A HOLIDAY IN THE HAPPY VALLEY WITH PEN AND PENCIL BY T. R. SWINBURNE MAJOR (LATE) R. M. A. WITH 24 COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS 1907 [ILLUSTRATION: THE JHELUM AT SRINAGAR] "_Over the great windy waters, and over the clear crested summits, Unto the sea and the sky, and unto the perfecter earth, Come, let us go_!" I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO "JANE" PREFACE I observe that it is customary to begin a book by an Introduction, Preface, or Foreword. In the good old days of the eighteenth century this generallytook the form of a burst of grovelling adoration aimed at some most nobleor otherwise highly important person. This fulsome fawning on the greatwas later changed into propitiation of the British public, and unknownauthors revelled in excuses for publishing their earlier efforts. But now that every one has written a book, or is about to do so, I feelthat my apologies are rather due to the public for not having rushed intoprint before. I have really spared it because I had nothing in particularto write about, and I confess I am somewhat doubtful as to whether I ameven now justified in invoking the kind offices of a publisher with a viewto bringing forth this literary mouse in due form! No admiring (if partial) relatives have hung upon my lips as I read themmy journal, imploring me with tears in their eyes to waste not an instant, but give to a longing world this literary treasure. I have no illusions asregards my literary powers, and I do not imagine that I shall depose thegifted author of _Eöthen_ from his pride of place. I claim, however, the merit of truth. The journal was written day by day, and the sketches were all done on the spot; and if this account--bald andinadequate as I know it to be--of a very happy time spent in ramblingamong some of the finest scenery of this lovely earth, may induce any oneto betake himself to Kashmir, he will achieve something worth living for, and I shall not have spilt ink in vain. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY II. THE VOYAGE OUT III. KARACHI TO ABBOTABAD IV. ABBOTABAD TO SRINAGAR V. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF SRINAGAR VI. OUR FIRST CAMP VII. BACK TO SRINAGAR VIII. THE LOLAB IX. SRINAGAR AGAIN X. THE LIDAR VALLEY XI. GANGABAL XII. GULMARG XIII. THE FLOOD XIV. THE MACHIPURA XV. DELHI AND AGRA XVI. UDAIPUR LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS THE JHELUM AT SRINAGAR (Frontispiece) A SOLUTION OF CONTINUITY A SRINAGAR BYE-WAY--EARLY SPRING ON THE JHELUM--EARLY SPRING THE BUND SRINAGAR--EARLY SPRING THE DAL IN THE NISHAT BAGH THE PIR PANJAL FROM ALSU--MORNING ON THE DAL--SUNSET NATIVE BOATS PANDRETTAN KOLAHOI LIDARWAT THE RAMPARTS OF KASHMIR GANGABAL HARAMOK A TARN ABOVE TRONKOL ON THE CIRCULAR ROAD, GULMARG IN SRINAGAR--TWILIGHT SRINAGAR FLOODED HARI PARBAT--EVENING NANGA PARBAT FROM KITARDAJI MIXED BATHING (UDAIPUR) UDAIPUR MAP OF KASHMIR A HOLIDAY IN THE HAPPY VALLEY CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION A journey to Kashmir now--in these days of cheap and rapid locomotion--isin nowise serious. It takes time, I grant you, but to any one with a fewmonths to spare--and there are many in that happy position--there can befew pleasanter ways of spending a summer holiday. It would be as well to start from England not later than the middle ofMarch, as the Red Sea and the Sind Desert begin to warm up uncomfortablyin spring. Srinagar would then be reached fairly early in April, and thevisitor should arrange, if possible, to remain in the country until themiddle of October. We had to leave just as the gorgeous autumn colouringwas beginning to blaze in the woods, and the first duck were wheeling overthe Wular Lake. The climate of Kashmir is fairly similar to that of many parts of SouthernEurope. There is a good deal of snow in the valley in winter. Spring ischarming, the brilliant days only varied by frequent thunderstorms--which, however, are almost invariable in keeping their pyrotechnics till aboutfive in the afternoon. July and August are hot and steamy in the valley, and it is necessary to seek one of the cool "Margs" which form idealcamping-grounds on all the lofty mountain slopes which surround the valley. Gulmarg is the most frequented and amusing resort in summer of the Englishcolony and contingent from the broiling plains of the Punjab. Here thehappy fugitive from the sweltering heat of the lower regions will find aclimate as glorious as the scenery. He can enjoy the best of polo and golf, and, if he be not a misogynist, he will vary the 'daily round' withpicnics and scrambles on foot or on horseback, in exploring the endlessbeauty of the place, coming home to his hut or tent as the sun sinksbehind the great pines that screen the Rampur Road, to wind up the happyday with a cheery dinner and game of bridge. But if Gulmarg does notappeal to him, let him go with his camping outfit to Sonamarg orPahlgam--he will find neither polo nor golf nor the gay little society ofGulmarg, but he will find equally charming scenery and, perhaps, a drierclimate--for it must in fairness be admitted that Gulmarg is a rainyplace. Likewise his pocket will benefit, as his expenses will surely beless, and he will still find neighbours dotted about in white tents underthe pine trees. Towards the middle of September the exodus from the high 'Margs' takesplace--many returning sadly to Pindi and Sealkote--others merely toSrinagar, while those who yearn after Bara Singh and Bear, decamp quietlyfor their selected nullahs, to be in readiness for the opening of theautumn season. Thus, from April to October, a more or less perfect climate may beobtained by watching the mercury in the thermometer, and rising ordescending the mountain slopes in direct ratio with it. It is quite unnecessary to take out a large and expensive wardrobe. Thingarments for the Red Sea and Indian Ocean, such as one wears in a fineEnglish summer, and for Kashmir the same sort of things that one wouldtake up to Scotland. For men--knickerbockers and flannel shirts--and forladies, short tweed skirts and some flannel blouses. The native tailors inSrinagar are clever and cheap, and will copy an English shooting suit infairly good material for about eleven rupees, or 14s. 8d. ! One pair ofstrong shooting boots (plentifully studded with aluminium nails) is enough. For all mountain work, the invaluable but uncomfortable grass shoes mustbe worn, and both my wife and I invariably wore the native chaplies forordinary marching. Foot-gear for golf, tennis, and general service atSrinagar and Gulmarg must be laid in, according to the traveller's fancy, in England. Underwear to suit both hot and cold weather should be purchased athome--not on any account omitting cholera belts. Shirts and collars should be taken freely, as it is well to remember thatthe native washerman--the well-abused "Dobie"--has a marvellous skill inproducing a saw-like rim to the starched collar and cuff of the newestshirt; while the elegant and delicate lace and embroidery, with which thefair are wont to embellish their underwear, take strange and unforeseenpatterns at the hands of the skilled workmen. It is surprising what aneffect can be obtained by tying up the neck and sleeves of a garment, inserting a few smooth pebbles from the brook, and then banging the moistbundle on the bank! The arrangement of clothing for the voyage is rather complicated, as itwill probably be necessary to wear warm things while crossing Europe, andpossibly even until Egypt is reached. Then an assortment of summerflannels, sufficient to last as far as India, must be available. We wereunable to get any washing done from the date we left London, on the 22ndof February, until we reached Rawal Pindi, on the 21st March. Capaciouscanvas kit-bags are excellent things for cramming with grist for thedobie's mill. In arranging for luggage, it should be borne in mind that large trunks anddress boxes are inadmissible. From Pindi to Srinagar everything must betransported by wheeled conveyance, and, in Kashmir itself, all luggagemust be selected with a view to its adaptability to the backs of cooliesor ponies. In Srinagar one can buy native trunks--or yakdans--which arecheap, strong, and portable; and the covered creels or "kiltas" serveadmirably for the stowage of kitchen utensils, food, and oddments. The following list may prove useful to any one who has not already been"east of Suez, " and who may therefore not be too proud to profit byanother's experience:-- 1. "Compactum" camp-bed with case, and fitted with sockets to takemosquito netting. 2. Campaigning bedding-bag in Willesden canvas, with bedding complete. 3. Waterproof sheet. 4. Indiarubber bath. If shooting in the higher mountains is anticipated, a Wolseleysleeping-bag should be taken. 5. Small stable-lantern. 6. Rug or plaid--light and warm. 7. Half-a-dozen towels. 8. Deck chair (with name painted on it). We had also a couple of Roorkhee chairs, and found them most useful. 9. A couple of compressed cane cabin trunks. 9_a_. The "Ranelagh Pack" is a most useful form of "luggage. " 10. Camp kit-bag. 11. Soiled-linen bag, with square mouth, large size. This is anexcellent "general service" bag, and invaluable for holding boots, &c. 12. Large "brief-bag, " most useful for stowing guide-books, flasks, binoculars, biscuits, and such like, that one wants when travelling, andnever knows where to put. Our "yellow bag" carried even tea things, andwas greatly beloved. Like the leather bottèl in its later stage, "itserved to put hinges and odd things in"! 13. Luncheon basket, fitted according to the number of the party. The above articles can all be bought at the Army and Navy Stores. 14. A light canvas box, fitted as a dressing-case. Ours were made, according to our own wishes and possessions, by Williams, of 41 Bond Street. The innumerable glass bottles, so highly prized by themakers of dressing-cases, should be strictly limited in number. They areexceedingly heavy, and, as the dressing-case should be carried by itsowner, the less it weighs the more he (or she) will esteem it. 15. A set of aluminium cooking-utensils is much to be recommended. Theycan easily be sold on leaving Kashmir for, at least, their cost price. 16. Pocket flask. This may be of aluminium also, although personally Idislike a metal flask. 17. Umbrella--strong, but cheap, as it is sure to be lost or stolen. There are few things your native loves more than a nice umbrella, unlessit be 18. A knife fitted with corkscrew and screwdriver; therefore take two, and try to keep one carefully locked up. 19. Pair of good field-glasses. I took a stalking telescope, but it was useless to my shikari, who alwaysborrowed my wife's binoculars until she lost them--or he stole them! 20. Hats. It is obviously a matter of taste what hats a man should take. The glossy silk may repose with the frock-coat till its owner returns tofind it hopelessly out of date, its brim being a thought too curly, or itstop impossibly wide; but the "bowler" or Homburg hat will serve his turnaccording to his fancy, until, at Aden, he invests in a hideous, but shady"topee, " for one-third of the price he would pay in London; and this willbe his only wear, before sunset, until he again reaches a temperateclimate. Ladies, who are rightly more particular as to the appearance ofeven so unlovely a thing as a sola topee, would do well, perhaps, to buytheirs before starting. Really becoming pith helmets seem very scarce inthe East! After sunset, or under awnings, any sort of cap may be worn. 21. Shirts and collars are obviously matters of taste. A good supply ofwhite shirts and collars must be taken to cope with the destruction andloss which may be expected at the hands of the dobie. Flannel shirts canbe made easily enough from English models in Srinagar. 22. Under-garments should be of Indian gauze for hot weather, with asupply of thicker articles for camping in the hills. Cholera belts should on no account be omitted. 23. Socks, according to taste--very few knickerbocker stockings need betaken, as putties are cheap and usual in Srinagar. 24. Ties--the white ones of the cheap sort that can be thrown away afteruse, with a light heart. Handkerchiefs, and a few pairs of white gloves. 25. Sleeping-suits, both thick for camp work and light for hot weather, should be taken. 26. Dress suit and dinner-jacket. 27. Knickerbocker or knee-breeches, which can be copied in Kashmir by thenative tailor. Riding-breeches are not in the least necessary unless the travellercontemplates any special riding expedition. Ordinary shootingcontinuations do quite well for all the mounted work the tourist is likelyto do. A pair of stohwasser gaiters may be taken, but even they are notnecessary, neither is a saddle. A lady, however, should take out a short riding-skirt, or habit, and aside-saddle. 28. A tweed suit of medium warmth for travelling, and a couple of flannelsuits, will bring the wearer to Srinagar, where he can increase his stockat a ridiculously low price--about 22 rupees or £1, 9s. 4d. Per suit. 29. Boots. Here, again, the wayfarer is at full liberty to pleasehimself. A pair of strong shooting-boots, with plenty of spare laces and, say, a hundred aluminium nails, is a _sine quâ non_. A pair of rubbers, orwhat are known as "gouties" in Swiss winter circles, are not to bedespised. Otherwise, boots, shoes, slippers, and pumps, according to taste. 