Sir Neville Chamberlain's force was about ten miles distant on the heights of the Mahabun, whose ridges run up to 8,000 feet. Our instructions were urgent, and we were very anxious to be off. Probyn, however, whose troops were patrolling the frontier, pointed out that the communications were uncertain, and that the road, such as it was, was only opened occasionally by armed convoys taking up food and munitions to the front. However, as delay was unadvisable, after considering the matter, he said: 'You can, if you like, go up with the "catch-em-alive-ohs."' I inquired who these interesting people were, and his reply was that they were Afghans--in fact, the same people we were fighting against; but he added that these were friendly and in our pay, and would take care of us. He had them paraded for our inspection. These 'catch-em-alive-ohs' were a rough, handsome, picturesque lot of fellows, armed with old matchlocks, shields, and short knives, and seemed very good-natured and friendly; so, in default of better, we determined on accepting their escort, and away we went, accompanied by the Reverend Mr. Cowie, afterwards Bishop of New Zealand. The mountain was steep and rugged, and the route a mere goat path, so that our progress was slow. After climbing for some miles, we suddenly observed a large number of people on a high, distant ridge, but whether friends or enemies was not so certain. The body of a native just killed was lying in the path. At that moment a messenger ran up bringing me a small note in pencil, and reading it hastily I made it out to be 'the road is _now_ safe, push on as fast as you can.' This was satisfactory, but on looking more carefully we found the message really was, 'the road is _not_ safe, push on,' &c. This rather altered the conditions; but fortunately the men we had observed on the heights were a party of Goorkas, and the note was from the officer in command, who was looking out for us, so that our journey soon came to an end, and we arrived safely in camp.