hen I was describing that which was
beyond my own personal knowledge. I have now, however, through the
kind cooperation of friends, hit upon a plan which promises to be less
onerous to me and more satisfactory to the reader. This is nothing less
than to make use of the various manuscripts which I have by me bearing
upon the subject, and to add to them the first-hand evidence contributed
by those who had the best opportunities of knowing Major-General J. B.
Heatherstone.

In pursuance of this design I shall lay before the public the testimony
of Israel Stakes, formerly coachman at Cloomber Hall, and of
John Easterling, F.R.C.P. Edin., now practising at Stranraer, in
Wigtownshire. To these I shall add a verbatim account extracted from
the journal of the late John Berthier Heatherstone, of the events which
occurred in the Thul Valley in the autumn of '41 towards the end of
the first Afghan War, with a description of the skirmish in the Terada
defile, and of the death of the man Ghoolab Shah.

To myself I reserve the duty of filling up all the gaps and chinks which
may be left in the narrative. By this arrangement I have sunk from the
position of an author to that of a compiler, but on the other hand
my work has ceased to be a story and has expanded into a series of
affidavits.

My Father, John Hunter West, was a well known Oriental and Sanskrit
scholar, and his name is still of weight with those who are interested
in such matters. He it was who first after Sir William Jones called
attention to the great value of early Persian literature, and his
translations from the Hafiz and from Ferideddin Atar have earned the
warmest commendations from the Baron von Hammer-Purgstall, of Vienna,
and other distinguished Continental critics.

In the issue of the _Orientalisches Scienzblatt_ for January, 1861,
he is described as _"Der beruhmte und sehr gelhernte Hunter West von
Edinburgh"_--a passage which I well remember that he cut out and stowed
away, with a pardonable vanity, among the most revered family archives.

He had been brought up to be a solicitor, or Writer to the Signet, as
it is termed in Scotland, but his learned hobby absorbed so much of his
time that he had little to devote to the pursuit of his profession.

When his clients were seeking him at his chambers in George Street, he
was buried in the recesses of the Advocates' Library, or poring over
some mouldy manuscript at the Philosophical Institution, with his brai