About seven
miles from Muree, we halted for dinner, and made renewed acquaintance
with that interesting object -- the Indian roadside chicken.
OCTOBER 16. -- Arrived early at Rawul Pindee, and breakfasted at
seven, apparently off guttapercha and extract of sloe leaves. On
again immediately, and reached Gugerkhan bungalow at seven P.M. hot,
apoplectic, and saturated with dust.
The room smells thoroughly of the plains; an odour, as it were,
of punkhas, mosquitoes, and mustiness, not to be found elsewhere,
and entirely unexplainable to uninitiated sufferers.
The chicken, whose "fate had been accomplished," died as we entered
the yard, and was on the table in the fashion of a warm SPREAD EAGLE
in fifteen minutes! After this delicacy is duly discussed, the doolies
are emptied of dust, the bedding laid down, and jolt, jolt, creak,
creak, grunt, grunt, on we go again, until sleep good-naturedly
comes to make us oblivious of all things. The kahars, or bearers,
however, take a different view of life, and at every relief a crowd
of sniggering darkies assemble, on both sides, with applications for
bukshish.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313