nteresting volume on Bannu. Often, he says, when sitting in his court
he would be puzzled by the lying of the parties in the suit before him,
and in despair would give the disputants "a few minutes' freedom of
tongue." Then he would be amused by hearing one of them saying, "Turn
your back to the sahib, and let him see it still wealed with the
whipping Nikalseyn gave you!" Whereupon the other would retort, "You
need not talk, for your back is well scored also!"

Of the nature of the people with whom he had to deal Nicholson once
told a story which is grimly characteristic. A little Waziri boy
having been brought before him on a charge of poisoning food, he asked
the young culprit if he knew that it was wrong to kill people. The boy
acknowledged that it was wrong to kill with a knife or a sword. "But
why?" persisted Nicholson. "Because," was the prompt answer, "_the
blood leaves marks!_"

Towards the end of his stay in Bannu Nicholson had a narrow escape from
assassination at the hands of a fanatic. The story may be best told in
his own words, as he described the incident in a letter to Herbert
Edwardes.

"I was standing at the gate of my garden at noon," he wrote on the 21st
of January 1856, "with Sladen and Cadell, and four or five chuprassies"
(native orderlies), "when a man with a sword rushed suddenly up and
called out for me. I had on a long fur pelisse of native make, which I
fancy prevented his recognising me at first. This gave time for the
only chuprassie who had a sword to get between us, to whom he called
out contemptuously to stand aside, saying he had come to kill me and
did not want to hurt a common soldier. The relief sentry for the one
in front of my house happening to pass opportunely behind me at this
time, I snatched his musket, and, presenting it at the would-be
assassin, told him I would fire if he did not put down his sword and
surrender. He replied that either he or I must die; so I had no
alternative, and shot him through the heart, the ball passing through a
religious book which he had tied on his chest, apparently as a charm.

"The poor wretch turns out to be a Marwati, who has been religiously
mad for some time. He disposed of all his property in charity the day
before he set out for Bannu. I am sorry to say that his spiritual
instructor has disappeared mysteriously, and, I am afraid, got into the
hills. I believe I owe my safety to the fur _chogah_, for I should
have been he