Ever your affectionate son,
T.W.E. HOLDSWORTH.




LETTER IV.

Camp, near Jarruk, on the banks of the Indus,
Twenty miles from Hydrabad,
January, 31st, 1839.

MY DEAR FATHER,--I had fully intended this letter for Kitty, but such a
dreadful event happened in our regiment yesterday, that I was afraid, if
she was at all unwell when she received the letter, connecting it, as
she would, with me, it might throw her into some dreadful fever, or
something of that sort. I have very little time to write, as the post
leaves this, by steamer, at three o'clock to-day; and I have a great
deal to do during the day. I think it my duty, however, to write, as the
report of the circumstance might get into the papers without mentioning
names, or giving wrong ones, and you might be needlessly alarmed.

To strike at once _in medias res_, this event is no less than the
horrible death of three of our officers in a burning shikargur, or large
thicket, enclosed by the Ameers for the preservation of game. The names
of the poor, unfortunate fellows are Sparky (whom, by-the-bye, you
might have seen at Chatham,) Nixon, and Hibbert. The two first, Lieut.
Sparke, in the Grenadiers, and Nixon, in the Light Company. Hibbert was
assistant-surgeon. They were three of the finest hearted fellows: Nixon,
a long time one of my fellow subs in the Light Company. (I can hardly