Punch (73.1877)

July 14, 1877.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHAEIVAEI. H

DIARY OF MY RIDE TO KHIVA.

The Last Scene—The Rider carries out his'own proposition—Safe Return and

Explanation all round.

k«M 1 1 ^^^^^^Ih^S^^P^^W nE sun h3-^ risen in the

alaiVi ^^P^^^^l^i^^^^^^^^ East. Its warm rays

IffiM. ffiy«^^Pl(^^^^^^^ILL illumined the snow desert

\i|fffl&fS ISII^ffl^R^^^^PSwKv'^V *or m^es- The track-

I TO ^S^^^^^H^^E^^\ -^ess resions seemed a

kJ»1 iliLM^^am^^^^^m^^^J blaze of dazzling light

^SaffilflSK " " ' What was there to

resist fi^ra^ ^y^Sp explain the fearful sound

^iiM --^^il^fiitvAs \ ka(l so shocked my

'WBsiM'^ s™jSlf^MV nervous system ? . . . .
fiNIF *«lra8^s)l^^^^ Putting on my blue

JP\ f ^SIP^^V magnifying glasses, I dis-

(jF N/*\MP x\A W tinctly made out small

AW ^ feet-tracks in the snow

• • • ' Hea^en9! • • • •
^ j -^jj^MS^f|^^ JFAai feet ? One glance

■ • \, —---more, and I had awoke to

^ it l the reality . . They were

the print of Pig's feet—

the remains of Trotters!!!

6'30— I have been peering through my telescope. Far away in the distance
I catch sight of Hebe Gbujsitz, the Learned Pig, galloping away towards the snow
range as fast as his legs will carry him ? A deserter ! Why is this ! " Boot
and spur ! " I cry. I rush to boot to ascertain if, after all, I am not deceived,
and whether it is not another pig, or a phantasmagoric pig—a pig of the
mirage—that I have seen.

No ! Alas! ! Alas ! ! ! Alas!! !!

For one hour I am overcome. I cannot even write it down in my Diary.
Wickski !

7'30.—Recovered. I make this entry : "0 miserable day ! 0 Woe! Woe!
Woe! "

(It was lucky I said this out loud, as the Horse had begun to trot off after
the Pig; only, when he heard " Woe ! Woe!" he pulled up, and stopped. It's
an ill wind that blows nobody any good.)

Let me record the fact.

On the ground before the boot I found the letters of the Alphabet thus
arranged:—

" Mouse would sing. Pig could not sleep.~* .You called Pig a bore. Mouse
hath murdered sleep. Pig hath murdered Mouse, Henceforth Pig is a
wanderer on the face of the earth."

At once I examined the hole where the Mouse used to repose.

Only the remains of a small bit of toasted cheese !

I see how it was done. Detectives of no use here. Pig evidently put cheese
out for Mouse. Mouse went out to supper, and Pig, like a second Ltjckezia
Bobgia—or, rather JBoar-gia—murdered the unhappy vocalist at the meal.
As there are no traces of the deed, it is clear that Pig ate Mouse.

Alas! alas I This breaks up the establishment. " Oh, all my pretty chicks
in one fell soup ! " How intent Shakspeabe must have been on chicken-broth
when he wrote this—if my quotation is correct.

And yet- Justice must be done. The Pig must be pursued and punished,

—yes, even though he flee to Africa, for protection among the sons of Ham I

8 a.m.—Packing up, and off. Gaoler's Daughter still asleep. Why disturb
her ? Why should her fate be linked with mine P I will leave a slip of paper,

saying, " If I am not back by four, don't expect me." I
shall not be back at four, and she will not expect me.
At least she can never say that I disappointed her. Fare-
well, 0 Gaoler's Daughter !
Away.to Khiva !

11 a.m.—Several miles on the road. Horse galloping.
Through telescope I see Pig reaching summit of distant
range. Pig's ears visible — back — curly tail — hind
trotters in air as he disappears over the mountains.-

Oh, if a thaw would only set in! Oh that these ice-
mountains would but melt! I should re-name the
locality the Melton country. It is like travelling over a
perpetual rink.

Next day. — Forced to abandon sleigh, trap, and
Tartar Boy. Told him to wait till called for. He asked
for payment, alleging that he was the sole surviving
representative, the heir and assignee of the Sleigh Driver.
Kicked him. Tartar Boy threatened to follow me on skates,
or to go back to Gladitzova and inform Russian Police
that I was a spy.

Gave Tartar Boy three roubles and a half (sorry to
part with one of them, as it was my tossing rouble, with
which I had been invariably fortunate—but this is mere
superstition), and promised to send the rest home to his
Mother. Farewell, ungrateful Boy ! Ta Ta ! Tartar
Boy! I am now alone! with the sleigh behind me
containing only the empty boot and the broken barrel-
organ, and I am bravely sticking to my word, for I am
riding postilion to Khiva.

The day after. — Still riding, thank Heavens! A
thaw!!! The mountains are disappearing! The tops of
the spires of the kromeskys in Khiva are just visible to
the spectacled eye.

Midday.—Clear view all round.

4.30. p.m.—Thaw continuing. Attic-windows of Greek
Church in Khiva visible. On ! on ! my gallant Mare !!

5 p.m.—I am suddenly aware of being followed at a
distance by a crowd of people. Through telescope I
recognise their faces. They are all persons to whom I
have, during my progress, given free admissions for the
first night of my Exhibition (with Pig & Co.) at Khiva.
What a House it will be! But how can I apologise for
the non-appearance of Hebe Geuntz ? Perhaps I may
yet come up with him. Thawing fast. No more moun-
tains ; they are thawed away! Gee up!

Last Days of my.Diary.— Shall I ever reach Khiva ?
Only a few pounds of cocoa left in my saddle-bags. No
wickski! All gone ! Cold setting in again. No money
left. Only a cheque on the Kashgar Bank.

Monday,—Came on a small village suddenly. It is
called Bokagain, The Bokagainians told me I'd better
not proceed. Dangerous. Ask them for an advance on
my Kashgar cheque. The Bokagainians informed me
they never advanced. They gave me some rice, as many
black beans as will make five white ones, and an Inland
Haddock (dried), as a symbol of amity. Rode on to
Khiva. Made some cocoa. Lost sight of pursuers.

Same Night,—Gave Horse some beans, and some

whacks. On again.

. * # * # *

Next Morning.—Horrible—too horrible ! Saw wolves
before me. Waved my hat, played barrel-organ, and
hooted. They went away slowly , . . as if after a heavy
meal .... A carcase lies in the road .... Cold Pig !
.... Alas, poor Pig! . . . Shed tears—the first I've shed
for some time . . . Poor Pig! What will thy family
say? "This Pig went to Khiva, this Pig stayed at
home," &c. He may have deserved his fate, but there
were two sides of bacon to his character. How playful
and unobjectionable was thy cheek! how brilliant thy
crackling ! how open thy countenance ! How thou
didst lick thine own pork-chops! Alas, poor Pig! I
strew thy resting-place with beans! . . . . Fortunately
the wolves have left the greater portion of his skin. On
the spot I cover my saddle with it. In-memori-ham . . .
Once more in the pigskin! ! But what will the Free
Admissionists say ?

Next Night. — Khiva at last. At a distance they
perceive me. Flags up. Fireworks. Rejoicing. Bands
of music. Rush to meet me. Affecting scene. I have

achieved my object. I have ridden to Khiva!

* * * * *

Arrived. I dismount, and ask for a bath.

They cannot give me a bath, but bring me an old Khan.

*****

Jollifications. Will they change my cheque on the