India 2001 books

It was a wretched day, gusty, and the rain sweeping round the
corners of the old streets. Early as was the hour, the wretched
prisoners were peering through the lattice windows of their prison,
which evidently once had been the harem of some wealthy Turk; where
beauties had once lain on voluptuous couches, wretched criminals now
crouched half-starved, racked with disease, and as we passed held out
skinny arms. All Montenegrin saddles are bound on with string, even
those of the highest in the land; indeed, one cannot imagine how the
people did before string was invented, and ours began to slip before we
were well clear of the town. Necessary adjustments were made, and on
once more.
Our guide was well armed--he carried two murderous-looking pistols, and
a long rifle slung over his back. He was in high spirits and showed us
that the proper way to ride Montenegrin horses was to drop the reins on
to the animal's neck, kick it in the stomach with both feet, elevating
your arms and uttering the most unearthly yells.


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