Dalimkote, a few miles from the plains, was only formidable owing to its almost inaccessible position; and our troops engaged in its capture had to climb the steep sides of the mountain, by tortuous and narrow paths, and through thick jungles. In fact, the whole neighbourhood was a mass of dense forest and luxurious undergrowth. The officers and men of a battery of artillery had managed with difficulty to carry a small mortar up the hill-side with a view to a short bombardment, preceding assault. Hardly had it been brought into action near the entrance gate than by some unfortunate accident a barrel of gunpowder exploded, killing Captain Griffin, R.A.,[72] both his lieutenants, and six gunners, besides wounding several others. The small garrison, however, did not wait for an assault, but bolted, and the fort fell into our hands. Our columns had not penetrated for any great distance into the country, still the occupation of three important passes not only prevented the Booteas from plundering, but also put a stop to their commerce, which, though comparatively trifling in amount, proved a great blow to these isolated mountaineers; so that, after many attempts at evasion, towards the end of 1865 they were prepared to come to terms. Being desirous of visiting a part of the country so little known, and of so much interest at the time, I left Calcutta in January, made a rapid journey of about 400 miles due north to Darjeeling, and from that hill station started on an expedition for a fortnight along the Bootan frontier, returning by a voyage down the river Brahmapootra. The first part of the journey from Calcutta to the Ganges was by rail; and having crossed the river to Caragola, I was then carried by coolies in a palanquin, a sort of elongated bandbox, for 120 miles to the foot of the mountains, not meeting a single Englishman during the journey. The country was perfectly flat, and at night a native walked in front with a lighted torch, in order, so it was stated, to scare away the tigers. The coolies as they carried me along sometimes broke out into a low monotonous chant, occasionally varied by a dismal moaning chorus. I tried to ascertain the burden of their song, and found that it was myself, and that the coolie refrain was somewhat as follows: 'This is a heavy man. Oh! what a fat man,' and so on. Colonel Bourchier, R.A.,[73] joined me in the 'Terai,' a narrow belt of marshy forest lying at the foot of the slopes; and then, on a couple of mules, we ascended the Himalayas to Darjeeling. Not being encumbered with any baggage to speak of, our arrangements for the expedition were simple. Leaving Darjeeling, we rode due East for about twenty miles, and by a gradual descent reached the banks of the Teesta, a rapid river about 100 yards wide, remaining for the night in the hut of a young officer who, with a picket of native troops, was in charge of this corner of the frontier. The scenery was charming, and we met occasional parties