Showing posts with label James Brooke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label James Brooke. Show all posts

Friday, 14 September 2012

He will surely do



      They were the kind of words you’d expect to hear from a Brooke or a Custer, spoken with a heroic flourish and a fist on a table. Napier said them with all the fervour of a man reading a railway time-table . . . but I thought, farewell and adieu, Brother Theodore, your goose is cooked; this quiet old buffer with the dreary whiskers may not shout the odds, but what he says he will surely do.


Flashman on the March, pp.53-4, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Wednesday, 14 March 2012

Bright-eyed excitement



“Sign of nerves, Starnberg. You just want wish it was over and done with.”
      It didn't deflate him a bit. “Nerves yourself!” scoffs he. “If you mean I'm lookin' forward to it, you're right.” I believed him for I'd seen the same bright-eyed excitement at the prospect of slaughter in idiots like Brooke and Custer, and it's the last thing you need when your own fears are gullet-high.


Flashman and the Tiger, p.122, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Wednesday, 25 August 2010

Half the art



      If half the art of survival is running, the other half is keeping a straight face. I can’t count the number of times my fate has depended on my response to some unexpected and abominable proposal—like the night Yakub Beg suggested I join a suicidal attempt to scupper some Russian ammunition ships, or Sapten’s jolly notion about swimming naked into a Gothic castle full of Bismark’s thugs, or Brooke’s command to me to lead a charge against a headhunter’s stockade. Jesu, the times we have seen.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.43, Pan Books edition, 1983.

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Monday, 21 June 2010

Club members



      I’d never seen this before, although I’ve seen it more times than I care to count since – one man, mad as a hatter and drunk with pride, sweeping sane heads away against their better judgement. Chinese Gordon could do it, and Yakub Beg the Kirghiz; so could J.E.B. Stuart, and that almighty maniac George Custer. They and Brooke could have formed a club.


Flashman's Lady, p.139, Pan edition, 1979.



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Thursday, 17 June 2010

Lecturing interminably



…conversation consisted of Brooke lecturing interminably; like most active men. he had all the makings of a thoroughgoing bore.




Flashman's Lady, p.135, Pan edition, 1979.




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Monday, 14 June 2010

Pirates and roses




Well. well, thinks I, who’d have thought it: the mad pirate-killer and rose-fancier, spoony on Angie Coutts’s picture – I’ll bet that every time he contemplates it the local Dyak lasses have to scamper for cover.



Flashman's Lady, p.133, Pan edition, 1979.



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Wednesday, 9 June 2010

The White Rajah



      ‘Hold on, though – what can he do, if even the navy’s powerless?’
      ‘He’s J.B.,’ says Stuart, simply, with that drunk, smug look you see on a child’s face when his father mends a toy.

Flashman's Lady, pp.127-28, Pan edition, 1979.



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