He Cared Not The
Least About Dying; And Knelt Down And Had His Head Off As Coolly As
If He Were Looking On At The Same Ceremony Performed On Another.
When the head was off, and the blood was spouting on the ground, a
married woman, who had no
Children, came forward very eagerly out
of the crowd, to smear herself with it, - the application of
criminals' blood being considered a very favourable medicine for
women afflicted with barrenness, - so she indulged in this remedy.
But one of the Arnaoots standing near said, "What, you like blood,
do you?" (or words to that effect). "Let's see how yours mixes
with my comrade's." And thereupon, taking out a pistol, he shot
the woman in the midst of the crowd and the guards who were
attending the execution; was seized of course by the latter; and no
doubt to-morrow morning will have HIS head off too. It would be a
good chapter to write - the Death of the Arnaoot - but I shan't go.
Seeing one man hanged is quite enough in the course of a life. J'y
ai ete, as the Frenchman said of hunting.
These Arnaoots are the terror of the town. They seized hold of an
Englishman the other day, and were very nearly pistolling him.
Last week one of them murdered a shopkeeper at Boulak, who refused
to sell him a water-melon at a price which he, the soldier, fixed
upon it. So, for the matter of three-halfpence, he killed the
shopkeeper; and had his own rascally head chopped off, universally
regretted by his friends.
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