their early morning start. At 9.30 the officers sat down to dinner,
still in their polo kit, which there had been no time to change. At 10
o'clock they were discussing the prospects of the approaching march, and
eagerly weighing the chances of a skirmish. The more sanguine asserted
that there would be a fight--a small one, it was true--but still a
skirmish. Many of those who had never been in action before
congratulated themselves on the unlooked-for opportunity. The older and
more experienced regarded the matter in the light of a riot. They might
have to fire on the tribesmen, but Swatis were such cowards that they
would never stand up to the troops. Still it was a chance.

Suddenly in the stillness of the night a bugle-call sounded on the
parade ground of the "crater" camp. Everyone sprang up. It was the
"Assembly." For a moment there was silence while the officers seized
their swords and belts and hurriedly fastened them on. Several, thinking
that it was merely the warning for the movable column to fall in, waited
to light their cigarettes. Then from many quarters the loud explosion of
musketry burst forth, a sound which for six days and nights was to know
no intermission.

The attack on the Malakand and the great frontier war had begun.

The noise of firing echoed among the hills. Its echoes are ringing
still. One valley caught the waves of sound and passed them to the next,
till the whole wide mountain region rocked with the confusion of the
tumult. Slender wires and long-drawn cables carried the vibrations to
the far-off countries of the West. Distant populations on the Continent
of Europe thought that in them they detected the dull, discordant tones
of decline and fall. Families in English homes feared that the
detonations marked the death of those they loved--sons, brothers or