The explanation of the picture is this. In the days when Raja Maun of Amber put his sword at Akbar’s service and won for him great kingdoms, Akbar sent an army against Mewar, whose then ruler was Pertap Singh, most famous of all the princes of Mewar. Selim, Akbar’s son, led the army of the Toork; the Rajputs met them at the pass of Huldighat and fought till one-half of their bands were slain. Once, in the press of battle, Pertap, on his great horse, “Chytak,” came within striking distance of Selim’s elephant, and slew the _mahout_, but Selim escaped, to become Jehangir afterwards, and the Rajputs were broken. That was three hundred years ago, and men have reduced the picture to a sort of diagram that the painter dashes in, in a few minutes, without, it would seem, knowing what he is commemorating. Elsewhere, the story is drawn in line even more roughly. Thinking of these things, the Englishman made shift to get at the City, and presently came to a tall gate, the gate of the Sun, on which the elephant-spikes, that he had seen rotted with rust at Amber, were new and pointed and effective. The City gates are said to be shut at night, and there is a story of a Viceroy’s Guard-of-Honour which arrived before daybreak, being compelled to crawl ignominiously man by man through a little wicket gate, while the horses had to wait without till sunrise. But a civilised yearning for the utmost advantages of octroi, and not a fierce fear of robbery and wrong, is at the bottom of the continuance of this custom. The walls of the City are loopholed for musketry, but there seem to be no mountings for guns, and the moat without the walls is dry and gives cattle pasture. Coarse rubble in concrete faced with stone, makes the walls moderately strong.