day's
service and pay, so I took care to join early the following morning.

A few years before, Dum-Dum had been a large military station, but
the annexation of the Punjab, and the necessity for maintaining
a considerable force in northern India, had greatly reduced the
garrison. Even the small force that remained had embarked for Burma
before my arrival, so that, instead of a large, cheery mess party, to
which I had been looking forward, I sat down to dinner with only one
other subaltern.

No time was lost in appointing me to a Native Field Battery, and I
was put through the usual laboratory course as a commencement to my
duties. The life was dull in the extreme, the only variety being an
occasional week in Fort William, where my sole duty was to superintend
the firing of salutes. Nor was there much in my surroundings to
compensate for the prosaic nature of my work. Fort William was not
then what it has since become--one of the healthiest stations
in India. Quite the contrary. The men were crowded into small
badly-ventilated buildings, and the sanitary arrangements were as
deplorable as the state of the water supply. The only efficient
scavengers were the huge birds of prey called adjutants, and so
great was the dependence placed upon the exertions of these unclean
creatures, that the young cadets were warned that any injury done to
them would be treated as gross misconduct. The inevitable result of
this state of affairs was endemic sickness, and a death-rate of over
ten per cent. per annum.[1]

Calcutta outside the Fort was but a dreary place to fall back upon. It
was wretchedly lighted by smoky oil-lamps set at very rare intervals.
The slow and cumbrous palankin was the ordinary means of conveyance,
and, as far as I was concerned, the vaunted hospitality of the
Anglo-Indian was conspicuous by its absence.

I must confess I was disappointed at being left so completely to
myself, especially by the senior military officers, many of whom were
personally known to my father, who had, I was aware, written to some
of them on my behalf. Under these circumstances, I think it is hardly
to be wondered at that I became terribly home-sick, and convinced
that I could never be happy in India. Worst of all, the prospects of
promotion seemed absolutely hopeless; I was a supernumerary Second
Lieutenant, and nearly every officer in the list of the Bengal
Artillery had served over fifteen years as a subaltern. This
stagnation exten