he art of war, will
be as clearly displayed as on historic fields. Only the scale of the
statistics is reduced.

A single glass of champagne imparts a feeling of exhilaration. The
nerves are braced, the imagination is agreeably stirred, the wits
become more nimble. A bottle produces a contrary effect. Excess causes
a comatose insensibility. So it is with war, and the quality of both is
best discovered by sipping.

I propose to chronicle the military operations of the Malakand Field
Force, to trace their political results, and to give, if possible, some
picture of the scenery and people of the Indian Highlands. These pages
may serve to record the actions of brave and skilful men. They may throw
a sidelight on the great drama of frontier war. They may describe an
episode in that ceaseless struggle for Empire which seems to be the
perpetual inheritance of our race. They may amuse an idle hour. But the
ambition I shall associate with them is, that in some measure, however
small, they may stimulate that growing interest which the Imperial
Democracy of England is beginning to take, in their great estates that
lie beyond the seas.

CHAPTER II: THE MALAKAND CAMPS

Ibam forte via sacra.--HORACE.

The town and cantonment of Nowshera was the base from which all the
operations of the Malakand Field Force were conducted. It is situated
on the India side of the Cabul River and is six hours by rail from Rawal
Pindi. In times of peace its garrison consists of one native cavalry
regiment, one British, and one native infantry battalion. During the
war these troops were employed at the front. The barracks became great
hospitals. The whole place was crowded with transport and military
stores; and only a slender force remained under the orders of Colonel
Schalch, the Base Commandant.

The road from Nowshera to the Malakand Pass and camps is forty-seven
miles long, and divided into four stages. Usually there is an excellent
tonga service, and the distance is covered in about six hours; but
while the Field Force was mobilised so much traffic and so many officers
passed up and down the line, that the tonga ponies were soon reduced to
a terrible condition of sores and emaciation, and could hardly drag the
journey out in nine, ten, or even twelve hours. After leaving Nowshera,
and crossing the Cabul River, a stage of fifteen miles brings the
traveller to Mardan. This place--pronounced "Merdane"--is the permanent
station