at all in earnest?” I said.
“A little,” said Dravot, sweetly. “As big a map as you have got,
even if it’s all blank where Kafiristan is, and any books you’ve
got. We can read, though we aren’t very educated.”
I uncased the big thirty-two-miles-to-the-inch map of India, and two
smaller Frontier maps, hauled down volume INF-KAN of the Encyclopædia
Britannica, and the men consulted them.
“See here!” said Dravot, his thumb on the map. “Up to Jagdallak,
Peachey and me know the road. We was there with Roberts’s Army.
We’ll have to turn off to the right at Jagdallak through Laghmann
territory. Then we get among the hills—fourteen thousand
feet—fifteen thousand—it will be cold work there, but it don’t
look very far on the map.”
I handed him Wood on the Sources of the Oxus. Carnehan was deep in the
Encyclopædia.
“They’re a mixed lot,” said Dravot, reflectively; “and it
won’t help us to know the names of their tribes. The more tribes the
more they’ll fight, and the better for us. From Jagdallak to Ashang.
H’mm!”
“But all the information about the country is as sketchy and
inaccurate as can be,” I protested. “No one knows anything about it
really. Here’s the file of the United Services’ Institute. Read
what Bellew says.”
“Blow Bellew!” said Carnehan. “Dan, they’re an all-fired lot of
heathens, but this book here says they think they’re related to us
English.”
I smoked while the men pored over Raverty, Wood, the maps and the
Encyclopædia.
“There is no use your waiting,” said Dravot, politely. “It’s
about four o’clock now. We’ll go before six o’clock if you want
to sleep, and we won’t steal any of the papers. Don’t you sit up.
We’re two harmless lunatics, and if you come, to-morrow evening, down
to the Serai we’ll say good-by to you.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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