perfectly temperate, a merrier party never assembled.
About one o'clock we broke up, every one going
to his respective employment or amusement. I
remained an hour behind the rest, and smoked an
extra cheroot with my old schoolfellow. He spoke
of his mother and sisters far away in a pleasant
rectory of Lincolnshire, and read me part of a
letter he had that morning received from his
father, the rector, who seemed to be, and justly
so, very proud of his only boy. It is now
twenty-five long years since I sat, and smoked
that cigar with my young friend, but I remember
every incident of the hour as if it had been
yesterday. I was a young man—a mere lad—
just entering life, and how many milestones on
the road through this world have I not passed
since then? I remember how he broke off rather
suddenly, saying he was very sleepy, and would
like to take a snooze before evening stables.
"Mind you sit next me to-night at mess, old
fellow," were his parting words, "and I'll tell
you all about how we killed the last boar."

I walked home to my own tent, and wishing as
I went that the time would come when, being
"dismissed" from riding-school and drill, I
should be able to obtain leave of absence and go
out on shooting expeditions as my friend Charlie
Johnsone did. On reaching my tent, I pulled off
coat and waistcoat and lay down, and, feeling very
sleepy, told my servant not to let any one
disturb me, but to be sure to call me when the first,
or warning, trumpet for stables sounded.

About five o'clock I awoke, and was
surprised to see that, instead of the ordinary
frock-coat white overalls and forage-cap in
which we went to stables every day, my full-
dress was laid out on a couple of chairs, and my
bâtman, or dragoon servant—himself being clad
as if for parade in the scarlet bob-tailed coatee
which in those days was our full dress—busy in
the verandah polishing up my sword. "What's
the matter, Wilson?" said I; "why have you
got your full dress on?" "Oh, sir," he said,
"there's a full dress parade at six o'clock, for
Mr. Johnsone's funeral."I could hardly
believe my ears. "Mr. Johnsone's funeral!" I
exclaimed, half asleep and half stupified; "what
do you mean?" "Oh, sir," replied the man,
"poor Mr. Johnsone died this afternoon from
cholera, and his funeral is ordered for six
o'clock; here are the orders." As he said this,
the orderly corporal of my troop brought me the
order-book, in which I read: "The
Lieutenant-Colonel Commanding regrets very much
to announce the sudden death of Cornet Johnsone,
which took place this afternoon from
an attack of cholera. The regiment will parade
in full-dress, with side-arms, at six o'clock, to
escort the remains of this officer to the grave.
A firing party of twenty-five men from F
troop will parade, under command of Cornet
Williams, at a quarter before six, and will be
marched to the tent of the deceased officer."

To read the wording of the order distinctly
was impossible, so utterly bewildered did I feel
at this most unexpected occurrence. I had just
time to dress and reach the parade-ground before
the men fell into the ranks, and so had no time
to speak to any of my brother-officers until the
funeral was over.

It appeared that poor Johnsone had slept
for about half an hour, then called his native
servant and asked him to go for the doctor,
as he felt very unwell. The servant saw at
once what was the matter, and ran to the
tent of the regimental surgeon, who in five
minutes was by his patient's bedside. But
although everything that could be done was
tried—the surgeon had been many years in India,
and had seen many hundred cases of cholera—
nothing was of any avail, and in two hours this
young man, in the pride of his strength, died in
great agony. The heat being very great, and the
body being in a terrible state immediately after
death, the doctor recommended that it should
be buried that evening, and his recommendation
was attended to. Strange to say, there was not
another case of cholera in our camp when poor
Johnsone died, nor did one follow it. Upon
inquiry, we found out that two or three nights
previously, the poor fellow had been out in
the jungles, slept in a village where there was a
great deal of cholera, and that five persons had
died of the scourge the very evening that he
spent at their place. But he could not have
slept in the house with any one that had
cholera, for he had pitched his tent close to the
village, and slept in it as usual. Indeed, it is
most unusual in India for any European even to
enter a native house, except in extraordinary
circumstances, or when the owner happens to
be a wealthy man, who makes a point of
entertaining Englishmen. In the present instance, we
could not trace in any way that Johnsone had
any intercourse with, or had even so much us
seen any native who was attacked with cholera,
although at the village where he slept there
certainly were several cases. But if he caught the
infection, how was it that none of the others
who were of the same party, and slept the same
night at the same village, did not do so? There
had been with him in the jungles three officers
and one civilian; and what between kitmayars,
bearers, masaulchies, beesties, baworchies, syces,
grass-cutters, classies, shikarees, cootawallas,
and others of the numerous kinds of servants
without which respectable Englishmen in the
Bengal Presidency are not supposed to move,
there could not have been less than fifty people
living in the little camp. Yet of these but one
individual caught the cholera, and there was not
another instance of it amongst poor Johnsone's
companions, nor in our camp where he died. If he
had been only seen by some doctor inexperienced
in Indian maladies, it might have been thought
that the medical man had mistaken his
complaint, and that the poor fellow had swallowed
poison.

My friend's sudden death had a very serious
effect upon me. I spent a sleepless night
after it, and next day was laid up with violent
fever, which ended by going to my brain.
I was sent to the Himalayas on sick leave, but
it was only after a sea voyage round the Cape