He is a Civil Engineer, with a head for plans and
distances and things of that kind, and he certainly would not take the trouble
to invent imaginary traps. He could earn more by doing his legitimate work. He
never varies the tale in the telling, and grows very hot and indignant when he
thinks of the disrespectful treatment he received. He wrote this quite
straightforwardly at first, but he has since touched it up in places and
introduced Moral Reflections, thus:
In the beginning it all arose from a slight attack of fever. My work
necessitated my being in camp for some months between Pakpattan and
Muharakpur--a desolate sandy stretch of country as every one who has had the
misfortune to go there may know. My coolies were neither more nor less
exasperating than other gangs, and my work demanded sufficient attention to
keep me from moping, had I been inclined to so unmanly a weakness.
On the 23d December, 1884, I felt a little feverish. There was a full moon at
the time, and, in consequence, every dog near my tent was baying it. The
brutes assembled in twos and threes and drove me frantic. A few days
previously I had shot one loud-mouthed singer and suspended his carcass in
terrorem about fifty yards from my tent-door.
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