30. A large "regulation" waterproof, a rain-coat or Burberry, and a warmgreatcoat will all be required. It is hard to give definite advice to a lady as to the details of heroutfit. Let her conform in a general way to the instructions given above, always remembering that both Srinagar and Gulmarg are gay and festiveplaces, where she will dine and dance, and have ample opportunity fordisplaying a well-chosen wardrobe. Let her also take heed that she leaves the family diamonds at home. Thegentle Kashmiri is an inveterate and skilful thief, and the less jewelleryshe can make up her mind to "do with, " the more at ease will her mind be. But if she must needs copy the lady of whom we read, that "Rich and rare were the gems she wore, " then why not line the jewel-case--or rather the secret bag, which she willsew into some mysterious garment--with the diamonds of Gophir and thepearls of Rome? If the intending visitor to Kashmir be a sportsman who has already hadexperience in big-game shooting, he will not need any advice from me(which, indeed, he would utterly disdain) as to the lethal weapons whichshould form his battery; but if the wayfarer be a humble performer who hasnever slain anything more formidable than a wary old stag, or morenerve-shattering than a meteoric cock pheasant rising clamorously frombehind a turnip, he may not be too proud to learn that he will find anordinary "fowling piece" the most useful weapon which he can take withhim. If his gun is not choked, he should be provided with a dozen or moreball cartridge for bear. If the pursuit of markhor and ibex is contemplated, a small-bore riflewill be required, but a heavy express is wanted to stop a bear. I had a"Mannlicher" and an ordinary shot-gun, with a few ball cartridges for thelatter. Duty has to be paid on taking firearms into India, and this may berefunded on leaving the country. This is not always done, however, as Ifound to my cost, my application for a refund being refused on the quibblethat my guns were taken back to England by a friend, although I was ableto prove their identity. It is not necessary to take a large number of rifle cartridges out, as itis exceedingly unlikely that the tyro will be able to shoot all the beastsallowed him by his game licence. [1] Smooth-bore cartridges of fair qualitycan be bought in Srinagar, and I certainly do not consider it worth thetrouble and expense to convey them out from England. To the amateur artist I would say: Be well supplied with brushes andpaper--the latter sealed in tin for passage through the Red Sea and India. Colours, and indeed all materials can he got from Treacher & Co. , Bombay, and also from the branch of the Army and Navy Stores there. Paper is, however, difficult to get in good condition, being frequentlyspoilt by mildew. It is almost impossible to get anything satisfactory in the way ofpainting materials in Kashmir itself; therefore I say: Be well suppliedbefore leaving home. Finally, a small stock of medicines should certainly be taken, notomitting a copious supply of quinine (best in powder form for thispurpose), and also of strong peppermint or something of the sort, to giveto the native servants and others who are always falling sick of a feveror complaining of an internal pain, which is generally quite cured by adose of peppermint. Neither Jane nor I love guide-books; we found however, in Kashmir, thelittle book written by Dr. Neve an invaluable companion;[2] while Murray's_Guide to India_ afforded much useful information when wandering in thatcountry. The best book on Kashmir that I know is Sir Walter Lawrence's _Valley ofKashmir_. Any one going out as we did, absolutely ignorant of the language, shouldcertainly take an elementary phrase-book or something of the sort to studyon the voyage. We forgot to do this, and had infinite trouble afterwardsin getting what we wanted, and lost much time in acquiring the rudimentaryknowledge of Hindustani which enabled us to worry along with our nativeservants, &c. No mere "globe-trotter" need attempt to learn any Kashmiri, as Hindustani is "understanded of the people" as a rule, and the tradesmenin Srinagar know quite as much English as is good for them. [1] See Appendix 1. [2] _The Tourist's Guide to Kashmir, Ladakh, Skardo, &c. _, edited by Arthur Neve, F. R. G. S. CHAPTER II THE VOYAGE OUT It seems extraordinary to me that every day throughout the winter, crowdsof people should throng the railway stations whence they can hurry southin search of warmth and sunshine, and yet London remains apparently asfull as ever! We plunged into a seething mass of outward-bound humanity atVictoria Station on the 22nd of February, and, having wrestled our wayinto the Continental express, were whirled across the sad and soddencountry to Dover amidst hundreds of our shivering fellow-countrymen. Truly we are beyond measure conservative in our railway discomforts. Witha bitter easterly wind searching out the chinks of door and window, we satshivering in our unwarmed compartment--unwarmed, I say, in spite of theclumsy tin of quickly-cooled hot water procured by favour--and agratuity--from a porter! The Channel showed even more disagreeable than usual. A grey, cold sky, with swift-flying clouds from the east hung over a grey, cold sea, thewaves showing their wicked white teeth under the lash of the strong wind. The patient lightship off the pier was swinging drearily as we throbbedpast into the gust-swept open and set our bows for the unseen coast ofFrance. The tumult of passengers was speedily reduced to a limp and inert swarm ofcold, wet, and sea-sick humanity. The cold and miserable weather clung to us long. In Paris it snowedheavily, and I was constrained to betake myself in a cab--"chauffé, " it isneedless to remark--to seek out a kindly dentist, the bitter east windhaving sought out and found a weak spot wherein to implant an abscess. At Bâle it was freezing, but clear and bright, and a good breakfast and abreath of clean, fresh air was truly enjoyable after the overheatedsleeping-car in which we had come from Paris. It may seem unreasonable to grumble at the overheating of the "Sleeper"after abusing the under-heating of our British railways. Surely, though, there is a golden mean? I wish neither to be frozen nor boiled, and therecan be no doubt but that the heating of most Continental trains isexcellent, the power of application being left to the traveller. The journey by the St. Gotthard was delightful, the day brilliant, and thefrost keen, while we watched the fleeting panorama of icebound peaks andsnow-powdered pines from the cushions of our comfortable carriage. The glory of winter left us as we left the Swiss mountains and droppeddown into the fertile flats of Northern Italy, and at Milan all was rawchilliness and mud. Nothing can well be more depressing than wet and cheerless weather in aland obviously intended for sunshine. We slept at Milan, and the next day set forth in heavy rain towards Venice. The miserable ranks of distorted and pollarded trees stood sadly in poolsof yellow-stained water, or stuck out of heaps of half-melted anduncleanly snow. No colour; no life anywhere, excepting an occasional peasant ploddingalong a muddy road, sheltering himself under the characteristic flat andbony umbrella of the country. At Peschiera we had promise of better things. The weather cleared somewhat, revealing ranges of white-clad hills around Garda. .. . But, alas! at Veronait rained as hard as ever, and we made our way from the railway station atVenice, cowering in the coffin-like cabin of a damp and extremely draughtygondola, while cold flurries of an Alpine-born wind swept across the GrandCanal. Sunshine is absolutely necessary to bring out the real beauty of Italy. This is particularly the case in Venice, where light and life are requiredto dispel the feeling of sadness so sure to creep over one amid the signsof long-past grandeur and decaying magnificence. On a grey and wintry day one is chiefly impressed by the dank chillinessof the palaces on the Grand Canal, whose feet lie lapped in slimy water;the lovely tracery of whose windows shows ragged and broken, whose statelyguest-chambers are in the sordid occupation of the dealer in falseantiques, and whose motto might be "Ichabod, " for their glory has departed. It is five-and-twenty years since I was last in Venice, and I can trulysay that it has not improved in that long time. The loss of the greatCampanile of St. Mark is not compensated for by the gain of the pennysteamer which frets and fusses its prosaic way along the Grand Canal, orblurts its noisome smoke in the very face of the Palace of the Doges. Well! A steady downpour is dispiriting at any time, excepting when one issnugly at home with plenty to do, and it is particularly so to the unluckytraveller who has to live through half-a-dozen long hours interveningbetween arrival at and departure from Venice on a cold, dull, wintryafternoon. The sombre gondola writhed its sinuous course and deposited us all forlornin the near neighbourhood of the Piazza San Marco. Splashing our wayacross, and pushing through the crowd of greedy fat pigeons, we enteredthe world-famous church. I know my Ruskin, and I feel that I should belost in wonder and admiration--I am not. The gloom--rich golden gloom if you will--of the interior oppresses me; itis cavernous. A service is being held in one of the transepts, and thecongregation seems noisier and less devout than I could have believedpossible. My thoughts fly far to where, on its solitary hill, the noblepile of Chartres soars majestic, its heaven-piercing spires dominating thewide plain of La Beauce. In fancy I enter by the splendid north door andfind myself in the pillared dimness softly lighted by the great window inthe west. This seems to me to be the greatest achievement of the Christianarchitect, noble alike in conception and in execution. There is no means of procuring a cold more certain than lingering too longin a cold and vault-like church or picture gallery, so we adjourned to thePalazzo Daniele, now a mere hotel, where we browsed on theliterature--chiefly cosmopolitan newspapers--until it was time to startfor Trieste. The journey is not an attractive one, as we seemed to be perpetuallyworried by Custom-house authorities and inquisitive ticket-collectors! Ifpossible, the wary traveller should so time his sojourn at Venice as toallow him to go to Trieste by steamer. The Hôtel de la Ville at Trieste isnot quite excellent, but 'twill serve, and we were remarkably glad toreach it, somewhere about midnight, having left Milan soon after seven inthe morning! Trieste itself is rather an engaging town; at least so it seemed to uswhen we awakened to a fresh, bright morning, a blue-and-white sky overhead, and a copious allowance of yellow mud under foot! There were various final purchases to be made. Our deck chairs were withthe heavy luggage, which the passenger by Austrian Lloyd only gets at PortSaïd, as it is sent from London by sea; so a deck chair had to be got, also a stock of light literature wherewith to beguile the long sea hours. A visit to our ship--the _Marie Valerie_--showed her to be acomfortable-looking vessel of some 4500 tons. She was busily engaged intaking in a large cargo, principally for Japan, and she showed no signs ofan early departure. Her nominal hour for starting was 4 P. M. , but thecaptain told us that he should not sail until next morning. So wedescended to examine our cabin, and found it to be large and airy, buttotally deficient in the matter of drawers or lockers. Well! we shall have to keep everything in cabin trunks, and "live in ourboxes" for the next three weeks. There was cabin accommodation for twenty passengers, but at dinner wemustered but nine. This is, of course, the season when all right-mindedfolks are coming home from India, and we never expected to find a crowd;still, nine individuals scattered abroad over the wide decks make but apoor show. The first meal on board a big steamer is always interesting. Every one isquietly "taking stock" of his, or her, neighbours, and forming estimatesof their social value, which are generally entirely upset by afterexperience. Of our fellow-passengers there were only five whose presence affected usin any way. A young Austrian, Herr Otto Frantz, with his wife, going outas first secretary of legation to Tokio; Major Twining, R. E. , and his wife;and Miss Lungley, a cosmopolitan lady, who makes Kashmir her headquartersand Rome her _annexe_. We became acquainted with each other sooner than might have been expected, by reason of an exploit of the stewardess--a gibbering idiot. The nightwas cold, so several of the ladies, following an evil custom, sent forthfrom their cabins those vile inventions called hot bottles. Only two cameback. .. , and then the fun began. The stewardess, who speaks no knowntongue, played "hunt the slipper" for the missing bottles through all thecabins, whence she was shot out by the enraged inhabitants until she wasreduced to absolute imbecility, and the harassed stewards to gesticulardespair. The missing articles were, I believe, finally discovered and routed out ofan unoccupied bed, where they had been laid and forgotten by theaddle-pated lady, and peace reigned. We sailed from Trieste early on the morning of the 28th of February, andsteamed leisurely on our way. The Austrian Lloyd's "unaccelerated"steamers are not too active in their movements, being wont to travel atpurely "economical speed, " and so we were given an excellent view of someof the Ionian Islands, steaming through the Ithaca channel, with thesnow-tipped peak of Cephalonia close on our starboard hand. Then, leaving the far white hills of the Albanian coast to fade into theblue mists, we sped "Over the sea past Crete, " until the tall lighthouse of Port Saïd rose on the horizon, followed bythe spars of much shipping, and the roofs of the houses dotted apparentlyover the waters of the Mediterranean. At length the low mudbanks whichrepresent the two continents of Africa and Asia spread their dull monotonyon either hand, and the good ship sat quietly down for a happy day'scoaling. Port Saïd has grown out of all knowledge since I first made itsacquaintance in 1877. It was then a cluster of evil-looking shanties, theabode of the scum of the Levant, who waxed fat by the profits of thegambling hells and the sale of pornographic photographs. It has now donnedthe outwardly respectable look of middle age; it has laid itself out instreets; the gambling dens have disappeared, and the robbers have betakenthemselves to the sale of the worst class of Japanese and Indian "curios, "ostrich feathers from East Africa, and tobacco in all its forms. Port Saïd has undoubtedly improved, but still it is not a nice place, andwe were unfeignedly glad to repair on board the _Marie Valerie_ as soon aswe noted the cessation of the black coaly cloud, through the murkiness ofwhich a chattering stream of gnome-like figures passed their burthens of"Cardiff" into the bowels of the ship. Port Saïd was cold, and Suez was cold, and we started down the Red Seafollowed