Once more before the weather began to be unpleasantly hot, we went down to Dimapur that I might inspect the road and a rest house being built at Nowkatta. Dimapur though hot, was pleasant enough in the evening, when I used to row my wife about on the large tank in a canoe which just held us both. We could see a few feet below the surface, the remains of the post set up when a tank is dedicated to the deity. This post is usually many feet above the water, but here it had rotted away from age. On a tree close to the rest house I shot a chestnut coloured flying squirrel.

One sultry afternoon I rode out alone to Nowkatta. About half-way I was stopped by a sudden storm, one of the most terrific I have ever seen; the wind howled through the forest, and the trees swayed to and fro literally like blades of grass. As the storm increased, trees were torn up by the roots right and left, and some that were very firmly rooted were shattered in pieces. Many of these trees were 80 to 120 feet in height, and large in proportion, but the wind was so high that I never heard the sound of the crash. I hardly expected to escape being crushed by a falling tree, and nothing but the extreme activity of my pony, a little Manipuri, saved me. I was at length enabled to get on to Nowkatta, but as I returned, I had much difficulty in making my way through the masses of fallen trees which formed an obstacle often six feet in height, and I could only pass them by penetrating the dense underwood, and riding round one end.

I returned to Dimapur later than I expected and drenched by the soaking rain. Next day we went back to Samagudting very glad to be again in a cooler atmosphere. We both paid for our visit to the lowlands in a sharp attack of intermittent fever. Luckily, my wife speedily recovered; but it told on my system, already saturated with malaria and was the forerunner of constant attacks.

Except for its unhealthiness, Dimapur was a nice place, and, if properly opened out, and cultivated, the country would be far more salubrious. For this reason I advocated families being induced to settle there as cultivators; and I had a scheme for establishing a Police Militia Reserve in that district. I thought that a certain number of the Naga Hills police might with advantage be discharged every year and enlisted as reserve men, liable to serve when needed in case of trouble; a reduced rate of pay to be given to each man, and a grant of land to cultivate. I believe the system would have worked well, but it was not sanctioned.

An incident occurred in the month of August which might have proved serious. A native of a Kutcha Naga village within sight of Samagudting came to complain that, while gathering wild tea-seed for sale, he had been driven off by a Konoma Naga. Konoma, though not the most populous village, had long been considered the most powerful and warlike in the hills, and a threat from one of its members was almost a sentence of death to a man from a weak village. The Merema clan also, one of the worst in the hills for lawless deeds, had never made its submission to Captain Butler, though it had on one occasion to his predecessor. On hearing the man’s complaint, I at once sent off a message by a Naga calling upon the chiefs of Konoma to come in to me, and also to cease molesting their neighbours; but the man returned, saying that they refused to come in, and intended to do as they liked with the tea-seed, as it was theirs. This was more than I could put up with, and I selected a particularly trustworthy man, a naik (corporal) in the police named Kurum Singh,1 who knew the Naga language, and would, I was convinced, speak out fearlessly, and deliver my message. I sent him off at once to Konoma to call upon the head-men to come in without delay, and make their humble submission to me within a day and a half of receiving the summons, failing which I would attack and destroy their village. Kurum Singh left, and I felt rather anxious, as Konoma contained five times as many warriors as I had police all told, and it occupied a strong position; however, I felt I had done my duty. It was a great satisfaction when Kurum Singh returned, saying that the chiefs were coming in, and they did so within the stipulated time, and made their submission and presented me with a large state spear as a token of it. They also humbly apologised and promised never to molest that Kutcha Naga village again; and when I spoke of the Queen, begged me to write to her and say, that she must not believe any idle tales against the Konoma men, as they would be her humble servants. It was a satisfactory ending to what might have been a troublesome business. The state spear now ornaments my hall.

On the 23rd June, my wife presented me with a son, and he being the first child of pure European parentage born in the hills, the Nagas of Samagudting took great interest in the baby, and old YatsolÉ the PÉumah, said he should be their chief and named him “Naga Rajah.” The friendly women and girls from the village constantly came to see him. We liked the hills and the people, and the work so much that we both felt we could willingly have passed our lives among them. All the same, our accommodation was really most wretched, and food was bad and scarce, and water scarcer. As the rainy season advanced the place grew more and more unhealthy, and having a baby to attend to, my wife never left Samagudting. I continued to go down to Dimapur occasionally, and sometimes rode out with my friend Needham to inspect the path that was being cut to Mohung Deejood and a rest house being built at a place in the forest on that road, called Borsali. It was pleasant to have a companion during a long lonely ride. Needham was an indefatigable worker, and always ready for a dash. He made a capital frontier officer, and has since greatly distinguished himself on the N.-E. Frontier.

