I have strayed far away
from the Malakand Field Force into the tangled paths of military
controversy, and I must beg the reader to forgive, as he will surely
forget, what has been written.
The fighting described in the last chapter, and the continual drain of
disease, had again filled the field hospitals, and in order to preserve
the mobility of the force, it was decided to send all sick and wounded
down to the base at once. The journey--over 100 miles by road--would
take nearly a fortnight, and the jolting and heat made such an
experience a painful and weary one to injured men. But the stern
necessities of war render these things inevitable, and the desire of the
men to get nearer home soothes much of their suffering. The convoy of
sick and wounded was to be escorted as far as the Panjkora River by the
Royal West Kent, who were themselves in need of some recuperation. To
campaign in India without tents is always a trial to a British regiment;
and when it is moved to the front from some unhealthy station like
Peshawar, Delhi, or Mian Mir, and the men are saturated with fever and
weakened by the summer heats, the sick list becomes long and serious.
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