LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1878, 1 March 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT'S CHRISTMAS. By Frederic Boyle. [Author of " Camp Notes,” &c , &c.] (Concluded ) I looked, and sitting on the chair I saw a brown, soft, unformed lump, about as large as a man’s fist. We drew closer and surveyed the object. It seemed at first a ball of fur, brown and prettily mottled ; then great knees became discernible around the ball, then legs crouched up—a horrible spider, watching ns with big devilish eyes. My nerves have had much hardening against surprise, but that fearful brute shook them. There is no creature in the world, not even the pieuvre of romance, so fiendish as the African tarantula. He measures from eight to ten inches from toe to toe, his legs are thick as straws, and his crimson beak is almost as large as a sparrow’s, bnt curved like that of a parrot. Instead of claws he has suckers on his great feet, with which he clings until torn off piecemeal, whilst his jaws are buried in the flesh. Each pad leaves a painful blister, and the jagged wound of the beak is hard to cure, but persons die of the shook rather than the hurt. Imagine Gould’s escape I After bathing, he was just about to tit upon the chair when his eye caught sight of this monster. Fancy what might have been—the sudden pang, the grasp at that furry mass, the impotent rending at its immovable hold, and the savage gnawing of the b nto I would rather be bitten by any snake in the list than by a tarantula. We speared this fellow on a bowie knife, unknowing at the time that natives say he can and does spring great distances to attack. I remember that I gave the spelia opima to Mr Commissary Bavenscroft, who is interested in entomology. Only three tarantulas were met with in this

I campaign—that mentioned, one killed after a gruesome midnight straggle, by Dr. Samuels, and one which Captain Hart found on his bed in camp. Such was my little Christmas adventure on the Gold Coast. And so, passing seasonable experiences of Paris and Vienna, I come to the last, that of 1878-9. I was at Quetta. I had expected to Christmas very drearily, with some promiscuous wayfarers like myself, hurrying across the frozen valley, to overtake General Stewart; for the batteries and detachments with whom I had struck acquaintance in the Bolan were all left behind. Of the chief’s position we knew nothing, nor of the farces already collected. General Biddulph had been reconnoitring from the Koj ak Amram mountains for a fortnight past, and I reached Quetta in great alarm, fearing to be behindhand. But a little army lay there, awaiting final arrangements, and my friend, General Hughes, did not propose to start until the 26th. I joyfully accepted a chance of feasting—it might be for the last time—at a civilised table. It dwells not in my recollection how I made the acquaintance of Captain Lister, R H.A., but his kindness is not to be forgotten. Instead of sleeping in an airy tent, I found myself a guest in a little bungalow, of no pretension certainly, neither psinced, oailinged, nor carpeted, but sound enough to keep out the cold. Nrr do I remember which amongst so many good fellows invited me to eat a Christmas dinner at the “station mess.” Invited I was, however, and my servants duly paraded with the rest at 2 p.m., each carrying his master’s convert, seat, and contribution to the feast. Chance guests like myself provided liquids, whilst the turkey and tie piece of beef had been brought from India to fatten weeks before. When we started for the banquet a servant went before, sword in one hand, and lantern In the other. We followed in long, sheepskin coats, onr revolvers ready to the hand ; for Quetta is the rendezvous of fanat’es on this side, as is Peshawnr on the other. When a Pathan, Ahtahzai or Kakar or what he may be, has worked himself to the murder pitch with bhang and prayer, he takes provisions and a knife to stroll into Quetta. Days or weeks he may be on the road. These ghazis, solitary or in pairs, have no such distinctive sign as the mirror and white robe carried by their fellows when forming part of an army. They go along like harmless travellers until the chance comes to baud, Then a sudden shout, “ The merciful God is one!” a spring, and the knife is sheathed in a Kaffir’s body I But the ghazi will wait for a snre stroke, unless hunger drives him into rashness. His life Is devoted for the faith; he will not escape, nor scarcely resist, but he will not fail if he can help it. In a case last year it was proved that the assassin had been many weeks hanging about the town. He had fallen ill before the chance came; had asked for and obtained attendance gratia at the Dispensary, and when cared had returned to his holy task. To me there is something that fascinates, whilst it shocks and disgusts, in the Pathan character. It may be admitted that I have some experience of savage life, and this I say, with such authority as will be allowed me, that in strength of will and tenacity of purpose the Afghan has no peer. His intelligence, courage, and enterprise nobody disputes, and I shall be very greatly surprised if the new system resulting from this war does not make the Pathan a very important factor in our Indian problem. The night was dark, and oh, so cold. The rugged mulberry trunks shone redly and vanished, as the lantern swung. Overhead gnarled boughs made a network like twisted cordage. High on our right, dimly threatening through the haze, the fort of Quetta loomed. At each few yards an ice-bound water-course must be leapt, for this valley, like that of Candahar, abounds in streams. Mufflsd strangers met us in the dark, with or without lantern. I was warned to give such a cautious offing, until the common password bad been exchanged. On this night, with so much movement between distant camps, it had been thought impossible to give a countersign, but ‘ A merry Christmas !’ was more pleasant and equally effective. After a devious stumble—for Lister took short cuts —we reached the mess-room. There were four members, I think, in ordinary times, for the regiments of the garrison messed in the fort, of course. And for these the little whitewashed chamber sufficed. But each had four guests, and each guest a servant or two What a heat it was, what a squeeze, what jollity! Most had come provided with the thick felt overalls, drawing above boot and thigh, so needful for long sitting in that bitter climate, when a sheet of canvas only excludes the Arctic cold. Several bad that woollen headdress called, I believe, a oantope, which covers forehead, chin, and shoulders like an ancient helmet. But sheepskins and the rest were promptly discarded, and we perspired in onr jackets. It was a mighty pleasant meal all the same. To morrow the most of us were starting for unknown adventures in a country traditional for danger. That thought for the future gives zest to present mirth, and makes light of small disappointments. The turkey was uneatable, the beef an evil jest, the fresh vegetables from Lister’s garden, preserved for this great event, roused mockery in the moat forbearing. £nt Hobday told us stories, and Riley laughed like one possessed ; somebody sang a song, a new and a good one. So the Christmas night passed merrily, and at half-past eleven we went homewards. The glass marked three degrees below zero. To end the evening fittingly, as we sat by the fire in his bungalow, Lister told me a few anecdotes from the record of murder compiled in onr eighteen months of occupation. They were better than ghost stories, more dramatic, almost incredible, bat too true. The day following we all went our ways ; mine led me through Candahar to Khelat-i-Ghilzai; back through Quetta, Jacobabad, Lahore, and the Khyfcer, to Safed Sang; and so, after nine months’ absence, home again. Lister was attached, with two guns, to Major Sandsman’s escort, and I presume he returned again to India by Tnl and Chotiali. Such are the strangest of the Christmas Days I have passed as yet. In a few years more I may publish a supplement. But the pitcher, as you see, has been too often to the well.