own direct disposal, while it is equally necessary for the Commander-in-Chief in India to have a large force under his orders at Peshawar, which fronts the Khyber Pass, and is the key of our trans-Indus possessions.

Abbotabad I saw when it was in a rather lively state, there being a marriage, a death, and sundry other minor events, during my very brief stay there. It was also much exercised by a ritualistic clergyman, who availed himself of the rare occasion of a marriage to act in a manner which threw the whole small community into a state of excitement, and who insisted on the bride and bridegroom partaking of the sacrament of the Lord's Supper on the morning of their weddingday. When chaplains in India give themselves the rein, they can indulge in many curious freaks. At another Indian station which I visited, my host told me that, at an evening party at his (my host's) house, the chaplain marched his own bishop before a large cheval-glass, and asked him if he had seen the latest portrait of the gorilla? It is a pity that the good bishop had not the presence of mind to say that he recognised a resemblance in the figure standing behind him. But the Abbotabad chaplain's proceedings did little more than give a zest to the festivities connected with the marriage, which was that of a daughter of the popular officer commanding the station; but ere they came to a close, they were terribly interfered with by the death of Captain Snow, who expired suddenly from heart-disease-a malady which seems to be singularly common in the north of India-almost immediately after returning to his bungalow from the com

munion service which the chaplain had insisted on holding on the morning of the marriage-day. He left a young widow; and I have since noticed that other members of those Abbotabad parties who were full of life and humour, and distinguished by more graceful charms, have unexpectedly passed away.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE FIGHTING VILLAGE OF KUBBUL.

DANGERS OF THE AFGHAN BORDER-SENDING FINGERS IN OFFICIAL LETTERS-TORBELA-THE HERO OF A NIGHT ATTACK-VISIT A FIGHTING AFGHAN VILLAGE-AFGHAN AFFECTION FOR MURDERERS -USE OF THE KNIFE-THE SITANA FANATICS-THE RIVER INDUS.

FROM Abbotabad I proceeded in three easy marches to Torbela, where the dangerous part of the frontier commences. Up to Torbela I had only a couple of sowars, or native horse-soldiers, with me; but from the Indus on to the fort of Hoti Mardán, I was guarded with as much care as if I were three viceroys rolled into one. As a matter of convenience, even a single sowar riding behind one is a nuisance to a meditative traveller, especially when the M.T. is suffering from rheumatism in the back, which makes riding painful to him; and I would gladly have dispensed with the escorts which were provided for me. It is not usual to allow any Englishmen, except officers on duty, to go along this part of the frontier, which touches on the territory of the Akoond of Swat; and I was enabled to do so only by the special permission of the Viceroy and the Commander-in-Chief. The border authorities were thus responsible for my safety, and

they took care to see that no harm befell me from the wild tribes of the mountains round the base of which I skirted. The reason of this anxiety was thus explained to me by a humorous officer: "Do not suppose," he said, "that the Panjáb authorities mean to do you any special honour; they probably wish you far enough. The case is this: if the hillmen get hold of you-and they would be very likely to make a dash at you over the border if you went unprotected-they would carry you up into the mountains, and would then write to the Panjab Government offering to exchange you against some of their own budmashes which we have in prison. The Government would probably take no notice of this communication; and, after the lapse of a little time, there would come down a second letter from the Swat hillmen, repeating the proposal, and containing the first joint of your little finger. The next day another -letter would come with the second joint. Now, you see, it would be extremely unpleasant for the Panjáb Government to be receiving joints of your fingers, day after day, in official letters."

Torbela is a village, or rather a congeries of small villages, and a large fortified police Thána on our side of the Indus. Opposite to it, and divided from this extreme corner of our territory by the river, there is the wild mountain Afghan district of Búnnair; and immediately opposite Torbela there is the fighting village of Kubbul or Kabal, chock-full of murderers and other fugitives from British justice; while three miles farther up, also on the right bank of the Indus, there is Sitana, for long famous as the headquarters of the Wahábhi and other fanatics, who kept up an agitation in India for a jehad, or holy war, and are supposed by

some to have instigated the assassination of Lord Mayo and of Mr Justice Norman.

It occurred to me very forcibly here that now or never was my chance of crossing the border and seeing an Afghan village in its primitive simplicity. The British Government does not allow its subjects to cross the border, owing to the above-mentioned accident which may happen to their fingers; but I thought there could be nothing wrong in my crossing to a village which was in sight of our own territory, and could easily be destroyed. The next day I was to be handed over to the guards of the Yusufzai district; and, meanwhile, had only to deal with the native Thánadar in command of the armed police. That functionary, however, would not countenance any such proposal, and told me that Kubbul was a particularly bad place to go to; that a few nights before it had come over and attacked one of the villages on his side. of the Indus, and that, at the moment, it was fighting within itself.

This looked bad; but fortunately, a few minutes after, one of my servants came up to the roof of the Thána on which I was sitting, and told me a curious story about the Jemadar, the second in command. That hero had once been in this or some other police Thána in which a considerable sum of money was lying, when it was attacked at night by a number of Afghans from beyond the border. Judging the attacking force to be overpowering, the Thánadar and his police fled, probably no resistance being made to that, as the money was the object of the raid; but old Hagan, as I shall call the Jemadar after the hero of the Nibelungen Lied" who fought a similar fight, but in

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