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LETTER xxn                A SORE PLIGHT                             143

and destiny when, under any given circumstances, such
as these, he had exhausted all the resources of forethought
and intelligence. My plight was a sore one, for by that
time I was really ill, and had lost, as well as rny horse and
saddle, my food, quinine, writing materials, and needle-
work. I got on the top of the baggage and rode for five
hours, twice falling off from exhaustion. The march
instead of being thirteen miles turned out twenty-two,
there was no water, poor Mirza was so " knocked up " that
he stumbled blindly along, and it was just sunset when,
after a series of gentle ascents, we reached the village of
Jamilabad, prettily situated on the crest of a hill in a
narrow valley above a small stream.

To acquaint the Jcetchuda with my misfortune, and
get him to send a capable man in search of the horse,
promising a large reward, and to despatch Hassan with a
guide in another direction, were the first considerations,
and so it fell out that it was 10 P.M. before I was at rest
in my tent, where I was obliged to remain for some days,
ill of fever. The next morning a gentle thump, a low
snuffle, and a theft of some grapes by my bedside
announced that Boy was found, and by the headman's
messenger, who said he met a Seyyid riding him to
Hamadan. The saddle-cloth was missing, and all the
things from the holsters, but after the emissary had been
arrested for some crime the latter were found in his large
pockets. Hassan returned late in the afternoon, having
been surrounded by four sowars, who, under the threat
of giving him a severe beating, deprived him of his

When I was so far better as to be able to move, I
went on to Mongawi, a large walled village at an
elevation of 7100 feet, camped for two days on an
adjacent slope, and from thence rode to Y'alpand by a
road on a height on the east side of a very wild valley