by a strong north wind, which kept us clad in greatcoats for aday or two, and, as we got down into wider waters, obliged us to keep ourports closed. An object-lesson on the subject of closed ports was given in our cabin, where the fair chatelaine was reclining in her berth reading, fanned bythe genial air which floated in at the open port, --a truculent Red Seabillow, meeting a slight roll of the ship, entered the cabin in anunbroken fall on the lady's head. A damp tigress flew out through the door, wildly demanding the steward, a set of dry bedding, and the instantexecution of the captain, the officer of the watch, and the man at thewheel! How dull we should be without these little incidents! A hoopoe took deck, or rather rigging, passage for a while, and evoked thegreatest interest. Stalking glasses and binoculars were levelled at theunconcerned fowl, who sat by the "cathead" with perfect composure, andpreened himself after his long flight. The striking of "four bells" just under his beak unnerved him somewhat, and he departed in a great fuss and pother. Our roomy decks afford many quiet corners in which to read or doze, andnow that the weather is rapidly warming up we spend many hours in thesepeaceful pastimes, varied by an occasional constitutional--none of yourfisherman's walks, "three steps and overboard"--but a good, clear tramp, unimpeded by the innumerable deck-chairs, protruding feet, and ubiquitouschildren which cover all free space on board a P. & O. Then comes dinner, followed by a rubber of bridge, and so to bed. On Saturday the 11th we passed the group of islands commonly known as theTwelve Apostles. First, a tiny rock, rising lonely from the blue--brilliantly blue--waves;then a yellow crag of sandstone, looking like a haystack; and then a wholegroup of wild and fantastic islands, evidently of volcanic origin, andvarying in rough peaks and abrupt cliffs of the strangestcolours--brick-red, purple-black, grey, and yellow--utterly bare anddesolate: "Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, Nor aught of vegetative power, The weary eye may ken, " save only the white lighthouse, which, perched on its arid hill, serves toemphasise the desolation of earth and sky. The Red Sea is remarkably well supplied with lighthouses; and, consideringthe narrowness of the channel in parts, the strong and variable currents, and the innumerable islands and shoals, the supply does no more than equalthe demand. I cannot imagine a more grievous death in life than the existence of alighthouse-keeper in the Red Sea! _Sunday, 12th_. --We passed through the Gate of Tears this morning--thedismal, flat, and unprofitable island of Perim being scanned by me fromthe bathroom port, while exchanging an atmosphere of sticky salt air foran unrefreshing dip in sticky salt water. The hoopoe is again with us; in fact I do not think he really left theship, but simply sought a secluded perch, secure from prying observation. He reappeared upon the port stay, and proceeded to preen himself andobserve the ship's course. He is evidently bound for Aden, casting glancesof quiet unconcern on Perim and the coast of Araby the blest. Towards sunset we passed the fantastic peaks of little Aden, and, drawingup to Steamer Point, cast anchor under the "Barren Rocks of Aden. " _Monday, 13th_. --We had a shocking time last night. All ports closed forcoaling left us gasping, whilst a fiendish din arose from the bowels ofthe ship, whence cargo was being extracted. The stifling air, reeking withdamp, developed in the early morning a steady rain, which drippedmournfully on the grimy decks. Rain in Aden! We are told on the bestauthority that this is most unusual. Aden, to the passing stranger, shows few attractions. We went on shorewhen the rain showed signs of ceasing, and after buying a few odds andends, such as a pith hat and some cigarettes, we betook ourselves to theprincipal hotel, where an excessively bad breakfast was served to us, after which we were not sorry to shake the mud of Aden off our feet, so wechartered a shore boat amid a fearful clamour for extra pay and backshish, and set forth to rejoin our ship, now swept and garnished, and showinglittle trace of the coal she had swallowed. _Monday, 20th_. --We reached Karachi yesterday morning after a quiet, calm, and utterly uneventful passage across the Indian Ocean. It was never hot--merely calm, grey, and even showery, our onlyexcitements being an occasional school of porpoises or the sight of apassing tramp steamer. Some time before leaving England I had written to my old friend GeneralWoon, commanding the troops at Abbotabad, asking him to provide me with aservant capable of dry-nursing a pair of Babes in the Wood throughouttheir sojourn in a strange land. The General promised to supply us withsuch an one, who, he said, would rob us to a certain extent himself, butwould take good care that nobody else did so! Immediately, then, upon our arrival in Karachi roads, a dark and swarthyperson, with a black beard and gleaming white teeth, appeared on board, and reported himself as Sabz Ali, our servant and our master! His knowledge of English "as she is spoke" was scanty and of strangequality, but his masterful methods of dealing with the boatmen andCustom-house subordinates inspired us with awe and a blind confidence thathe could--and would--pull us through. There was no difficulty at the Custom-house until it transpired that Iwanted to take three firearms into the country. This appeared to be a mostunusual and reprehensible desire, and my statement that one weapon was arifle which I was taking charge of for a friend did not improve thesituation. It being Sunday, the principal authorities were sunningthemselves in their back parlours, and the thing in charge (called a Baboo, I understand) became exceedingly fussy, and desired that the guns shouldbe unpacked and exhibited lest they should be of service pattern. This wassimple, as far as my battery was concerned, and I promptly laid bare thebeauties of my Mannlicher and ancient 12-bore; but, alas! Mrs. Smithson'srifle was soldered like a sardine into a strong tin case, and nocold-chisel or screwdriver was forthcoming. Messengers were sent forth to seek the needful instruments, while Iproceeded to cut another Gordian knot. .. . An acquaintance of mine, hearingthat I was coming to India, suggested that I should take charge of aparcel for a friend of hers, who wanted to send it to her fiancé in Bombay. As all the heavy baggage was sent from London to join us at Port Saïd, Ihad not seen the "parcel, " and, finding no case or box addressed to anyone but myself, I had to select one that seemed most likely to be right, and forward that. At last the needful appliances were got and the rifle unpacked; but, although it proved to be (as I had said) a large-bore Express, the Baboorefused, like a very Pharaoh, to let it go, and I, after a two-hourvexatious delay, paid the duty on my own guns, and, leaving a note for thechief Customs official, explaining the case and begging him to send therifle on forthwith, packed myself--hot, hungry, and angry--into a "gharri, "and set forth to the Devon Place Hotel, whither the rest of the party hadpreceded me. I have gone into this little episode somewhat at length in order toimpress upon the voyager to India the necessity for limiting the number offirearms or getting a friend to father the extra ones through theCustoms--a perfectly simple matter had one foreseen the difficulty. Alsothe danger of taking parcels for friends--of which more anon![1] The Devon Place Hotel may be the best in Karachi, but it is pretty bad. .. . I am told that all Indian hotels are bad--still, the breakfast was aconsiderable improvement on the _Marie Valerie_, and we sallied forth asgiants refreshed to have a look at Karachi and do a little shopping. Itbeing Sunday, the banks were closed, but a kindly shopman cashed me acheque for twenty pounds in the most confiding manner, and enabled us toget the few odds and ends we wanted before going up country--among them acouple of "resais" or quilted cotton wraps and a sola topee for Jane. Karachi did not strike us as being a particularly interesting town, butthat may be to a great extent because we did not see the best part of it. On landing at Kiamari we had only driven along a hot and glaring mole, bordered by swamps and slimy-looking flats for some two miles. Then, onreaching the city proper, a dusty road, bordered by somewhatsuburban-looking houses, brought us to the Devon Place Hotel, near theFrere station. After breakfast we merely drove into the bazaars to shopbefore betaking ourselves to the station, in good time for the 6. 30 train. Passengers--at least first-class passengers--were not numerous, and MajorTwining and I had no difficulty in securing two compartments--one for ourwives and one for ourselves. An Indian first-class carriage is roomy, but bare, being arranged with aview to heat rather than cold Two long seats run "fore and aft" on eitherside, and upon them your servant makes your bed at night. Two upper berthscan be let down in case of a crowd. At the end of each compartment is asmall toilet-room. It was unexpectedly chilly at night, and Twining and I were glad to rollourselves up in as many rugs and "resais" as we could persuade the ladiesto leave to us. [1] A big deal case which we unpacked at Srinagar proved to contain a "life-sized" work-table. The package holding our camp beds and bedding, having a humbler aspect, had been sent to Bombay and cost as a world of worry and expense to recover! CHAPTER III KARACHI TO ABBOTABAD This morning we awoke to find ourselves rattling and shaking our waythrough the Sind Desert--an interminable waste of sand, barren andthirsty-looking, covered with a patchy scrub of yellowish and grey-purplebushes. I can well imagine how hatefully hot it can be here, but to-day it hasbeen merely pleasantly warm. Jane and I were deeply interested in the novel scenes we passed through, which, while new and strange to us, were yet made familiar by what we hadread and heard. The quiet-eyed cattle, with their queer humps, were justwhat we expected to see in the dusty landscape. The chattering crowds inthe wayside stations, their bright-coloured garments flaunting in thewhite sunlight--the fruit-sellers, the water-carriers, were all as thoughthey had stepped out of the pages of _Kim_--that most excellent of Indianstories. And so all day we rattled and shook through the Sind Desert in the hotsunlight till the dust lay thick upon us, and our eyes grew tired ofwatching the flying landscape. In the afternoon we reached Samasata junction, where the Twinings partedcompany with us, being bound for Faridkot. Sorry were we to lose such charming companions, especially as now indeedwe become as Babes in the Wood, knowing nothing of the land, its customs, or its language! Henceforward, Sabz Ali shall be our sheet-anchor, and I think he will notfail us. His English is truly remarkable, so much so that I regret to sayI have more than once supposed him to be talking Hindustani when he wasdiscoursing in my own mother-tongue. But he certainly is extraordinarilysharp in taking up what I and the "Mem-sahib" say. He presented to me to-day a remarkable letter, of which the following isan exact copy. I presume it is a sort of statement as to his generalduties:-- "_To the_ MAGER SAHIB. "Sir, --I beg to say that General 'Oon Sahib send me to you. He order me that the arrangement of Mager Sahib do. "To give pice to porter kuli this is my work. This is usefull to you. "You give him many pice. "Your work is order and to do it my work. You give me Rupee at once. Then I will write it on my book, from which you will see it is right or wrong. Now I am going to Cashmir with you and Cashmiree are thief. "If you will give me one man other it will usefull to you. I ask one cloth. All Sahib give cloth to Servant on going to Cashmir. "If will give cloth then all men say that this Sahib is good. I am fear from General 'Oon Sahib. It is order to give cloth. "I can do all work of cook and bearer. I wish that you will happy on me, also your lady, and say to General 'Oon Sahib that this man is good and honest man. "I have servant to many Sahib. "I have more certificate. "You are rich man and king. I am poor man. I will take two annas allowance per day in Cashmir, you will do who you wish. "I wish that you and lady will happy on me. This is begging you will. --I remain, Sir, your most obedient Servant, "SABAZ ALI, _Bearer_. " _Wednesday, March_ 22. --We slept again in the train on Monday night, andarrived in Lahore about 6 o'clock yesterday morning. We had been advised to tub and dress in the waiting-rooms at the station, as we had a break of some six hours before going on to Pindi; but, uponinvestigation, Jane found her waiting-room already fully occupied by anuninviting company of Chi-chis (Eurasians), and several men--theirhusbands and brothers presumably--were sleeping the sleep of the just inmine, so we left all our luggage stacked on the platform under the eye ofSabz Ali, and hurried off to Nedou's Hotel. Ye gods! What a cold drive itwas, and how bitterly we regretted that we had not brought our wraps fromtheir bundle. I was fearfully afraid that Jane would get a chill--an evil always to bespecially guarded against in a tropical climate, but a very hot tub and agood breakfast averted all calamity, and we set forth in a funny littletrap to inspect Lahore. This is the first large and thoroughly Indian city that we haveseen--Karachi being merely a thriving modern seaport and garrisontown--and we set to work to see what we could in the limited time at ourdisposal. We whisked along a road--bumpy withal in parts, and somewhatdusty, but broad. On either hand rose substantial stone mansions, halfhidden by trees and flowering shrubs. Many of these fine-looking buildingswere shops. I was impressed by their importance, for they were quite whatwould be described by an auctioneer or agent as "most desirable familymansions, approached by a carriage drive . .. Standing within their ownbeautifully wooded and secluded grounds in an excellent residentialneighbourhood, " &c. &c. Anon we whirled round a corner, and plunged into the seething life of thenative city. The