It was wretchedly lighted by smoky oil-lamps set at very rare intervals.
The slow and cumbrous palankin was the ordinary means of conveyance, and, as far as I was concerned, the vaunted hospitality of the Anglo-Indian was conspicuous by its absence.
I must confess I was disappointed at being left so completely to myself, especially by the senior military officers, many of whom were personally known to my father, who had, I was aware, written to some of them on my behalf.

Under these circumstances, I think it is hardly to be wondered at that I became terribly home-sick, and convinced that I could never be happy in India.

Worst of all, the prospects of promotion seemed absolutely hopeless; I was a supernumerary Second Lieutenant, and nearly every officer in the list of the Bengal Artillery had served over fifteen years as a subaltern.

This stagnation extended to every branch of the Indian Army.
There were singularly few incidents to enliven this unpromising stage of my career.

I do, however, remember one rather notable experience which came to me at that time, in the form of a bad cyclone.