Dipping haphazard into the ancient records, we chance again on our old and gallant friend Fatteh Khan, Khuttuk; and once again we find him a man not easily taken aback in a sudden emergency.  It was towards the end of 1851 that the British Government, having undertaken the surveying and mapping out of the Peshawur Valley and Yusafzai, deputed Mr. James, of the Survey Department, to superintend a portion of the work.  For his protection during this duty, amongst a people fanatically opposed to anything in the shape of a map or a survey, a party of thirty of the Guides’ cavalry was detailed under Ressaldar Fatteh Khan.  This detachment was ordered to meet Mr. James at a small village named Gujar Garhi, about two miles from Mardan.  Here, therefore, Fatteh Khan encamped to await the Sahib’s arrival; but the day passed, the night fell, and still there were no signs of him.  Thinking that there must have been some mistake in the dates, all turned in, and the camp was soon wrapped in slumber, the silence disturbed only by the stamping and roaring of the stallions at their standings, and by the crisp alert call of the sentries as they challenged.

It was past midnight, when a sharp-eyed Pathan sentry espied mistily through the darkness what looked like a large body of mounted men approaching.  Instantly a sharp peremptory challenge rang out:  “Halt!  Who goes there?” Equally promptly floated back the answering watchword, “Friend.”  “What friend?” the sentry shouted, suspicious still.  “Sahib,” came back the disarming reply.  Whereupon the sentry, coming to the not unnatural conclusion that the long-expected Sahib had at last arrived, and that he saw before him Mr. James with a large escort, sloped his sword, and gave the usual right of way:  “Pass friend,—­all’s well.”

At this moment Fatteh Khan awoke, and hearing the word sahib, jumped up, ran out of his tent, and hastened down to the end of the camp to meet the Sahib.  He had, however, no sooner arrived there, than he at once noticed that the advancing horsemen were armed with matchlocks.  Now our own cavalry in those days carried swords and lances, but not firearms, therefore these midnight visitors could not belong to any regiments in our service.  To a man like Fatteh Khan, born to wars and alarms, who takes little for granted in daylight and nothing at night, this was sufficient to place him on his guard.  With instant presence of mind he shouted, in a voice to be heard throughout the camp:  “Rouse up everyone!  Draw swords!  The enemy are upon us!”

Scarcely had he ceased speaking when the enemy, throwing off further disguise, gave a yell and dashed at the camp, firing heavily as they rode.  But though taken at a great disadvantage, and with odds of seven to one against them, the Guides made shift to be ready for the onslaught.  There was naturally no time to get to horse, or into any regular formation, and therefore the attack had to be met on foot with sword and lance, in some hasty serviceable formation.  Fatteh Khan therefore shouted to all the non-commissioned officers, who carried lances, to dash to the front and hold the outskirts of the camp, while the rank and file who were armed with swords should fall into knots of five or six, and prepare to defend themselves.