A Holiday in the Happy Valley with Pen and Pencil by T. R. Swinburne
page 27 of 311 (08%)
page 27 of 311 (08%)
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passing tramp steamer.
Some time before leaving England I had written to my old friend General Woon, commanding the troops at Abbotabad, asking him to provide me with a servant capable of dry-nursing a pair of Babes in the Wood throughout their sojourn in a strange land. The General promised to supply us with such an one, who, he said, would rob us to a certain extent himself, but would take good care that nobody else did so! Immediately, then, upon our arrival in Karachi roads, a dark and swarthy person, with a black beard and gleaming white teeth, appeared on board, and reported himself as Sabz Ali, our servant and our master! His knowledge of English "as she is spoke" was scanty and of strange quality, but his masterful methods of dealing with the boatmen and Custom-house subordinates inspired us with awe and a blind confidence that he could--and would--pull us through. There was no difficulty at the Custom-house until it transpired that I wanted to take three firearms into the country. This appeared to be a most unusual and reprehensible desire, and my statement that one weapon was a rifle which I was taking charge of for a friend did not improve the situation. It being Sunday, the principal authorities were sunning themselves in their back parlours, and the thing in charge (called a Baboo, I understand) became exceedingly fussy, and desired that the guns should be unpacked and exhibited lest they should be of service pattern. This was simple, as far as my battery was concerned, and I promptly laid bare the beauties of my Mannlicher and ancient 12-bore; but, alas! Mrs. Smithson's rifle was soldered like a sardine into a strong tin case, and no cold-chisel or screwdriver was forthcoming. |
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