road was crammed with an apparently impenetrable crowd ofmen and beasts, the latter--water-buffaloes, humpy cattle, anddonkeys--strolling about and getting in everybody's way with perfectnonchalance, while men in strange raiment of gaudy hue pursued theirlawful occupations with much clamour. The variety of smells--all bad--wasquite remarkable. We could only go at a walk, as the streets were very narrow and theinhabitants thereof--particularly the cows--seemed very deaf and difficultto arouse to a sense of the need for making room, though our good driveryelled himself hoarse and employed language which I feel sure was highlyflavoured. Our progress was a succession of marvellous escapes for humantoes and bovine shoulders, but our "helmsman steered us through, " and weemerged from the kaleidoscopic labyrinth into the open space before theFort of Lahore, whose pinkish brick walls and ponderous bastions roseabove us. The last thing I would desire would be to usurp in any way the functionsof grave Mr. Murray or well-informed Herr Baedeker, but there are certainpoints to which I will draw attention, and which it seems to me verynecessary to keep in mind. To the ordinary traveller in the Punjab and Northern India no buildingsare more attractive, no ruins more interesting, than those of the Moguldynasty, and the rule of the Mogul princes marks the high-water limit ofIndian magnificence. It was but for a short time, too, that the highestlevel of grandeur was maintained. For generations the Moguls had poured in intermittent hordes into NorthernIndia, but it was only in 1556 that Akbar, by defeating the Pathans atPanipat, laid India at his feet. Following up his success he overthrew theRajputs, and extended his dominion from Afghanistan to Benares. Havingconquered the country as a great warrior, he proceeded to rule it as anoble statesman, being "one of the few sovereigns entitled to theappellation both of Great and Good, and the only one of Mohammedan racewhose mind appears to have arisen so far above all the illiberalprejudices of that fanatical religion in which he was educated, as to becapable of forming a plan worthy of a monarch who loved his people and wassolicitous to render them happy. "[1] This "plan" was to study the religion, laws, and institutions of his Hindu subjects in order that he might governas far as possible in conformity with Hindu usage. The Emperor Akbar wasthe first of the Mogul monarchs who was a great architect. The city ofFattepur Sikri being raised by him as a stately dwelling-place until wantof water and the unhealthiness of the locality caused him to move intoAgra, leaving the whole city of Fattepur Sikri to the owls and jackals, and later to the admiration of the Sahib logue. A palace in Lahore, the fort at Allahabad, and much lovely work in thecity of Agra testify to the creative genius of that contemporary of ourown Good Queen Bess, the first "Great" Mogul. Jehangir, his son andsuccessor, has left few buildings of note, but his grandson, Shah Jehan, was undoubtedly the most splendid builder of the Mogul Mohammedan period. To him Delhi owes its stately palace and vast mosque--the Jama Masjid--andAgra would be famous for its wonderful palace of dark red stone andfretted marble, even without that masterpiece of Mohammedan inspiration, the world-famed Taj Mahal. The brief period of supreme magnificence cameto an end with the last of the "Great" Moguls--Aurungzeb, died in1707--having only blazed in fullest glory for some century and a half, butleaving behind it some of the noblest works of man. It seemed somehow very curious, as we drove up through the statelyentrance of the Hathi Paon, or Elephant Gate of the fort, to be salutedwith a "present arms" by British Tommies clad in unobtrusive khaki, and toreflect that we are the inheritors of the fallen grandeur of the MogulEmperors; that we in our turn, on many a hard-fought field, asserted ourpower to conquer; and that since then we have (I trust) so far followedthe sound principles of Akbar as to keep by justice and wise rule thebroad lands with their teeming millions in a state of peace and securityunknown before in India. Opposite the entrance rise the walls of the Palace of Akbar, curiouslydecorated with brilliant blue mosaics of animals and arabesques. We visited the armoury--a remarkably fine collection of weapons--not theleast interesting being those taken from the Sikhs and French in theearlier part of the last century. Opposite the armoury, and across a smallbeautifully-paved court, were the private apartments of Shah Jehan. Theyreminded me very much of the Alhambra, only, instead of the honeycombvaulted ceilings, and arches decorated in stucco by the Moors, the Easternarchitect inlaid his ceilings with an extraordinary incrustation of glass, usually silvered on the back, but also frequently coloured, and giving astrange effect of mother-o'-pearl inlay, bordering on tawdriness whenexamined in detail. It is possible that this coloured glass actually had its intended effectof inlaid jewels, and that the gem-encrusted walls, so enthusiasticallydescribed by Tavernier and others, as almost matching the peacock throneitself, may have been but imitation. Many of the pilasters were, however, very beautiful--of white marbleinlaid with flower patterns of coloured stones--while the arched windowopenings were filled in with creamy tracery of fair white marble. Leaving the fort after an all too short visit, we crossed to the greatmosque built by Aurungzeb. Ascending--from a garden bright with flowersand blossoming trees--a flight of broad steps, we found ourselves at theend of a rectangular enclosure, at each corner of which stood a red columnnot altogether unlike a factory chimney. In the centre was a circularbasin, very wide, and full of clear water, while in front, three whitemarble domes rose like great pearls gleaming against the cloudless blue. The mosque itself is built of red--dark red--sandstone, decorated withfloral designs in white marble. We climbed one of the minarets, and had a view of the city at our feet, and the green and fertile plains stretching dim into the shimmering hazebeyond the Ravee River. Then back to the hotel through the teeming alleys and down to thestation--the road, that we had found so bitterly cold in the early morning, now a blaze of sunlight, where the dust stirred up by the shuffling feetof the wayfarers quivered in the heat, and the shadows of men and beastslay short and black beneath them. We were not sorry to seek coolness in the bare railway carriage, and letthe fresh wind fan us as we sat by the open window and watched the flat, monotonous landscape sliding past. The journey from Lahore to Rawal Pindi is not a very long one--only about170 miles, or less than the distance from London to York; but an Indiantrain being more leisurely in its movement than the Great Northern Express, gave us ample time to contemplate the frequent little villages--all verymuch alike--all provided with a noisy population, among which dogs andchildren were extremely prevalent; the level plains, broken here and thereby clumps of unfamiliar trees, and inhabited by scattered herds of waterbuffaloes, cattle, and under-sized sheep, all busily engaged in picking upa precarious livelihood, chiefly roast straw, as far as one could see! We had grown so accustomed to the monotony of the plains, that when wesuddenly became aware of a faint blue line of mountains paling to snow, where they melted into the sky, the Himalayas came upon us almost with ashock of surprise. As we drew nearer, the rampart of mountains that guards India on the north, took form and substance, until at Jhelum we fairly left the plain andbegan to ascend the lower foothills. Between Jhelum and Rawal Pindi the line runs through a country that canbest be described by that much abused word "weird. " Originally asuccession of clayey plateaux, the erosion of water has worn andhoneycombed a tortuous maze of abrupt clefts and ravines, leaving in manycases mere shafts and pinnacles, whose fantastic tops stand level with thesurrounding country. The sun set while we were still winding through alabyrinth of peaks and pits, and the effect of the contrasting red goldlights and purple shadows in this strange confused landscape was a thingto be remembered. We rolled and bumped into Pindi at 8 P. M. , having travelled nearly 1000miles during our two days and nights in the train. Our friends the Smithsons were on the platform waiting to receive us andwelcome us as strangers and pilgrims in an unknown land. They have onlyremained here to meet us, and they proceed to Kashmir to-morrow, sleepingin a carriage in the quiet backwater of a siding, to save themselves theworry of a desperately early start to-morrow morning. The direct route into Kashmir by Murree is impassable, the snow beingstill deep owing to a very late spring following a severe winter. Thiswill oblige us to go round by Abbotabad, so I wired to my friend GeneralWoon to warn him that we propose to invade his peaceful home. _Sunday, March 26. _--We stayed a couple of days at Pindi, in order to makearrangements for transporting ourselves and our luggage into Kashmir. Thejourney can be made _viâ_ Murree in about a couple of days by mail tonga, but it is a joyless and horribly wearing mode of travel. The tonga, atwo-wheeled cart covered by an arched canvas hood and drawn by twohalf-broken horses, holds a couple of passengers comfortably, who sitbehind and stare at the flying white ribbon of road for long, long hours, while the driver urges his wild career. The horses are changed every tenmiles or so, and horrible and blood-curdling tales are extant of thevillainy and wrong-headedness of some of these tonga ponies, how they jibfor sheer pleasure, and leap over the low parapet that guards them fromthe precipice merely to vex the helpless traveller. When we suggested thatto sit facing the past might be conducive to a sort of sea-sickness andcertainly to headache, and that a total absence of view was to bedeprecated, it was impressed upon us that if the horses darted over the"khud, " we could slip out suddenly and easily, leaving the driver and theponies to be dashed to pieces by themselves! This appeared sound, but, upon inquiry I could not hear that any accident had ever happened to anytraveller going into Kashmir by tonga. Besides the tonga, there are other modes of going into Kashmir. Forinstance, the sluggish bullock-cart--safe, deliberate, and affording ampleleisure for admiring the scenery; the light native cart, or ekka, consisting of a somewhat small body screened by a wide white hood, andcapable of holding far more luggage than would at first sight seempossible, and drawn by a scraggy-looking but much enduring little horsetied up by a wild and complicated system of harness (chiefly consisting ofbits of old rope) between a pair of odd V-shaped shafts. Finally, there is the landau--a civilised and luxurious method ofconveyance which greatly appealed to us. We decided upon chartering alandau for ourselves and servant, and two ekkas to carry the heavy baggage. Mr. De Mars, the landlord of the hotel, was most obliging in helping us toarrange for our journey, promising to provide us with carriage and ekkasfor a sum which did not seem to me to be at all exorbitant. I soon found, however, that the worthy Sabz Ali did not at all approve ofthe arrangement. It was extremely hard to find out by means of his scantEnglish what he proposed to do; but I decided that here was an excellentopportunity of finding out what he was good for, so we determined to givehim his head, and let him make his own arrangements. A smile broke over his swarthy face for a moment, and he disappeared, coming back shortly afterwards just as the already ordered ekkas madetheir appearance. These he promptly dismissed--much to the vexation of Mr. De Mars; but Iexplained to him that I intended to see if my man was really to bedepended upon as an organiser, and that I should allow him to work uponhis own lines. We had arranged to sleep in a carriage drawn into a siding at the station, to avoid a very early start next morning. So after dinner we strolled downtowards our bedroom to find our henchman on the platform, full of zeal andenergy. I found out (with difficulty) that he proposed to go on to HassanAbdal with the luggage that night by goods train; that we should find himthere next morning, and that all would be right. So he departed, and werolled ourselves up in our "resais, " and wondered how it would all turnout. On Friday morning we rattled out of Rawal Pindi about seven, and slowlywound through a rather stony and uninteresting country, until we arrivedat the end of our railway journey about ten o'clock, and scrambled out atthe little roadside station. Our excellent factotum, Sabz Ali, awaited us with a capacious landau, andinformed us that the heavy baggage had gone on in the ekkas. So we setforth at once on our 42-mile drive to Abbotabad without "reposing for atime in the rich valley of Hussun Abdaul, which had always been afavourite resting-place of the Emperors in their annual migrations toCashmere" (_Lalla Rookh_). The landau, though roomy and comfortable, was, like Una's lion, a "mostunhasty beast, " and we rolled quite slowly and deliberately over adistinctly uninteresting plain for about twenty miles, until we came toHaripur, a pretty village enclosed in a perfect mass of fruit trees infull bloom. Here we changed horses, and lunched at the dâk bungalow--a first andfavourable experience of that useful institution. The dâk bungalowgenerally consists of a simple wooden building containing a dining-roomand several bedrooms opening on to a verandah, which usually runs roundthree sides of the house. The furniture is strong and simple, consistingof tables, bedsteads, and some long chairs. A khansamah or cook providesfood and liquor at a fixed and reasonable rate. Travellers are only permitted to remain for twenty-four hours if the roomsare wanted, each person paying one rupee (1s. 4d. ) for a night, or halfthat amount for a mere day halt. The khansamah would appear to be the only functionary in residence untilthe hour of departure draws near, when a whole party ofunderlings--chowkidars, bheesties, and