The trial lasted two days and ended in a verdict of guilty. But in accordance with military law it was not announced at the time, as the whole of the proceedings of the court had to be first carefully scrutinised at army headquarters; so that if any illegality had been committed, or the verdict was not justified by the evidence, the case could be quashed and a fresh trial ordered. But in due course the decision of the court martial and the sentence of "Death by hanging" were published. But long before this I had left Calcutta with my party and returned to Buxa, Farid Khan remaining a prisoner in Fort William. His father and a brother came across India from Rajputana to visit him; and, probably acting on their advice, he appealed for mercy to the Viceroy. But his appeal was rejected. One night at eleven o'clock the adjutant of the regiment which had him in charge was handed a telegram to that effect and informing him that the prisoner was to be hanged next morning at eight o'clock. The officer went at once to the condemned man's cell. Farid Khan was asleep. The adjutant woke him up and said: "You are to die to-morrow morning." "Very well, Sahib," was the unconcerned reply; and the prisoner lay down again and was asleep before the adjutant had quitted the cell. I had feared that Farid Khan would be sent back to Buxa Duar, so that the execution could be carried out in presence of his comrades. But the last act of the tragedy took place in the courtyard of the civil jail in Calcutta. Detachments of all the regiments, British and Indian, in that city were formed up in front of the gallows. When the condemned man was marched into the courtyard, the adjutant asked if he had any last request to make. "Yes, Sahib," he replied. "I want to know how many men you have told off to bury me." "Two," said the officer. "That is not enough, Sahib; I should like eight." "Very well, you will have them." "Thank you, Sahib," replied the condemned man cheerfully. Then with a firm step he mounted the scaffold. As the rope was adjusted round his neck, he looked down at the adjutant and called out to him with a smile: "Salaam, Sahib. Good-bye." They were his last words. CHAPTER XIII IN AN INDIAN HILL STATION