How sad it is that, in a country ’where every prospect pleases, only man’ should be ‘vile’!  And man, as he existed in Kashmir, was vile—­vile, because so miserable.  The Mahomedan inhabitants were being ground down by Hindu rulers, who seized all their earnings, leaving them barely sufficient to keep body and soul together.  What interest could such people have in cultivating their land, or doing any work beyond what was necessary to mere existence?  However hard they might labour, their efforts would benefit neither themselves nor their children, and so their only thought was to get through life with as little exertion as possible—­in the summer sitting in the sun absolutely idle the greater part of the day, and in the winter wrapped up in their blankets, under which were concealed curious little vessels called kangris, holding two or three bits of live charcoal.  Every Kashmiri still carries one of these kangris, as the most economical way of keeping himself warm.

Early in September we said good-bye to the happy valley and returned to Peshawar, where I rejoined the Mountain Battery.

In November, to my great delight, I was given my jacket.  At first my happiness was somewhat damped by the fact that the troop to which I was posted was stationed at Umballa.  I did not want to leave Peshawar, and in the end I had not to do so, as a vacancy most opportunely occurred in one of the troops of Horse Artillery at that station, which was given to me.

Life on the frontier in those days had a great charm for most young men; there was always something of interest going on; military expeditions were constantly taking place, or being speculated upon, and one lived in hope of being amongst those chosen for active service.  Peshawar, too, notwithstanding its unhealthiness, was a favourite station with officers.  To me it was particularly pleasant, for it had the largest force of Artillery of any station in India except Meerut; the mess was a good one, and was composed of as nice a set of fellows as were to be found in the army.  In addition to the officers of the regiment, there were a certain number of honorary members; all the staff and civilians belonged to the Artillery mess, and on guest-nights we sat down as many as sixty to dinner.  Another attraction was the ‘coffee shop,’ an institution which has now almost ceased to exist, at which we all congregated after morning parade and freely discussed the home and local news.

The troop to which I was posted was composed of a magnificent body of men, nearly all Irishmen, most of whom could have lifted me up with one hand.  They were fine riders, and needed to be so, for the stud-horses used for Artillery purposes at that time were not the quiet, well-broken animals of the present day.  I used to try my hand at riding them all in turn, and thus learnt to understand and appreciate the amount of nerve, patience, and skill necessary to the making of a good Horse Artillery ‘driver,’ with the additional advantage that I was brought into constant contact with the men.  It also qualified me to ride in the officers’ team for the regimental brake.  The brake, it must be understood, was drawn by six horses, each ridden postilion fashion by an officer.