sweepers--appear from nowhere inparticular; and the lordly traveller, having presented them with abouttwopence apiece, rolls off along the dusty white road, leaving thekhansamah and his myrmidons salaaming on the verandah. We made the mistake of over-tipping at first in India, not realising thata couple of annas out here go as far as a shilling at home; but it is amistake which should be rectified as soon as possible, for you get nocredit for lavishness, but are merely regarded as a first-class idiot. Nosane man would ever expend two annas where one would do! On leaving Haripur the road began to ascend a little, and at the villageof Sultanpur we entered a valley, through which a shrunken stream ran, andwhich we crossed more than once. Then a long ascent of about eleven miles brought us near our destination. It had been threatening rain all the afternoon, and now the weather madeits threat good, and the rain fell in earnest. It grew dark, too; and, finally, not having had any reply to my telegram to General Woon, we didnot know whether we were expected or not. Sabz Ali, however, had no doubts on the matter. We were approaching hisown particular country, and whether "Gen'l 'Oon Sahib" was there toentertain us or not, _he_ was; and so it was "alright. " Our poor horses were done to a turn, a heavy landau with five people in it, as well as a fair amount of luggage, being no trifle to drag up so longand steep a hill. So we had to walk up the last rise to the General'shouse in the dark and rain, mildly cheered, however, by finding the twoekkas just arrived with the baggage. A most hearty greeting from my old friend and his charming wife awaited us, and after a hasty toilet and an excellent dinner we felt at peace with allthe world. Both yesterday (Saturday) and to-day it has been cold and disagreeable. The past winter, I am told, has been a very severe one, and the melancholybrown skeletons of all the eucalyptus trees in the place show the dismalresults of the frost. This forenoon the day darkened, and a very severe thunderstorm broke. Sodark was it at lunch that candles had to be lighted in haste, and even now(4 P. M. ) I can barely see to write. _Thursday, March_ 30. --Monday was showery, and Tuesday decidedly wet; but, in spite of the hospitable blandishments of our kind hosts, we were mostanxious to get on, as, having arranged with the Smithsons to go into theAstor district to shoot, it was most important to reach Srinagar beforethe first of April--the day upon which the shooting passes were to beissued to sportsmen in rotation of application. Knowing that only tenpasses were to be given for Astor, and that several men were ahead of me, I felt that we were running it somewhat fine to leave only three days forthe journey. General Woon, who knew Kashmir well, did his very best to dissuade us fromattempting the passes into Astor, reading to us gloomy extracts from hisjournal, and pointing out that it was no fit country for a lady in earlyspring. He did much to shake our enthusiasm, but still I felt we must do our bestto "keep tryst" with the Smithsons. So, on Tuesday, we sent on the heavyluggage in two ekkas which Sabz Ali had procured, the two others beingonly hired from Hassan Abdal to Abbotabad. Sabz Ali had pointed out that, although he himself was a wonderful man, and could do almost, if not quite, everything, a second servant would begreatly to our (and his) advantage. So, acting on my permission, heengaged one Ayata--a gentle person of a sheep-like disposition, who dideverything he was told, and nothing that he was told not to, during oursojourn in Kashmir. [1] Robertson's _India_, Appendix. CHAPTER IV ABBOTABAD TO SRINAGAR Dismal tidings came in of floods and storms on the Hassan Abdal road. Theriver had swollen, and both men and beasts had been swept away whiletrying to cross. Undeterred, however, by such news, even when backed bywarnings and persuasions from our friends, we set forth in the rainyesterday morning. The prospect was not cheerful--a grey veil of cloud layover all the surrounding hills, here and there deepening into dark andangry thunder-clouds. The road was desperately heavy, but the General hadmost kindly sent on a pair of mules ahead, and, with another pair in theshafts, our own nags took a holiday as far as Manserah. The weather grew worse. It rained very heavily and thundered with greatvigour, and as we straggled up the deeply-muddied slope to the dâkbungalow at Manserah we felt somewhat low; but we did not in the leastrealise what was before us! Our road had lain through fairly level plains, with low cuttings here andthere, where the saturated soil was already beginning to give way and fallupon the road in untidy heaps; but this did not foreshadow what mightoccur later. At Manserah we met Hill and Hunt, two young gunners, _en route_ for Astor. They left in a tonga soon after we arrived, and we did not expect to seetheir speedier outfit again. Being pressed for time, we only had a cup of cocoa, and then hastened onour dismal career. The road grew steeper, winding over some low hills, but we could not seevery much, as the whirling cloud masses blotted out all the view. By-and-by it bent towards a pine-clad hill, and began to ascend steeply. By this time we were very wet, as we had to walk up the hills to ease thehorses. The scene was extraordinary, as the great thunder-clouds boiled upand over us--tawny yellow, and even orange in the lights, and dull andsolid lead colour in the depths. The distance was invisible, but gleamsnow and again revealed, through the drifts of rain, wide stretches ofcultivated land lying below us, and a ragged forest of pines piercing themist above. Dripping, we walked by our wet horses up to the top of the pass, hopingfor a swift and easy descent on the farther side to Ghari Habibullah, where we intended to sleep, as we had given up all idea of being able toget on to Domel. Presently the horses were pulled up sharply as a ton or two of rock andearth came crashing upon the road in front of us. More fallen masses encumbering the way farther on made us feel ratheranxious, until, on rounding a corner, we found the whole road barred by ahuge mass of rock and soil. It was blowing hard, the stormy wind striking chill and bleak through thebending pines; it was raining in torrents; it was 5 P. M. , and we werestill some six miles from the haven where we would be; so, after a shortand utterly ineffectual attempt to get the carriage past the obstacle, Jane and I set off to walk down the hill and seek help. It was exciting, as we had to dodge the rock-falls and run past theshaky-looking places! At a turn of the road we came upon the gunners'tonga, embedded in a mud-slide. The occupants had had an escape from totalwreck, as one of the ponies had swerved over the khud, but the other savedthe situation by lying down in the mud! Hunt had gone off into thelandscape to try for a village and help, while Hill remained to wrestlewith the tonga, which, however, remained obstinately immovable. We coulddo nothing to mend matters, so we fled on, meeting Hunt, with a fewnatives and a shovel, on his way back to the scene of action. After an hour and a half of very anxious work, we emerged at dusk from thewood, hoping our troubles were over. We could dimly see, and hear, throughthe mist a stream below us; but, alas! no bridge was visible. Icommandeered a man from the first hut we came to, and tried by signs tomake him understand that he was to carry the lady across the river; but, luckily, just as we reached the bank of what was a very nasty-lookingstream in full spate, the liberated tonga overtook us, and Jane wasbundled into it, while we three men waded. The stream was strong and up toour knees, and level with the tonga floor, and the horses gettingfrightened began to jib. Hill seized one by the head, and Jane was safelydrawn to shore and sent on her way under guidance of the driver, while wetramped on in the dark until a second torrent barred our way. Here, in thegloom, we made out the tonga empty, and stuck fast against the far bank. It was all right though, for Jane had crawled out at the front andwandered on in search of the dâk bungalow, leaving the driver squattinghelplessly beside the water. It was so dark that she missed the bungalow, which stands a little abovethe road, and struggled on till she came to a small cluster of native huts. One of the inhabitants, on being boldly accosted, was good enough to pointout the way, and so the re-united party--tired, wet, and with no prospectof dry clothing--took possession of the cheerless-looking dâk bungalow. Things now began to improve. To our joy we found our ekkas with theircontents drawn up in the yard. And while a fire was being encouraged intoa blaze, and the lean fowl was being captured and slain on the backpremises, we obtained dry garments--of sorts--from the baggage. Madame's dinner costume consisted of a blue flannel garment--nocturnal bydesign--delicately covered by a quilted dressing-gown, and the rest of uswere _en suite_, a great lack of detail as to collars and foot-wear beingapparent! Nevertheless, the fire blazed royally, and we ate up all the oldhen and called for more, and prepared to make a night of it until, aboutten o'clock, our bearer Sabz Ali appeared, with a train of coolies carryingour bedding and the other contents of the derelict carriage. This morning the two young gunners departed on foot, leaving their tonga, as the road to Domel is reported to be quite impassable. They intend towalk by a short cut over the hills, and get on as best they may, the racefor Astor being a keen one. We decided to remain here, the weather being still gloomy and unsettled, and the road being impossible for a lady. At noon the landau was brought in, minus a step and very dirty, butotherwise "unwounded from the dreadful close. " Ghari Habibullah is not at all a cheerful spot, as it appears, the centreof a grey haze, with dense mist low down on the surrounding mountains. Sabz Ali, too, complains of fever, which is not surprising after thewetting and exposure of yesterday; and when a native gets "fever" he curlsup and is fit for nothing, and won't try. The dâk bungalow stands on a little plateau overlooking the road and aswift river, whose tawny waves were loaded with mud washed from the hillsby recent storms. On a slope opposite, the queer, flat-roofed nativevillage perched, and above it swirled a misty pall which hid all but thebases of the hills. To this village we strolled, but it was notinteresting; the inhabitants did not seem wildly friendly, and the mud anddirt and dogs were discouraging. So we roamed along the Domel road till wecame to a high cliff of conglomerate, which had recently been sheddingboulders over the track to an alarming extent; so, deciding that it wouldbe merely silly to risk getting our heads cracked, we turned back, and, re-crossing the river, clambered up a steep path above the right bank. Herewe soon found great rents and rifts where falling rocks had come boundingdown the steeps from above, so once more we turned tail, and, giving upthe idea of any more country walks in that region, betook ourselves to thegloomy and chilly bungalow. The only really delightful things we sawduring our doleful excursion were a lovely clump of big, rose-colouredprimula, drooping from the clefts of a steep rock, and a pair of large andhandsome kingfishers, [1] pursuing their graceful avocations by a roadsidepool--their white breasts, ruddy flanks, and gleaming blue backs giving awelcome note of colour to the sedate and misty grey of the landscape. _Tuesday, April_ 4. --Thirty-six hours of Ghari Habibullah give ample timefor the loneliest recluse to pant for the bustle of a livelier world. Wewere so bored on Thursday that we determined to push on, _coûte que coûte_, on Friday morning, although a note sent back by one of the gunners fromDomel, by a coolie, informed us that the road about a mile short of thatplace was completely blocked by a fallen mass of some hundreds of tons. Our henchman having somewhat recovered of his fever, thanks to a generousexhibition of quinine, we gave the order to pack and start, hoping toachieve the twelve miles which separated us from Domel, even though thelast bit had to be done on foot. About two miles from Ghari Habibullah wecame to the Kashmir custom-house, presided over by a polite gentleman, whose brilliant purple beard was a joy to look upon. Most of the elderly natives dye their beards with, I think, henna, producing a fine orange effect, but purple. .. ! _Bottom_. What beard were I best to play it in? _Quince_. Why, what you will. _Bottom_. I will discharge it in either your straw-coloured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow _Midsummer Night's Dream_, Act I. Sc. 2. "What _coloured beard_ comes next by the window?" "A black man's, I think. " "I think a _red_: for that is most in fashion. " RAM ALLY. Truly, until I beheld that tax-gatherer of the Orient, I had no idea thatthe "purple-in-grain" beard existed outside a poet's fancy! The road took us along the left bank of the river, whose soil-stainedwaters churned their way through a wild and rocky gorge. On our left themountain rose bare and steep, fringed with a few straggling bushes, andhere and there a clinging patch of rose-coloured primula. Part of theconglomerate cliff had come down and obliterated the road, but a party ofcoolies was busily at work, and, after about an hour's delay, wetriumphantly bumped our way past. The road now led steadily upward, leaving an ever-increasing slope (orkhud) between it and the river, until it attained a height of over athousand feet, when, turning to the left, it swung over the watershed, andbegan to descend into the valley of the Kishenganga. Through the haze wecould make out Domel, our goal, lying far below, and then the old Sikhfort of Musafferabad. The road was so encumbered with rock-falls that we walked the greater partof it, until we came to the new bridge over the Kishenganga, whose darkred waters rush into the Jhelum about a mile below. Here was Musafferabad, the whole place a confused jumble of wheeledtraffic caught up by the big landslip in front. Passing, amid the chatterand clamour of men and beasts, through the medley of