We were all up early on the morning of the 23rd. The durbar was fixed to take place at eight, and the rooms had to be prepared for the ceremony. But when eight o’clock came, it brought only a message from the palace, saying that the Jubraj was too ill to leave his house, and therefore the regent had not come; so the red cloth arranged for his reception was put away, and a consultation took place between the Chief and my husband as to what the next move should be. It was decided to make one last attempt to get the princes to attend, and then if that failed, other measures were to be resorted to. But twelve o’clock brought no better results, and about four my husband was sent to the palace to see the Jubraj, and convey to him personally the orders of the Government, and use all his influence to persuade the prince to give himself up quietly, telling him at the same time that the proposed banishment was not to last for ever, but that it would depend chiefly on his good behaviour, and eventually, at the death of his brother, the regent, he (the Jubraj) would be allowed to return to Manipur, and ascend the throne as Maharajah. It was a veritable hornets’ nest into which my husband ventured that afternoon, accompanied only by his friend Mr. Simpson. He would not take even a single orderly with him, knowing in what an excited state the whole palace was at that time. It was crowded with Sepoys, collected, the regent told him, for the review which we had desired to witness. I got very anxious about them both when more than an hour had passed and they had not returned, but when my husband did come back I knew at a glance that his mission had failed. He said the Jubraj was certainly very unwell. He had had some difficulty at first in persuading the prince to come and see him at all, but after finding out from his people that the two Sahibs had come quite alone, the Jubraj had himself carried down to see them in a litter. The exertion caused him to faint, and my husband said that there was no doubt as to his illness, and that he found him in high fever. Shortly before this visit to the palace took place, Mr. Melville started off on the first stage of his journey to Kohima. He intended travelling as far as Sengmai that day, a distance of ten miles. My husband tried to make him reconsider his decision to go, and I added my persuasions to his. We did not like the look of things at all, and how matters would end was, to say the least, very uncertain.