When encamped at Agra, under the outer flap of my tent, two unfortunate natives lay down and died during the night, only the canvas walls between them and us. Mercifully, the present outbreak was a slight one. But, when we could get away, there was not time left, during the leave season, for our journey to Cashmere, so we contented ourselves with a visit to Murree, the sanitorium of this district. No one who has not experienced real hot weather in the plains, can understand what Indian heat is. It means darkness, for one thing, as every ray of light is carefully excluded. In our darkened house at Pindee, with every precaution taken, for a fortnight the thermometer never varied, night and day, from 99°. But, oh, the joy of the first rain! When doors and windows were thrown open, and we once again saw each other! Rawul Pindee was a very hospitable place. I remember dining with one of the civilians. It was a very grand party. Everything went off charmingly. The soup was hot, the champagne well iced, and the inevitable tinned salmon, with Tartare sauce, was in abundance. As I observed that those who took salad tasted it, and left it alone, I took none. Next day my wife called on our hostess, and found her nearly in tears. ‘Oh, Mrs. Maxwell,’ she exclaimed, in horrified accents, ‘can you believe it? The khansama made the salad with castor oil!’ We were quartered a year at Rawul Pindee, and then received orders to march to Peshawur. We remained twelve months at Peshawur, and although there was a good deal of fever, yet we did not suffer so much as the 42nd Royal Highlanders, whom we relieved, had done. During the time they were quartered there that unfortunate regiment was decimated by cholera and fever. Not only did they lose many men, but their pipers nearly all succumbed. The most noteable event which occurred when we were at that station was the visit of the Ameer of Cabul, on his way to Umballa to meet Lord Mayo. The whole division paraded to do him honour, and, as I commanded a brigade, I had a good view of this treacherous man. Certainly his appearance was very noble and soldier-like. He rode with the general and staff in front of our line, mounted on a high-bred Turcoman mare. I was so taken up looking at this perfect animal, that I had no eyes for the rider; but I saw him often afterwards, and my remembrance of Shere Ali is not that of an artful deceiver, but more of a frank, jolly soldier. But at that time he was full of hope that our government would stand by him, and his heart must have beat with pleasure when he looked on the bronzed warriors of Britain as they were in those days. Besides, he must have felt elated when he saw not only the chivalry of India assembled to do him honour, but all the civilians, men and women, crowding to get a sight of him.