MALAKAND 53 
should have killed a Christian man, for women, having no souls, do 
not count! 
Malakand, lat. 34° 30' K, alt. circa 3000 ft. 
October 28th and 29th, 1903. 
By the kind hospitality of the Assistant Political Officer, Capt. 
R. W. E. Knollys, I was enabled to get two days’ collecting at this 
remote frontier post. 
Malakand is approached by a narrow-gauge military railway 
which leaves the main line at the important Cantonment of 
Nowshera and passes Mardan the head-quarters of the famous 
Guides. Where this railway crosses a river the railway station and 
fortified bridge-head are one, the tickets being served out through 
a gun embrasure. On reaching the terminus at Dargai (not to be 
confounded with Dargai where the desperate fight took place) we 
were met by Capt. Knollys who, though politeness itself, struck me 
as being just a little stiff. Accordingly I addressed him thus: 
“ I am afraid, Sir, that I must plead guilty to being a globe-trotter, 
but venture to urge two extenuating circumstances.” He replied, 
“ Indeed, Sir, and what may they be ? ” To this I answered, “ I am 
not a Member of Parliament, and I am not going to write a book 
to set you all right.” Erom that moment he was cordiality itself. 
Evidently this explanation had taken a load off his mind, for he led 
me to understand that not very long before he had suffered many 
things at the hands of a travelling M.P. We found out afterwards 
that he actually had vacated his house for us and was sleeping in a 
tent in his own compound. If our host took me for a Member of 
Parliament, the native troops took me for a Bara Sahib 1 of some 
sort, probably a judge, for the sentries always presented arms to me, 
and once the guard turned out. Of course this was highly gratifying 
to one who had never reached a higher military rank than Captain 
of Volunteers. 
Perched on a saddle, about 3500 ft. above the sea where the 
old Buddhist road crosses the foot-hills, looking forward over the 
Swat valley, and back over the dusty plain of the Panjab, this isolated 
fortress affords a picture of rocky desolation. It has been the scene 
of much fierce fighting. We stormed it in 1895 ; in 1897 it was 
so suddenly attacked by swarms of tribesmen that our officers, 
hastily summoned from their game by the bugles sounding the alarm, 
fought all night in their polo kits, and indeed the situation was 
1 i.e. Great Master. 
