The Purple Land: Being the Narrative of One Richard Lamb's Adventures in The Banda Orientál, in South America, as Told By HimselfHudson, W. H. (William Henry)
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The Purple Land: Being the Narrative of One Richard Lamb's Adventures in The Banda Orientál, in South America, as Told By Himself
Hudson, W. H. (William Henry)
Adventure stories; British -- Uruguay -- Fiction; Uruguay -- Fiction
Feeling very much dispirited, and with the soles nearly worn off my
boots, I sat down on a bench beside the sea, or river--for some call
it one thing, some the other, and the muddied hue and freshness of the
water, and the uncertain words of geographers, leave one in doubt as to
whether Montevideo is situated on the shores of the Atlantic, or only
near the Atlantic and on the shores of a river one hundred and fifty
miles wide at its mouth. I did not trouble my head about it; I had other
things that concerned me more nearly to think of. I had a quarrel with
this Oriental nation, and that was more to me than the greenness or
the saltness of the vast estuary that washes the dirty feet of its
queen--for this modern Troy, this city of battle, murder, and sudden
death, also calls itself Queen of the Plata. That it was a very just
quarrel on my part I felt well assured. Now, to be even with every human
being who despitefully uses me has ever been a principle of action with
me. Nor let it be said that it is an unchristian principle; for when I
have been smitten on the right or left cheek (the pain is just the same
in either case), before I am prepared to deliver the return blow so long
a time has often elapsed that all wrathful or revengeful thoughts are
over. I strike in such a case more for the public good than for my own
satisfaction, and am therefore right in calling my motive a principle of
action, not an impulse. It is a very valuable one too, infinitely more
effective than the fantastical code of the duellist, which favours the
person who inflicts the injury, affording him facilities for murdering
or maiming the person injured. It is a weapon invented for us by Nature
before Colonel Colt ever lived, and it has this advantage, that one
is permitted to wear it in the most law-abiding communities as well as
amongst miners and backwoodsmen. If inoffensive people were ever to cast
it aside, then wicked men would have everything their own way and make
life intolerable. Fortunately the evil-doers always have the fear of
this intangible six-shooter before them; a wholesome feeling, which
restrains them more than reasonableness or the law courts, and to which
we owe it that the meek are permitted to inherit the earth. But now this
quarrel was with a whole nation, though certainly not with a very great
one, since the population of the Banda Orientál numbers only about a
quarter of a million. Yet in this sparsely settled country, with its
bountiful soil and genial climate, there was apparently no place for
me, a muscular and fairly intelligent young man, who only asked to
be allowed to work to live! But how was I to make them smart for this
injustice? I could not take the scorpion they gave me when I asked them
for an egg, and make it sting every individual composing the nation. I
was powerless, utterly powerless, to punish them, and therefore the only
thing that remained for me to do was to curse them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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