bullock-carts andekkas that crowded every available space, we hauled the carriage throughthe bed of a watercourse whose bridge was broken. Up over the prostratetrunk of a fallen tree we regained the road, to find ourselves in front ofthe big landslip of which we had been warned. It consisted of somethousands of tons of dark red mud and loose boulders, and it blocked theroad for fully a couple of hundred yards. A large and energetic swarm of coolies was busily engaged in "tidying up. "This was apparently to be achieved by means of shovels, each little shovelworked by two men--one to shovel, and the other to assist in raising itwhen full by means of a little rope round the head. This labour had to belubricated by much conversation. It seemed upon the whole unlikely that a path could be made for aconsiderable time, so we lunched peacefully in the carriage, a pair ofextremely friendly crows assisting at the feast, and then, leaving ourlandau to follow as best it might, we walked into Domel, crossing theJhelum by a fine bridge. The dâk bungalow, prettily placed in a clump of trees, seemed the abode ofluxury to us after the discomfort of Ghari Habibullah, and we fondly hopedthat, being now upon the main road which runs from Rawal Pindi to Srinagar, our troubles were over. Saturday was the 1st of April, the day upon which I should have appliedfor my pass for Astor. Wiring to Srinagar to explain that I was in Kashmirterritory (which I subsequently found was enough to entitle me to a pass), and also to Smithson to say that we were making the best of our way tojoin him, we "took the road" after breakfast. The carriage and the two ekkas had come in early, having been unloaded andthen carried bodily over the "slide. " A broad and smooth road, whose gentle gradient of ascent was merelysufficient to keep us level with the river bank, opened up an alluringprospect of ease and comfort. We lay back on our comfortable cushions andwatched the clouds as they swept over the mountains, hiding all butoccasional glimpses of snow-streaked slopes and steep and barren ridges. The valley of the Jhelum between Domel and Ghari is not beautiful--merelywide and desolate, with steep hills rising from the river, their lowerslopes sparsely clad with leafless scrub, their shoulders merging into thedull mist which hangs around their invisible summits. Alas! it soon became apparent that our troubles were not over. The cliffsabove us became steeper, and the familiar boulder reappeared upon the road. Small landslips gave us a good deal of trouble, although we had no seriousdifficulty before reaching Ghari. Here we were told that a complete"solution of continuity" in the road at Mile 46 would prevent our reachingChakhoti, so we reluctantly decided to remain where we were for the night. Although a cold and dull spring afternoon is not exciting at Ghari, wheredistractions are decidedly scanty, we found interest in the discovery ofthe Smithsons' heavy luggage, which had been sent on from Rawal Pindi agesago. Here it lay in the peaceful backwater of a native caravansary, piledhigh on a bullock-cart, whose placid team lay near pensively chewing the"cud of sweet and bitter fancy, " and apparently quite innocent of anyintention of moving for a week or two! We extracted the charioteers from a neighbouring hut, and gave them tounderstand, by means of Sabz Ali, that hanging was the least annoyancethey would suffer if they didn't get under way "ek dam" at once. Theypromptly promised that their oxen--like Pegasus--should fly on the wingsof the wind, and, having seen us safely round a corner, departedpeacefully to eat another lotus. The luggage arrived in Srinagar towards the end of the month. Sunday morning saw us again battling with a perfect coruscation oflandslips; so "jumpy" was it in many places that we sat with the carriagedoors ajar, in hopes that a timely dart out might enable us to evade afalling rock. At Mile 46 we were held up for an hour until a ramp was madeover a bad slide, and the carriage and ekkas were unloaded and got across. The landau looked for all the world like a great dead beetle surrounded byants, as, man-handled by a swarm of coolies, it was hauled, step by step, over the improvised track. A landau is not at all a suitable or convenientcarriage for this sort of work, and had we guessed what was before us weshould most certainly have employed the handier tonga. The road to-day, cut as it was out of the steep flank of the mountain, wasmagnificent, but, in its present condition, nerve-shattering. Fallenboulders and innumerable mud-slides constantly forced us to get out andwalk, while the sturdy little horses tugged the carriage through placeswhere the near wheels were frequently within a few inches of the brokenedge of the road, while far below Jhelum roared hungrily as he foamed bythe foot of a sheer precipice. Reaching Chakhoti about four o'clock, we decided to remain there for thenight, as it was growing late and the weather looked gloomy andthreatening. Although we had only achieved a short stage of twenty-onemiles, there was no suitable place for a night's halt until Uri, distantsome thirteen miles and all uphill. About half a mile above Chakhoti there is a rope bridge over the Jhelum, and after tea we set forth to inspect it. The river is here about 150 yards wide and extremely swift, and I confessthe means of crossing it, although practised with perfect confidence bythe natives, did not appeal to me. From two great uprights, formed from solid tree-trunks, three strong ropeswere stretched--the upper two parallel, and the third, about four feetlower, was equidistant from each. These three ropes were kept in their relative positions by woodenstretchers--something like great merrythoughts, lashed at intervals of afew yards-- "And up and down the people go, " stepping delicately upon the lower rope, and holding on to the upper oneswith their hands. The uncomfortable part seemed to the unpractisedEuropean to be where the graceful sweep of the long ropes brought thetraveller to within a painfully close distance of the hurrying, hungrywater, before he began to slither circumspectly up the farther slope! We stood for some little time watching the natives going to and fro, passing one another with perfect ease by means of a dexterous squirm, andcarrying loads on their backs, or live fowls under their arms, with theutmost unconcern. We left Chakhoti early this morning--Tuesday--with the intention ofgetting right through to Baramula. The road was of course extremely bad, and the long ascent to Uri very hard upon our willing little nags. Ofcourse they have had a remarkably easy time of it lately, as we have beenlimited to very short stages, and they are in excellent hard condition, sothat we felt it no great hardship to ask them to do forty-two miles:albeit to drag a heavy landau containing five people and a good deal ofluggage for that distance, with a rise of over 2000 feet, is a heavydemand upon a single pair of horses! The scenery was very fine as we toiled up the gorge, in which Uri standson a plateau over the river and guards the pass into Kashmir valley. The ruins of an ancient fort rose on the near edge of the little plain. The Jhelum tore through a rocky gorge far below, and a dark semi-circle ofmountains stood steeply up, their cloud-hidden summits giving fleetingglimpses of snow and precipice and pine-clad corries as the sun now andagain shot through the clinging vapours. The dâk bungalow of Uri, white and clean, was most attractive, and Ishould imagine the place to be charming in summer, but as yet the shortcrisp turf is still brown from recent snow, and although hot in the sun, which now began to shine steadily, it was extremely cold in the shade, while lunch (or should I say "tiffin"?) was being got ready. I strolledover to the post-office to find--as usual--another urgent wire fromSmithson several days old, beseeching me to secure my pass for Astor atonce. Directly after lunch we set forward, and as the road on leaving Uritakes a long bend of some miles to the right to a point where the Haji PirRiver is crossed, and then sweeps back along its right hank to a spotalmost opposite the dâk bungalow, we thought that a short cut down to thewater, which from our height seemed quite insignificant, and thence up tothe road on the other side, would be a desirable stroll. As we walked downthe steep path into the nullah a brace of red-legged partridges (chikor)rose in a great fuss, and sailed gaily across the river, whose roaringgained ominously in volume as we drew near. It soon became plain to usthat everything is on a very big scale in this country, and that theclearness of the atmosphere helps to delude the unwary stranger. Thelittle stream that seemed to require but an occasional stepping-stone toenable us to pass over dry-shod, proved in the first place to be muchfarther off than we had supposed, and when, after a hot scramble, we foundourselves on the bank, the stepping-stones were no more, but only here andthere we saw the shoulders of huge rocks which doggedly threw aside theflying foam of a fair-sized river. It was obviously impossible to crossexcept by deep wading, but, being unwilling to own defeat, I yelled to abrown native on the far bank, and made signs that he should come and dobeast of burthen. He, however, stolidly shook his head, pointed to thewater, and then to his chest, and finally we sadly and wrathfully toiledback to the road we had so lightly left, and expended all our energies onattracting the notice of the carriage, which, having crossed the bridge, was crawling along the opposite face of the nullah, and when, after a hotthree miles, we once more embedded ourselves amongst the cushions with asigh of relief, we swore off short cuts for the future. We had been warned at Uri that there was a "bad place" at Mile 73, andsure enough, on rounding a bend, we came upon the familiar mass ofsemi-liquid red earth and a pile of boulders heaped across the road, thekhud side of which had entirely given way. The usual crowd of coolies wasbusily engaged in trying to clear the obstruction by means of toothpicksand teaspoons. We quitted the carriage with a celerity engendered of much practice, and, having crossed the obstacle on foot, sat down to await the coming of ourconveyance. It seemed perfectly marvellous that the heavy vehicle could be safely gotover a jagged avalanche of earth and rock piled some eight or ten feetabove the roadway, and having an almost sheer drop to the river entirelyunguarded for some hundred yards, where the retaining parapet and evensome of the road itself had gone. Amid much apparent confusion and tremendous chattering, a sort of roughramp was engineered up the slip, and presently the horseless landauappeared borne in triumph by a mob of coolies superintended by ourpriceless Sabz Ali. For a minute we held our breath as one of the near wheels lipped the edgeof the chasm, but the thing was judged to an inch, and in due time thesturdy chestnuts, the two ekkas, and all the luggage were assembled on theright side of what proved to be the last of the really bad slips. The road engineer, who arrived in great state on a motor cycle while wewere executing the portage, told us that there were no more difficulties, but an officer who was going out, and whose tonga was checked also at thebig slip, informed us that about a mile farther were two great boulders onthe road, lying so that although a short vehicle such as a tonga or motorcycle could wriggle round, yet a long four-wheeled landau could notpossibly execute the serpentine curve required. We therefore requisitioned a few coolies with crowbars, and set forward toattack the boulders. Sure enough there were two beauties, placed so thatwe could not possibly get by, until a large slice was chipped from theinner side of each. This done, our most excellent and skilful driver piloted his poniesthrough the narrow strait, and we felt that, at last, our troubles wereover, and that we could breathe freely and admire at leisure the snowypeaks of the Kaj-nag beyond the Jhelum, and the rough wooded heights thatfrowned upon our right. I confess the relief was great, as we had endured six days of incessantstrain on our nerves, never knowing when a turn of the road might bring usto an impassable break, or when the conglomerate cliffs beetling abovemight shed a boulder or two upon us! Passing the somewhat uninviting little village of Rampur, we crossed atorrent pouring out of a dark pine-clad gorge, and halted for tea by thecurious ruined temple of Bhanyar. The building consists of a rectangularwall, cloistered on two sides of the interior and surrounding a smalltemple approached by a dilapidated flight of stone steps. I regret to beobliged to own that I know but a mere smattering of architecture. I do notfeel competent therefore to discuss this, the first Kashmiri temple I haveseen, upon its architectural merits. I only know that it struck me asbeing extremely small, and principally interesting from its magnificentbackground of shaggy forest and snow-capped mountain. Tea on a short smooth sward, starred with yellow colchicum, while thecarriage, travel-stained and with one step lacking, stood on the road hardby, and the horses nibbled invigorating lumps of "gram" and molasses. Thenthe etna was returned to the "allo bagh" (yellow bag) and the tea thingsto the tiffin basket, and away we went along the now smooth and level roadwith only fifteen easy miles between us and Baramula. The vegetation had gradually grown much richer. The sparse andstorm-buffeted pines and the rough scrub merged into a tangled mass ofundergrowth and forest, where silver firs and deodars rose conspicuous. The little streams that rushed down the hillsides were fringed withmaidenhair fern, lighted up here and there with a bunch of pink primula ora tiny cluster of dog violets. Jhelum had ceased from roaring, pursuing his placid path unwitting of therush and fury that would befall him lower down, and by-and-by we emergedfrom the dark and forest-covered gorge into a wide basin where the river, now smooth and oily, reflected tall poplars and the red shoots of youngdogwood. Through a village, round a sweep to the left, over a tract said to be muchfrequented by serpents, and