Pcshawur and the Khyber Pass 57 



throng below, and flashing and fading into the dazzling 

 blue sky. 



To be back once more in the cantonments was 

 to feel so near and yet so far from that unique city, 

 the hum of which could always be heard even in our 

 bungalow. But Peshawur was not a quiet spot in 

 those days : it was crammed with troops, who were 

 still waiting till all the tribes should have sent in 

 their submission, and paid their fines in rifles ; from 

 morning till evening we could hear distant sounds 

 of various bands, and bugle calls. 



In the early spring it is a charming station, and 

 after Mian Mir appeared a paradise. Every com- 

 pound was filled with orange blossom ; every bunga- 

 low hedge was made of roses in full bloom ; orchards 

 of pink peach blossom stretched for miles round the 

 lines ; the scent was intoxicating and overpowering 

 perfumed Peshawur. The trim lawns on either 

 side the Mall, well shaded, were gay with flower 

 beds ; here and there a bungalow was half-hidden 

 in creepers ; and behind them all stretched the lines. 

 Cantonments all over India vary but little : the ever- 

 lasting native strolls down the roads ; the ever- 

 lasting mem-sahib goes out calling under a sun 

 umbrella ; the everlasting cool-looking subaltern 

 drives in the same cart, same pony, same terrier 

 running behind ! Three more months and the whole 

 place would be deserted, except in the evenings, when 

 the white-faced sahibs who cannot get up to the hills 

 meet to while away the stifling hours in the club. 



