In this battalion was an Indian officer of whom also I must tell a story. Six years previously I was in command of an expedition on the North-West Frontier of India, when one day the tribesmen had gathered in force and held a very strong Pass. All arrangements were completed and our attack was just beginning when suddenly, 800 yards directly in front of my own position, a single man carrying a large white flag appeared on a knoll and deliberately began walking towards us. Had there been no firing, or had the tribesmen ceased firing, the flag would of course have been respected, but on the contrary as he advanced the Martinis of the Mohmands began to crack louder than ever, and presently casualties occurred here and there in our ranks. Of course such conduct could not be tolerated, and it appeared as if one fanatic had adopted this ruse to put us off our guard. However on came the flag, now at the double, and I do not think I exaggerate when I say scores of shots were aimed at it. The man kept tacking from side to side, appearing and disappearing in the holes and hollows and behind rocks, but remaining scatheless, until he was less than 400 yards from us, when as if from a chivalry inborn every one ceased to fire at him, and only stared at what they thought was a madman. The firing went on steadily elsewhere. At last he arrived where I was standing, and saluting delivered himself of the following speech: “General, my name is Ahmed Din, I am a native officer of the 129th Baluchis. I am on leave from my regiment. This is my home and these people on the hills are fools and do not know the power of the British Government. I ask you to cease firing and they will at once surrender. I have only one request and that is that you spare the large village just the other side of the Pass and we will pay any fine you impose.” Whatever else he was he certainly did not fear death, for he had faced it as coolly as man could do. I sounded the “Cease fire,” and in five minutes all firing had ceased and white flags floated all along the ridges and peaks. We marched over the Pass and occupied the village but every precaution was of course taken and picquets posted. Ahmed Din remained with me as a hostage and guest combined. No sooner was it dark than from every side bullets came raining into our camps, and for that form of warfare we had quite a number of men, horses, and mules hit. I told my gallant friend that if I was killed (he winced) the sepoys would certainly see that he followed suit. He took me aside and said, “Remember, General, this is not my village, mine is farther on.” “All right,” I answered, “I will burn yours to-morrow,” and he believed I would, but of course I did not.