as far as the road, was at once accepted. They
started off with me, the doctor remaining with
the troops to make such arrangements as were
possible for the men when we brought them
back. On arriving at the monument we found
every man there more or less ill, all vomiting,
and all showing unmistakable signs of Asiatic
cholera. I had hardly dismounted from my
horse, when I felt a strong desire to retch,
with violent pains about my stomach, and
the peculiar sinking feeling which is a sure
sign of cholera. Luckily I had with me a flask
of brandy, I took a pull at it and felt better,
although still unwell. The palkee-bearers at
once, by my directions, seized each one a soldier,
and carried them down to the rising ground,
and then partly dragging, partly carrying them,
got the men two or three hundred yards or so
towards the road.

The whole affair did not occupy five minutes,
from the time I arrived at the monument until
the men were well on their way to join the
detachment upon the road, and yet even in that
short time several of the palkee-bearers
complained of feeling ill, and showed unmistakable
signs that they were so. To make a long story
short, every one of the Europeans that visited
the monument—about twelve in number,
including myself—were seized with signs of
Asiatic cholera, and of these five died before
the next morning. Of the men that remained
on the road, not one was seized. Those who
recovered, did so very slowly, I for one remaining
exceedingly ill and weak for some days. The
eight native doolie-bearers were taken ill, but
only two died. Of the palkee-bearers not one
was seriously unwell, although all were slightly
indisposed.

The third instance of my experiences in
cholera vagaries, if I may be allowed the expression,
happened in another English cavalry
regiment, also stationed in India. I did not belong
to the corps, but happened at the time to be on
a visit to a friend, who was a captain in it. One
Sunday night the men retired as usual to
their barrack-rooms, and there was no more
idea of cholera in the cantonment than there is
to-day of the plague in London. On the Monday
morning, I happened to get up and go out into
the garden of my friend's house about half an
hour after dawn. I heard some person passing
along the road, and, looking up, saw the
regimental sergeant-major walking very quickly, and
with a face that showed plainly something very
serious had happened. He went up to the
adjutant's house, which was next to my friend's.

I could see that, after he had awoke one of
the native servants, the adjutant himself came
out in his dressing-gown, and spoke to the
sergeant-major. In less than five minutes the two
were on their way to the commanding officer's
quarters, and ten minutes later I saw the
hospital sergeant, with a note in his hand, go there
also. I then called my friend, who was still
asleep, and we went out together to inquire
what was the matter. It turned out that during
the night no less than thirty-eight men had
been taken into hospital—all ill with the most
violent form of Asiatic cholera, and of these six
were already dead. The most extraordinary
part of the story is, that all the men taken ill
had come from two of the barrack-rooms—of
which there were sixteen in the lines—and in no
other room had there been a single case of
sickness.

As might naturally be expected, the colonel
and most of the officers were very soon at the
hospital ward where the poor fellows were lying
ill with cholera. As the morning wore on, about
a dozen more men, all from the same rooms,
were taken ill, whilst of those already in
hospital four or five died. Towards noon there
was but one fresh case; but before sunset
two more deaths happened. After that there
was a slight improvement in those already ill,
and, although two more deaths took place the
next day, the scourge seemed stopped for the
time. On the third day there was one fresh
case, but no deaths, and from that time the
cholera began to disappear. Many of those
that had been taken ill were a long time before
they recovered altogether, and some had
eventually to be sent home. But the cholera did
not attack another man, and, as I learned afterwards,
for the next two years there was not a
single case of it in the cantonment.

It appeared as if the destroying angel had
descended upon the barracks for one night, and
had cut off the inhabitants of these two rooms,
and no others. From the Sunday night until
the Wednesday morning, there were altogether
fifty-two men taken ill with cholera, and of
these fifteen or sixteen died. The cholera was
of the most decided Asiatic kind, the patients
turning blue almost immediately after they were
taken ill, and writhing in the most intense agony.
The strongest men seemed to be the most
certain victims to the scourge, and those that
recovered were mostly sickly-looking young
fellows. As might have been expected, the panic
among the men was very great so long as the
sickness lasted. But a week after it had
disappeared no one seemed to remember its
advent.

The two barrack-rooms in which all the cases
occurred, were of course emptied out, and the
men lodged elsewhere for a time. The rooms
were thoroughly investigated by engineers as
well as by a medical commission, but nothing in
or near them could be found that would in any
way account for this fearful visitation. The
drainage was certainly bad—or rather, as in the
days I speak of, there was no drainage at all about
any barracks in India—but it was no worse than
that of the other fourteen barrack-rooms. To
make it still more singular, the two barrack-
rooms where the cholera broke out were situated
in the very middle of the lines, and were not
subject any more or less than the neighbouring
buildings to the influence of any particular
wind.

One more instance of the extraordinary freaks
of cholera which I have witnessed in India, and
I have done. A brother of mine, then belonging