Shortly before his departure, an incident occurred which I will relate for the benefit of psychological students; they may, perhaps, be able to explain it, I never could.  My father had some time before issued invitations for a dance which was to take place in two days’ time—­on Monday, the 17th October, 1853.  On the Saturday morning he appeared disturbed and unhappy, and during breakfast he was silent and despondent—­very different from his usual bright and cheery self.  On my questioning him as to the cause, he told me he had had an unpleasant dream—­one which he had dreamt several times before, and which had always been followed by the death of a near relation.  As the day advanced, in spite of my efforts to cheer him, he became more and more depressed, and even said he should like to put off the dance.  I dissuaded him from taking this step for the time being; but that night he had the same dream again, and the next morning he insisted on the dance being postponed.  It seemed to me rather absurd to have to disappoint our friends because of a dream; there was, however, nothing for it but to carry out my father’s wishes, and intimation was accordingly sent to the invited guests.  The following morning the post brought news of the sudden death of the half-sister at Lahore with whom I had stayed on my way to Peshawar.

As my father was really very unwell, it was not thought advisable for him to travel alone, so it was arranged that I should accompany him to Rawal Pindi.  We started from Peshawar on the 27th November, and drove as far as Nowshera.  The next day we went on to Attock.  I found the invalid had benefited so much by the change that it was quite safe for him to continue the journey alone, and I consented the more readily to leave him, as I was anxious to get back to my battery, which had been ordered on service, and was then with the force assembled at Bazidkhel for an expedition against the Bori villages of the Jowaki Afridis.

Having said farewell to my father, I started for Bazidkhel early on the 29th November.  At that time there was no direct road to that place from Nowshera, nor was it considered safe to travel alone along the slopes of the lower Afridi hills.  I had, therefore, to go all the way back to Peshawar to get to my destination.  I rode as fast as relays of horses could carry me, in the hope that I should reach Bazidkhel in time for the fun; but soon after passing Nowshera I heard guns in the direction of the Kohat Pass, and realized that I should be too late.  I was very disappointed at missing this, my first chance of active service, and not accompanying the newly raised Mountain Train (as it was then called) on the first occasion of its being employed in the field.