To see the right moment and to seize it, to balance the profit and loss, counting one’s own life as a feather in the scales, to strike hard and bold whatever the odds,—­such are a few simple soldier lessons, learnt not from the scribes, but from a gallant British subaltern.

* * * * *

While Lieutenant Lumsden was in England in 1853 the command of the Guides was given to Lieutenant W.S.R.  Hodson.  This book would not be complete without relating the story of at any rate one of the many occasions on which this gallant officer, afterwards so famous, showed his fine metal.  The fight about to be described was one, too, in which the many brave and devoted officers who have been surgeons to the corps have displayed the greatest gallantry.

For high crimes and misdemeanours it was decided to punish the large and important cluster of villages named Bori, in the land of the Jowaki Afridis, not far from the present military station of Cherat.  A brigade of all arms, consisting of the 22nd Foot, 20th Punjab Infantry, 66th Gurkhas (now the 1st Gurkha Rifles), the Corps of Guides, a squadron of Irregular Cavalry, some 9-pounder guns on elephants, and a company of Sappers, the whole under Colonel S.B.  Boileau, was detailed for the undertaking.  The Bori villages lay in the valley of the same name enclosed by high and rugged mountains, making both ingress and egress in face of practised mountaineers a most difficult operation.

The advance was led by the Guides, who, themselves active as panthers in the hills, drove the Afridis before them through the Bori villages and up the precipitous mountains behind.  The main body then set to work to burn and destroy the villages with all the food and fodder therein, and to drive off the cattle.  So far, as is often the case in fighting these mountaineers, all had gone well; but now came the crucial time.  Afridis may be driven all day like mountain sheep, but when the night begins to fall, and their tired pursuers commence of necessity to draw back to lower levels for food and rest, then this redoubtable foe rises in all his strength, and with sword and gun and huge boulder hurls himself like a demon on his retiring enemy.

At one of the furthest points ahead was Lieutenant F. McC.  Turner, who with about thirty men of the Guides had driven a very much superior force of the enemy into a stone breastwork at the top of a high peak.  Here the British officer was held; not an inch could he advance; and now he was called upon to conform with the general movement for retirement.  To retire, placed as he was, meant practical annihilation, so sticking to the rocks like a limpet he blew a bugle calling for reinforcement.  Hodson, who himself was faced by great odds, seeing the serious position of his friend, sent across all the men he could afford to extricate him, but these were not strong enough to effect their purpose.  Then it was that Dr. R. Lyell, the surgeon of the Guides, took on himself