But they never
slouch, or cringe in their bodies, or shuffle in their gait. Dirty,
fierce-looking, uncouth, repellent as they are, there is always
about them a something of personal dignity which is not compatible
with an Englishman's ordinary hat and pantaloons.
As we were about to descend, preparing to make our way through the
crowd, Smith took hold of my arm. "That will never do, my dear
fellow," said I, "the job will be tough enough for a single file,
but we should never cut our way two and two. I'm broad-shouldered
and will go first." So I did, and gradually we worked our way into
the body of the chapel. How is it that Englishmen can push
themselves anywhere? These men were fierce-looking, and had murder
and rapine, as I have said, almost in their eyes. One would have
supposed that they were not lambs or doves, capable of being thrust
here or there without anger on their part; and they, too, were all
anxious to descend and approach the altar. Yet we did win our way
through them, and apparently no man was angry with us. I doubt,
after all, whether a ferocious eye and a strong smell and dirt are
so efficacious in creating awe and obedience in others, as an open
brow and traces of soap and water.
Pages:
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38