then in the deepening and chilly dusk we madeout Baramula, lying engirdled by a belt of poplars about a mile away. Glad were we, and probably gladder still our weary horses, to draw upbefore the uninviting-looking dâk bungalow, knowing that only thirty-fivemiles of level and open road lay now between us and Srinagar. The dâk bungalow of Baramula is, upon the whole, the worst we have yetsampled. No fire seemed able to impart any cheerfulness to the gloomy denwe were shown into, and the dinner finally produced by thekhansamah-kitmaghar-chowkidar (for a single tawny-bearded ruffianrepresented all these functionaries when the morning tip fell due) was notof an exhilarating nature. Strolling out to have a look at the town ofBaramula, I shivered to see a heap of snow piled up against the wall. Itsnowed here, heavily, three days ago, I am told. We have not been, so far, altogether lucky in the weather. Bitter cold inEurope, cold at Port Saïd and Suez, chilly in the Red Sea, and wet at Aden!Distinctly chilly in India, excepting during the day; we seem to have hitoff the most backward spring known here for many years. The Murree route, which was closed to us by snow, should have been clear a month earlier, and spring here seems not yet to have begun. _April_ 5. --We crept shivering to our beds last night, to be awakened at 6A. M. By an earthquake! I had just realised what the untoward commotion meant when I heard Janefrom under her "resai" ask, "What _is_ the matter--is it an earthquake?"Almost before I could reply, she was up and away, in a fearful hurry andvery little else, towards the open country. I followed, but finding hoar-frost on the ground and a nipping eagernessin the air, I went back for a "resai. " The feeling was that of going intoone's cabin in a breeze of wind, and the door was flapping about. Seizingthe wrap in some haste, as I was afraid of the door jamming, I rejoinedJane in the open, to watch the poplars swaying like drunken men and thesolid earth bulging unpleasantly. The shock lasted for three minutes, andwhen it seemed quite over we retired to our beds to try to get warm again. The morning at breakfast-time was perfectly beautiful. Baramula layserenely mirrored in the silver waters of the Jhelum, its picturesquebrown wooden houses clustering on both banks, and joining hands by meansof a long brown wooden bridge. No signs of any unusual disturbance couldbe seen among the chattering crews of the snaky little boats anddeep-laden "doungas" that lined the banks or furrowed the waters of theshining river. We left Baramula in high spirits to accomplish the five-and-thirty mileswhich still stretched between us and Srinagar. The scenery was quitedifferent from anything we had yet known, for now we were in the broadflat valley of Kashmir, which stretches for some eighty miles from beyondIslamabad, on the N. E. , to Baramula, planted at the neck where the JhelumRiver, after spreading itself abroad through the fertile plain, concentrates to pour its many waters through the mountain barrier until itjoins the Indus far away in Sind. A broad and level road stretched straight and white between a double rowof stark poplars, reminding one of the poplar-guarded ways of Picardy;also (as in France) not only were the miles marked, but also thethirty-two subdivisions thereof. On the right hand the ground slopedslowly up in a succession of wooded heights, the foothills of the PirPanjal, whose snow-crowned peaks enclose the Kashmir valley on the south. Opposite, through a maze of leafless trees, one caught occasional gleamsof water where the winding reaches of the river flowed gently from theturquoise haze where lay the Wular Lake, and beyond--clear and pale inthe clear, crisp air--shone a glorious range of snow mountains, stretchingaway past where we knew Srinagar must lie, to be lost in the distant hazewhere sky and mountain merged in the north-east. By the roadside we passed many small lakes, or "jheels, " full of duck, butas there was never any cover by the sides I could not see how the duckwere to be approached. We lunched at the fascinating little bungalow at Patan (pronounced"Puttun"), about half-way between Baramula and Srinagar. The Rest Housestands back from an apparently extremely populous and thriving village, the inhabitants whereof were all engaged in conversation of a highlyanimated kind! In the compound stood a fine group of chenar trees(_Platanus orientalis_) whose noble trunks and graceful branches showed instriking contrast to the slender stems of the poplars. The guide-bookinformed us that an ancient temple lay in ruins near by, but we trusted toa later visit and determined to push on. By-and-by a fort-crowned hillrose above the tree-tops. This we took to be Hari Parbat, the ancientcitadel of Srinagar, and presently, through the poplars and the willowsqueer wooden huts or châlets began to appear, and the increasing number ofmen and beasts upon the road showed the proximity of the city. Ekkas, white-hooded, with jingling bells hung round the scraggy necks oftheir lean ponies; brown men clad in sort of night-shirts composed ofmud-coloured rags; brown dogs, humpy cattle, and children innumerable, swarmed upon the causeway in ever-increasing density until we drew up atthe custom-house, and the usual jabber took place among Sabz Ali, thedriver, and the officials. All appeared satisfactory, however, and we were presented with bits ofbrown paper scrawled over with hieroglyphics which we took to be passes, and drove on, leaving the native town apparently on our left and making adétour through level fields and between rows of poplars, until we swunground and crossed the river by a fine bridge. Here we first got some ideaof the city of Srinagar, which lay spread around us, bisected by the broad, but apparently far from sluggish river, which seems here to be about thewidth of the Thames at Westminster at high water. Tier upon tier, the rickety wooden houses crowded either bank, theprevailing brown being oddly lighted up by the roofs, which werefrequently covered with deep green turf. Here and there the steep andpeculiar dome of a Hindu temple flashed like polished silver in the keensunlight, while around and beyond all rose the ring of the everlastinghills, their peaks clear, yet soft, against a background of cloudless blue. Close below us stood a remarkably picturesque pile of buildings, of amixed style of architecture, yet harmonising well enough as a whole withits surroundings. Over it flew a great "banner with a strange device, " andwe assumed (and rightly) that we looked upon the palace of His HighnessSir Pratab Singh, Maharajah of Jammu and Kashmir. Crossing the river, we dived into a bit of the native town, and were muchstruck by the want of colour as compared with an Indian street. Everythingseemed steeped in the same neutral brown--houses, boats, people, and dogs!Emerging from the native street, with its open shop-fronts and teeminglife, we drove for some little way along a straight level road, flanked, as usual, on either side by poplars of great size which ran through abrown, flat field, showing traces of recent snow, and finally finished ourtwo-hundred-mile drive in front of the one and only hotel in all Kashmir. Our two little chestnuts, which had brought us right through from Chakhotito Srinagar--a distance of about seventy-eight miles--in two days, were aslively and fit as possible, and playfully nibbled at each other's noses asthey were walked off to their well-earned rest. The ekka horses, too, had brought our heavy luggage all the way fromAbbotabad over a shocking road in the most admirable manner, and we hadevery reason to congratulate ourselves on having entrusted the arrangementof the whole business--the "bandobast" in native parlance--to our henchmanSabz Ali, who had thus proved himself an energetic and trustworthyorganiser, and saving financier to the extent of some twenty rupees. I may emphasise here the importance of keeping one's heavy baggage insight, herding on the ekkas in front, if possible, and keeping a wary eyeand a firm hand on the drivers at all halts. The Smithsons, who had senton their gear from Rawal Pindi some days before we got there, did notreceive it in Srinagar until the 22nd of April. It took about five weeksto do the journey, and the rifle which I was obliged to leave in Karachion the 19th of March finally turned up in Srinagar, after an infuriatingand vain expenditure of telegrams, on the 1st of May! Of course, part of the delay was due, and all was attributed, to theunusually bad state of the roads. The heavy storms and floods which, bywrecking the road, had delayed us so much, naturally checked the heavytransport still more; and severe congestion of bullock-carts resulted atall the halting-places along the route. Still, the main cause of delaylies in the fact that the monopoly of transport has been granted by theMaharajah to one Danjibhoy, who charges what he pleases, and takes suchtime over his arrangements as suits his Oriental mind. The motto over the Transport Office door might well be "_Ohne Hast--mitRast_!" The other (much-cherished) monopoly in this favoured land is that enjoyedby Mr. Nedou, the owner of THE HOTEL in Kashmir. We were advised when at Lahore to approach Mr. Nedou (who winters in hisbranch there) with many salaams and much "kow-towing, " in order to make acertainty of being received into his select circle in Kashmir. The greatman was quite kind, and promised that he would do his best for us; and hewas as good as his word, as we were immediately welcomed and permitted toadd two to the four persons already inhabiting the hostelry. I confessthat, even after a dâk bungalow of the most inferior quality--such as thatat Ghari Habibullah or Baramula--Mr. Nedou's hotel fails to impress onewith an undue sense of luxury. In fact, it presented an even desolate andforlorn appearance with its gloomy and chilly passages and cheerlessbed-vaults. [1] _N. Smyrnensis_ (?). CHAPTER V FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF SRINAGAR We learnt that the earthquake of this morning was far more than theordinary affair that we had taken it to be. The hotel showed signs of astruggle for existence. Large cracks in the plaster, spanned by strips ofpaper gummed across to show if they widened, and little heaps of crumbledmortar on the floors, betrayed that the grip of mother earth had been nofeeble one. Telegrams from Lahore inquired if the rumour was true that Srinagar hadbeen much damaged, and reported an awful destruction and loss of life atDharmsala. I think if we had fully known what an earthquake really meant, we should not have so calmly gone back to bed again! The advent of Mrs. Smithson upon the scene relieved a certain anxiety whichwe had felt as to immediate plans. The idea of rushing into Astor had beengiven up, we found--not so much on account of our tardy arrival, permitsbeing still obtainable, but on account of the impossibility--at any ratefor ladies--of forcing the high passes which the late season has keptsafely sealed. Walter, having pawed the ground in feverish impatience for some days, hadgone off into a region said to be full of bara singh; so we decided topossess our souls in patience for a little time, and remain quietly inSrinagar. Accordingly, instead of unpacking our "detonating musquetoons, "we exhumed our evening clothes, and began life in Srinagar with a cheerfuldinner at the Residency. _Friday, April 7th_. --We are evidently somewhat premature here as far asclimate goes. The weather since our arrival has become cold and grey, andwe have seemed on the verge of another snowfall. However, the clerk of theweather has refrained from such an insult, contenting himself with sendinga breeze down upon us fresh from the "Roof of the World, " and laden withthe chilly moisture of the snows. We have consumed great quantities ofwood, vainly endeavouring to warm up the den which Mr. Nedou has let to usas a sitting-room. Fires are not the fashion in the public rooms--probablybecause the only "public" besides ourselves consist of one or twoenterprising sportsmen, who doubtless are acclimatising themselves to camplife amid the snows, and have implored the proprietor to save his fuel andkeep the outer doors open. Yesterday, we went on a shopping excursion down the river, our "hansom"being a long narrow sort of canoe, propelled and dexterously steered byfour or five paddlers, whose mode of _digging_ along by means of theirheart-shaped blades reminded me not a little of the Kroo boys paddling afish-canoe off Elmina on the Gold Coast. We embarked close to the back of the hotel, at the Chenar Bagh, and wentgaily enough down the strong current of what we took to be an affluent ofthe Jhelum. As a matter of fact, the European quarter forms an island, lowand perfectly flat, the banks of which are heaped into a high dyke or"bund, " washed on one side (the south) by the main river, and on the otherby the Sunt-i-kul Canal, down which we have been paddling. The river life was most fascinating--crowds of heavy doungas lay mooredalong the banks--their long, low bodies covered in by matting, and theirextremities sloping up into long peaked platforms for the crew. These--many of them women and children--were all clothed in neutral-tintedgowns, the only bit of colour being an occasional note of red or white inthe puggaree of the men or skull-cap of the children. The married womeninvariably wore whity-brown veils over the head. The wooden houses thatlined the banks were all in the general low scheme of colour, but apeculiar charm was added by the roofs covered in thick, green turf. Srinagar has been called the "Venice of the East, " and, inasmuch aswaterways form the main thoroughfares in both, there is a certainresemblance. Shikaras (the Kashmiri canoes) are first-cousins togondolas--rather poor relations perhaps; both are dingy and clumsy inappearance, and both are managed with an extraordinary dexterity by theirnavigators. Both cities are "smelly, " though Venice, even at its worst, stands manydegrees above the incredible filth of Srinagar. Finally--both cities are within sight of snowy ranges; although it seemshardly fair to place in comparison the majestic range that overhangsSrinagar and the somewhat