This is the first time I have written to you from Affghanistan. Who shall say whence my letters may be directed within a few months. Are we to advance on Cabul and Candahar, and plant the Union Jack once more on the towers of Ghuznee? or are we to lie peacefully slumbering on the banks of the Indus? Are our conquests at an end? or will it be said of Lord Dalhousie—
Ultra et Garamantas et Indos
Proferet imperium?
My own belief is, that I shall live to see both the places I have mentioned, and Herât, occupied by British troops; at least, I hope so.
I think I told you how it had pleased the Governor-General to reward "my distinguished services," toils, troubles, and dangers, by kicking me out of the coach altogether. Did I not? Well, after that close to my civil duties, after having "initiated" the new Commissioner into his duties, I was sent up hither to augment recruits and train the Guides. And now daily, morning and evening, I may be seen standing on one leg to convince their Affghan mind of the plausibility and elegance of the goose step. I am quite a sergeant-major just now, and you will well believe that your wandering brother is sufficiently cosmopolized to drop with a certain "aplomb" into any line of life which may turn up in the course of his career. I was always fond of "soldiering," and there is a species of absurdity in dropping from the minister of a province into a drill-sergeant, which is enlivening. By the next mail I may have to report my transformation into some new animal. So "vive la gloire."
Peshawur, July 19th, 1849.
I hope that you got my letter about sending me books. There is a remarkable dearth of them here just now. You know it was a flying column which came on here after Goojerat, composed of regiments hurried up to the field from Bombay, Scinde, and Hindostan. They came in light marching order. Books are not a part of that style of equipment. Suddenly a Government order consigned them to Peshawur, for seven months at least,—10,000 men, with an unusually large number of Europeans and officers, and no books! Pleasant during the confinement caused by the hot season. I was better off, because, being a nomad by profession, I carry a few books as a part even of the lightest equipment, but I have read them all till I am tired, except Shakspeare. My time is pretty fully occupied, but there are dozens of regimental officers who have not an hour's work in two days, and I do pity them from my heart. Then of course there are no ladies here, and consequently no society, or réunions, (as they are called when people live together,) and people are pitched headlong on to their own resources, and find them very hard falling indeed! I have nothing personal to tell you, except that when the last mail went out I was in bed with a sharp attack of fever, which left me without strength, flesh, or appetite,—a regular blazing eastern fever, the sort of thing which burns so fast, that if it don't stop quickly, it burns you well down into the socket, and leaves you there without strength to splutter or flicker, and you go out without the satisfaction of a last flare-up at expiring. I am thankful to say I am well again now, and picking up strength fast.
They are increasing our corps of Guides to 1,000 men, so that I shall have enough on my hands, especially as our Commandant leaves almost everything to me. Sir H. Lawrence writes from Simla that I am to be appointed an Assistant Commissioner under the new Board of Administration. I was the only one of the late Assistants to the Resident who was not included at first in the new régime.