With the Connaught Rangers

by Edward Herbert Maxwell

The most noteable event which occurred when we were at that station was the visit of the Ameer of Cabul, on his way to Umballa to meet Lord Mayo. The whole division paraded to do him honour, and, as I commanded a brigade, I had a good view of this treacherous man. Certainly his appearance was very noble and soldier-like. He rode with the general and staff in front of our line, mounted on a high-bred Turcoman mare. I was so taken up looking at this perfect animal, that I had no eyes for the rider; but I saw him often afterwards, and my remembrance of Shere Ali is not that of an artful deceiver, but more of a frank, jolly soldier. But at that time he was full of hope that our government would stand by him, and his heart must have beat with pleasure when he looked on the bronzed warriors of Britain as they were in those days. Besides, he must have felt elated when he saw not only the chivalry of India assembled to do him honour, but all the civilians, men and women, crowding to get a sight of him.

My wife rode to the parade, but when she got to the ground the crowd was so great that she dismounted from her nag and got into the howdah on the back of an elephant, which sapient animal knelt down to allow her to ascend the ladder, the only way to get up. As she had begun the morning on horseback, she was dressed in a riding-habit, and had on her head a tall hat. When the parade was over, and the regiments were still formed up, Shere Ali rode away, and, passing the elephant on which my wife was seated, seemed rather perplexed at her dress, and evidently asked for an explanation. But before the Ameer returned to his country he saw many things more astonishing than a lady in a riding-habit.

During our stay at Peshawur, Bishop Milman, who was beloved by everyone, visited the station. The greatest regret was expressed when very soon after his visit to us he was drowned, having fallen into the river when going up a slippery plank which had been placed to enable him to go on board a steamer. My remembrance of this good man is, that he was very stout, had a deep voice, and preached a most impressive sermon on the text ‘Redeem the time.’

I mention all this to show how utterly absurd was the statement made about him by a fraudulent mess-man. A regiment quartered near us invited the bishop to dinner, an invitation which he accepted. It appears that the mess sergeant had been for some time suspected of not being very honest in his charges, and he was watched by one of the mess committee. The day after the bishop had dined at the mess the accounts were overhauled, and the enormous number of twenty glasses of brandy and soda were charged against the mess guests.

‘This is impossible,’ said the officer making the inquiry, ‘the number is too great.’

‘Not at all, sir,’ said the mess sergeant, ‘the bishop alone had fourteen tumblers!’

We passed a very pleasant time at Peshawur, and regretted when the order came for us to move to Nowshera. Peshawur is situated on the River Bara, and is twelve miles from the Khyber Pass. The cantonments are on a ridge at a higher elevation than the town, which is very unhealthy. Cholera and fever commit great havoc there, and yet it is a fair place to look upon, with its gardens and green trees, and curiously-shaped bungalows built of mud, as earthquakes are very common during the cold weather, and the houses formed of mud consolidated in a wooden frame are less dangerous than stone-built edifices.

Peshawur cantonments suffer not only from fever, but from the occasional inroads of robbers, who are very clever at their trade, and steal horses in a wonderful manner. To save himself from their attacks, a kind of black-mail is paid by every person who is head of a house, and who desires security. This monthly tax is given to men called ‘chokedars,’ and the recipients of the money belong to the hill tribes that guard the Khyber Pass; magnificent men and true as steel—so long as you pay them. They dress in a most picturesque costume, and are armed with several weapons, one of which is generally a blunderbuss. They march round your house all night, shouting at intervals, ‘Khu-bardar!’ (take care), a signal to their brother robbers that the sahib round whose house they are watching has paid the black-mail. The man in my service, a very handsome fellow, was always at his post; and I admired my brigand very much. One day he asked for leave, and, after bringing a friend of his to take his duty in his absence, he entered into a long story to my bearer, who, when I asked him why my chokedar wished leave, gave me the information desired in the following few words: ‘Your highness,’ said the bearer, with his hands clasped, ‘this man wishes to go and murder his mother.’ Of course, on learning that he was going on such a praiseworthy errand, I gave him his congê, and I never saw him again.

We were much commiserated when our turn for being quartered at Nowshera came round; but somehow we got on very well. Polo became a great institution, and we fraternised well with the cavalry and native regiments we found there. The Guides, at Murdan, a march across the river from Nowshera, always made any of us who visited them more than welcome. So, what with excursions to Peshawur, and occasional visits of friends passing up and down the Grand Trunk road, time passed pleasantly enough.

Nowshera is one of the hottest stations in the Punjaub—surrounded as it is by sandy hills—and when we first went to it there were no trees. Many hundreds were planted under my rule, and I am always gratified to hear that there is quite an avenue now from the barracks to the church. Camels are the great enemies of trees. Carefully as the young growth may be guarded, a long neck suddenly protrudes from the line of moving animals, and the top of a tree is nipped off, and its future beauty spoiled. But camels are not the only enemies trees may have; for, at my old home at Monreith, in Scotland, when this century was young, my father was possessed of many race-horses, one of which won the Leger. The stables are at some distance from the house, and my grandfather had planted several trees, which have grown up with forked tops. This unfortunate disfigurement was caused by the jockeys, on their way to the stables, flicking off the tops of the young trees with their riding whips; at least, so the old people at home say.