Francis Worcester Doughty
Mirrikh, or, A Woman from Mars
Published by Good Press, 2020
EAN 4064066066680
Table of Contents
STORM BOUND IN THE OLD STONE TOWER
A DRY DISCOURSE ON MARRIAGE AND OTHER THINGS
"BEHOLD, I SHOW YOU A MYSTERY!"
PANOMPIN
MIRRIKH.
BOOK I.
LEVITATION.
CHAPTER I.
PANOMPIN.
In 1870 I was at Panompin.
But for this—and it was only by accident that I chanced to be there—my part in the singular adventures which I am about to narrate would never have been played.
Not that there existed any reason why I should not be at Panompin in the year mentioned; still it seemed strange to be wandering alone about the streets of the Cambodian capital free from all responsibility, when only two short months before I had been loaded down with a burden of care which promised to be never-ending, and I would just as soon have thought then of going to the moon.
Permit me before proceeding any further to introduce myself.
I am George Wylde, ex-American Consul at Swatow. The addition of the prefix to my official title was purely of my own seeking. I felt that I had seen enough of Swatow, and of China too, for that matter. I resigned simply because I wanted to get away.
My reasons—well, I suppose they must be stated, and I may as well undertake the disagreeable task first as last. I had trouble with my wife, serious trouble which had been constantly increasing during the five years of our married life. This trouble had culminated in a way that would have wrecked the lives of most men. My wife appropriated as much of my personal property as she could readily lay her hands upon, and in company with an English adventurer left Swatow for parts unknown.
Thank God there were no motherless children left behind her, our only offspring had been taken from us before we left New York.
How she wept on that cold October afternoon when we laid the little fellow in Greenwood! How she clung to me, how—but there, I have no more to say about it. When she went I swore that I would tear her image alike from my heart and memory—that I would never raise my finger to find her. I simply let her go.
It was getting dark when I returned from my spin on the Mesap that evening, and in Cambodia the twilight does not last long. I remember I had considerable difficulty in making my way among the mass of native boats which lined the shore, and was not a little preplexed to find the particular float from which I had started, for the low, bamboo huts, with their sloping roofs of thatch all looked alike to my unaccustomed eyes, and it was difficult to tell one from the other. At last, however, I found it, and making fast, leaped ashore.
Lighting a cheroot I drew on my coat and soon found myself strolling leisurely along the principal street of Panompin, elbowed by Chinamen, Klings, Siamese, all easily distinguishable from the native Cambodians by their peculiar costumes and facial distinctions. I was intent upon my thoughts, which concerned chiefly the contents of the windows