Towards the end of August, the Vanda CÆrulea orchids began to come into flower. There was a magnificent plant of them in a large old tree on the summit of the hill, indeed the most splendid specimen of their kind that I ever saw; but wild flowers, many really beautiful, were generally procurable, especially a small snow-white flower rather like a periwinkle that grew in the jungle on a small ever-green bush. Ferns, including maidenhair, were very plentiful, and we made collections of them in our morning and evening walks. These walks often led us past stray huts, and once my wife was asked to come into one and prescribe for a sick Naga woman. We both entered it and finding that the woman had fever, we told her husband to keep her cool and quiet, and promised some medicine. When we again went to see her, the hut, about nine feet by seven feet in size, was full of little fires on the floor, over which several Nagas were drying strips of flesh from an elephant that had been killed a few miles away. The temperature must have been about 110 degrees, so little wonder that the poor woman was no better. The husband said she would not take her medicine, and when in our presence he attempted to give it she hit him on the head; yet he wore the warrior’s kilt, so had taken at least one life. When my wife sat down by her and gave her the medicine she took it readily. Towards the end of the rainy season many were laid low by fever. Natives of other parts of India until thoroughly acclimatised, suffer greatly from the diseases peculiar to jungle districts, and our servants were not exceptions to the rule. Once acclimatised, a Hindoostani seems able to stand anything. It used to be said in my regiment, the 1st Assam Light Infantry Battalion, now 42nd, that Hindoostani recruits spent their first three years’ service in hospital! I am sure that something of the same kind might have been said of those who came to the Naga Hills before the headquarters were removed to Kohima.

Captain Butler, recognising the unsuitableness of Samagudting for a station, had recommended the removal of the headquarters to Woka, in the Lotah Naga country, and about sixty-three miles from Kohima. I spoke to him on the subject, and pointed out the superior advantages of Kohima as a central position, dominating the Angami Naga country. He quite agreed with me, but said he had advocated Woka as being nearer the plains, nearer water carriage, and altogether a more comfortable situation, especially for the officers. I went into the whole subject most carefully, and before leaving the Naga Hills I thought it right to record my opinion in a memorandum to the Government of Assam. This I did, pointing out as forcibly as I could the very superior advantages of Kohima, and urging most strongly that it should be adopted as our headquarters station in the Naga Hills. As I was only the officiating agent, I could not expect my views to carry as much weight as Captain Butler’s, but convinced as I was, I was bound to state them. The question was not settled for some years when Kohima was the site selected, and it has ever since been the headquarters station.

I had never got over the attack of fever I had in April, and as the rainy season advanced, and we were for days together enveloped in mist, I had constant attacks, with other complications, and as Captain Butler was coming out in November, and the doctor strongly recommended me to go to England again, I determined to apply for leave. My friend Needham had gone on leave to Shillong, so I could not think of starting till he returned. He was due at Samagudting early in November, and I prepared to leave then. It was with most sincere regret that we made arrangements for starting. We had got used to the discomforts of the place and had been very happy there and liked the people, and felt that they liked us; the cold weather too was just beginning and everything around us looked beautiful.

I had determined to march straight through the forest to Doboka, and thence take boat down the Kullung river to Gowhatty. It was a dreadful march to undertake, along a mere track untraversed by any European for years, but my wife liked the idea of it, and it was shorter than the route vi Nigriting. On November 6th, we reluctantly said “good-bye” to all our kind friends at Samagudting and marched to Dimapur, where we halted next day to get all our things into order. Some of the chiefs of Samagudting accompanied us so far on our way and bade us a sorrowful adieu on the 7th. One old fellow took quite an affectionate farewell of our baby Dick. When I saw him again in 1879, he was blind, and one of his pretty little girls was dying.

We marched through dense forest on the 8th to Borsali, my wife riding and carrying the baby in her arms, there being no other mode of progression along such a bad road. On the 9th after seven hours’ actual marching, we reached Mohung Deejood, a place prettily situated on the banks of the Jumoona river with the last speck of the Rengma Hills standing out in high relief behind the village, but at some distance from it. Next day we again had a tiring march of eleven hours, including a halt for breakfast at a place called “Silbheta” where there are splendid waterfalls, and did not reach our halting place, Bokuleea, till 6 P.M. The last two marches had been through a country devastated by tigers which had literally eaten up the population; each day we passed deserted village sites. At Bokuleea we made rafts and floated down the river to Doboka, which we reached on November 13th.

Doboka is situated close to the hill of the same name and was a prominent object from Samagudting. There we took boats, and travelled in them down the Kullung river. We reached the junction with the Burrhampooter at daybreak on November 17th, and Gowhatty at midday. I was most thankful to see my wife and child safe in the Dak Bungalow after what was for delicate people a perilous journey, though an interesting and enjoyable one, through a country hardly ever traversed by European officials, and never by women and children. After a few days at Gowhatty to rest ourselves, we departed by steamer for Goalundo, arriving there early on November 29th, and immediately left for Calcutta, which we reached the same evening and went to stay with our kind friends the Rivers Thompsons, with whom we had travelled out to India in 1873. Glad as we were to be in civilised quarters once more after all our wanderings, we could not help regretting the kindly genial people we had left, and the beautiful scenery of the forest and mountain land, where we had lived so long and so happily.

On arrival in Calcutta, I went before the Medical Board, but not liking to go to England again so soon, I applied for three months’ leave to visit the North-West Provinces for change of air, and we visited Benares, Lucknow, Cawnpore, and other towns. I do not attempt to describe them, as it has been often done by abler pens than mine. The after symptoms of malaria increased, and it was vain to prolong my stay in India in the hope of a cure. The Medical Board said my appearance was sufficient without examination, so we left Calcutta by the next steamer, going by “long sea” to avoid the fatiguing journey across India to Bombay. After unusually rough weather in the Mediterranean and off the coast of Spain, we landed at Southampton, on March 9th, at 9 P.M., and went on to London next morning.