distant and sketchy view of the Alps as seenfrom Venice. Here, I think, all resemblance ceases. The charm of Venice lies in itsarchitecture, its art treasures, its historical memories, and itsinteresting people. Srinagar has no architecture in particular, being but a picturesque chaosof tumble-down wooden shanties. It has no history worth speaking of, andits inhabitants are--and apparently have always been--a poor lot. Shopping in Srinagar is not pure and unadulterated joy. Down the river, spanned by its seven bridges, amidst a network of foul-smelling alleys, you are dragged to the emporiums of the native merchants whoseadvertisements flare upon the river banks, and who, armed with cards, andpossessed of a wonderful supply of the English language, swarm around thevictim at every landing-place, and almost tear one another in pieces whilestriving to obtain your custom. Samad Shall, in a conspicuous hoarding, announces that he can--andwill--supply you with anything you may desire, including money--for heproclaims himself to be a banker. Ganymede, in his own opinion, is the only wood-carver worth attention. Suffering Moses is the prince of workers in lacquer, according to his ownshowing. The nose of the boat grates up against the slimy step of the landing-place, and you plunge forthwith into Babel. "Will you come to my shop?" "No--you are going somewhere else. " "After?" "Perhaps!" "To-day, master?" "No--no time to-day. " "To-morrow, then--I got very naice kyriasity [curiosity]--to-morrow, master--what time?" "Oh! get out! and leave me alone. " "I send boat for you--ten o'clock to-morrow?" "No. " "Twelve o'clock?" &c. &c. After a short experience of Kashmiri pertinacity and business methods, youcease from politeness and curtly threaten the river. Certainly the Kashmiri are exceedingly clever and excellent workers inmany ways. Their modern embroideries (the old shawl manufacture is totallyextinct) are beautiful and artistic. Their wood-carving, almost alwaysexecuted in rich brown walnut, is excellent; and their _old_ papier-mâchélacquer is very good. The tendency, however, is unfortunately to abandontheir own admirable designs, and assimilate or copy Western ideas asconveyed in very doubtful taste by English visitors. The embroidery has perhaps kept its individuality the best, although thetrail of the serpent as revealed in "quaint" Liberty or South Kensingtondesigns is sometimes only too apparent. Certain plants--Lotus, Iris, Chenar leaf, and so-called Dal Lake leaves, as well as various designstaken from the old Kashmir shawls, give scope to the nimble brains andfingers of the embroiderers, who, by-the-bye, are all male. Their colours, almost invariably obtained from native dyes, are excellent, and they rarely make a mistake in taste. The coarser work in wool on cushions, curtains, and thick white numdahs ismost effective and cheap. Curiously enough, the best of these numdahs (which make capital rugs orbath blankets) are made in Yarkand; and Stein, in his _Sand-Buried Citiesof Kotan_, found in ancient documents, of the third century or so, "theearliest mention of the felt-rugs or 'numdahs' so familiar to Anglo-Indianuse, which to this day form a special product of Kotan home industry, andof which large consignments are annually exported to Ladak and Kashmir. " The manufacture of carpets is receiving attention, and Messrs. Mitchellown a large carpet factory. Designs and colours are good, but the pricesare not low enough to enable them to compete with the cheap Indian makes;nor, I make bold to say, is the quality such as to justify high prices. The shop of Mohamed Jan is well worth a visit, for three goodreasons--first, because his Oriental carpets from Penjdeh and Khiva are ofthe best; second, because his house is one of the first specimens of ahigh-class native dwelling existing; and third, because he never worrieshis customers nor touts for orders--but, then, he is a Persian, and not aKashmiri! The famous shawls which fetched such prices in England in early Victoriandays are no longer valued, having suffered an eclipse similar to thatundergone by the pictures of certain early Victorian Royal Academicians, and the loss of the shawl trade was a severe blow to Kashmir. With theexception of occasional specimens of these shawls, which, however, can bebought cheaper at sales in London, there are no _old_ embroideries to begot. The wood-carving industry, too, is quite modern; but, although of greatexcellence and ingenuity in manipulation, it does not appeal to me, beingtoo florid and copious in its application of design. A restless confusionof dragons from Leh, lotus from the Dal Lake, and the ever-present chenarleaf, hobnob together with British--very British--crests and monograms onthe tops of tables and the seats of chairs--portions of the furniture thatshould be left severely plain. British taste is usually bad, and to it, and not to Kashmiri initiative, must be ascribed the production of such exotic works as bellowsembellished with chaste designs of lotus-buds, and afternoon tea-tablesflaunting coats-of-arms (doubtless dating from the Conquest), beautifullycarved in high relief just where the tray--the bottom of which is probablyornamented with a flowing design of raised flowers--should rest! The lacquered papier-maché work--often extremely pretty when left to itsown proper Cabul pattern or other native design--aims too often atattracting the eye of the mighty hunter by introducing an inappropriatemarkhor's head. The old lacquer-work is difficult to get, and, whenobtained, is high in price; but comparison between the old and the newshows the gulf that lies between the loving and skilful labour of theartist and the stupid and generally "scamped" achievement of him whomerely "knocks off" candlesticks and tobacco-boxes by the score, to sellto the English visitor--papier-maché being superseded by wood, and lacquerby paint. The workers in silver, copper, and brass are many, but their productionsare usually rough and inartistic. Genuine old beaten metal-work is almostunobtainable, although occasionally desirable specimens from Leh do findtheir way into the Srinagar shops. Chinese porcelain is to be got, usually in the form of small bowls; but itis not of remarkably good quality, and the prices asked for it are higherthan in London. The jewellers' work is very far behind that of India. Amethysts of palecolour and yellow topaz are cheap. Fine turquoise do not come into Kashmir, but plenty of the rough stones (as well as imitations) are to be found, which, owing to a transitory fashion, are priced far above their intrinsicvalue. They come from Thibet. A great deal of a somewhat soft and ugly-coloured jade is sent fromYarkand, also agates and carnelian; beads of these are strung into ratheruncouth necklets, which may be bought for half the sum first asked. Bargaining is an invariable necessity in all shopping in Kashmir, aseverywhere else in the East, where the market value of an article is notwhat it costs to produce, but what can be squeezed for it out of the purseof the--usually--ignorant purchaser. Three things are essential to the successful prosecution of shopping inSrinagar:-- (1) Unlimited time. (2) A command of emphatic language, sufficient to impress the native mindwith the need for keeping to the point. (3) A liver in such thorough working order as to insure an extraordinarysupply of good temper. Without all these attributes the acquisition of objects of "bigotry andvertue" in Srinagar is attended with pain and tribulation. The descent of the river is accomplished with ease and rapidity, but_revocare gradum_ involves much hard paddling, with many pants and grunts;and it was both cold and dark when we again lay alongside the bank of theChenar Bagh, and scurried up the slippery bund to the hotel, with scarcelytime to dress for dinner. _Sunday, 9th April_. --Friday was a horrible day--rainy, dull, and cold;but a thrill of excitement was sent through us by the news that Walter hasshot two fine bara singh! Charlotte (who is nothing if not a keensportswoman) was filled with zeal and the spirit of emulation, so weresolved to dash off down the river to Bandipur, join Walter--who has nowpresumably joined the ranks of the unemployed, being only permitted by theGame Laws to kill two stags--and take our pick of the remaining "Royals, "which, in our vivid imaginations, roamed in dense flocks through thenullahs beyond Bandipur! All Friday and yesterday, therefore, were devoted to preparation. I hadalready, through the kindness of Major Wigram, secured a shikari, whoimmediately demonstrated his zeal and efficiency by purchasing a couple ofbloodthirsty knives and a huge bottle of Rangoon oil at my expense. Ipointed out that one "skian-dhu" seemed to me sufficient for "gralloching"purposes, but he said two were better for bears. My acquaintance withbears being hitherto confined to Regent's Park, I bowed to his superiorknowledge and forethought. A visit to Cockburn's agency resulted in the hire of the "boarded dounga"_Cruiser_, which the helpful Mr. Cockburn procured for us, in which to godown the river; also a couple of tents for ourselves with tent furniture, one for the servants, and a cooking tent. The local bootmaker or "chaplie-wallah" appeared, as by magic, on thescene, and chaplies were ordered. These consist of a sort of leathersandal strapped over soft leather boots or moccasins. They are extremelycomfortable for walking on ordinary ground, but perfectly useless for hillwork, even when the soles are studded with nails. The hideous butnecessary grass shoe is then your only wear. The grass shoe, which is madeas required by the native, is an intricate contrivance of rice straw, keptin position by a straw twist which is hauled taut between the big and nexttoe, and the end expended round some of the side webbing. The cleft sockand woollen boot worn underneath keep the feet warm, but do not alwaysprevent discomfort and even much pain if the cords are not properlyadjusted. However, the remedy is simple. Tear off the shoe, using suchlanguage as may seem appropriate to the occasion, throw it at the shikari'shead, and order another pair to be made "ek dam"! Jane and I eachpurchased a yakdan, a sort of roughly-made leather box or trunk, strong, and of suitable size for either pony or coolie transport. Our wardrobe wasstowed in these and secured by padlocks, and the cooking gear, togetherwith a certain amount of stores in the shape of grocery, bread, and acouple of bottles of whisky were safely housed in a pair of large coveredcreels or "kiltas. " Each of the party provided him or herself with a khudstick, consisting ofa strong and tough shaft about five feet long, tapering slightly towardsthe base, where it is shod with a chisel-shaped iron end. Our staff of retainers had now been brought up to five--the shikari, AhmedBot, having procured a satellite, known as the chota shikari, a youth ofnot unprepossessing appearance, but whose necessity in our scheme ofexistence I had not quite determined. Ahmed Bot, however, was of opinionthat all sahibs who wanted sport required two shikaris, so I imagined thatwhile I was to be engaged with one in pursuit of bara singh, the otherwould employ himself in "rounding up" a few tigers for the next day'ssport in another direction. Ahmed Bot agreed with me in the main, but didnot feel at all sure about the tigers--he proposed ibex. The fifth wheel to our coach was a strikingly ugly person, like ahippopotamus, whose plainness was not diminished by a pair of enormousgoggles; this was the harmless necessary sweeper, that pariah amongdomestics, whose usefulness is undreamed of out of India. After dinner last night we left the hotel, truly thankful to shake thedust of its gloomy precincts from our feet, and sought our boats, whichwere moored in the Chenar Bagh. How snug and bright the "ship" seemedafter the murky corridors of Nedou! And yet the _Cruiser_ was not much toboast of, really, in the way of luxury. Let me describe a typical boarded dounga. Upon a long, low, flat-bottomedhull, which tapered to a sharp point at bow and stern, was raised a lightwooden superstructure with a flat roof, upon which the passengers couldsit. The interior was divided off into some half-a-dozen compartments, avestibule or outer cabin held boxes, &c. , and through it one passed intothe dining or parlour cabin, which opened again to two little bedrooms anda couple of bathrooms. There was no furniture to speak of, but we hadhired from Cockburn all that we required for the trip. The servants, as well as the crew of the dounga, were all stowed in a"tender" known as the cook boat--no one, except for navigating duties, having any business on board the "flagship. " Charlotte Smithson had a smaller ship than ours--a light wooden frame, which supported movable matting screens or curtains, taking the place ofour wooden cabins. The matted dounga looked as though it might be chilly, particularly if a strong wind came to play among the ratherdraughty-looking mats which were all that our poor friend had between herand a cold world! CHAPTER VI OUR FIRST CAMP The fleet, consisting of four sail (I use this word in its purelyconventional sense, a dounga having no more sails than a battleship), gotunder way about 5 A. M. , while it was yet but barely daylight, and so wewere well clear of Srinagar when we emerged from our cosy cabins into aworld of clean air and brilliant colour. The broad smooth current of the Jhelum flowed steadily and calmly througha level plain, bearing us along at a comfortable four miles an hour, thecrew doing little more than keep steerage-way with pole and paddle. Beyond the green, tree-studded levels to the south, the range of the PirPanjal spread wide its array of dazzling peaks, while on the right toweredthe mountains which enclose the Sind Valley, culminating in thesquare-headed mass of Haramok. In the clear air the snows seemed quiteclose, although we knew that the snow-line was really some three thousandfeet above the level of the valley. A day like this, as we sit on the little roof of our floating homewatching the silent river unfold its shining curves, goes far toobliterate the memory of the fuss and worry inseparable from the exodusfrom Srinagar. After lunch we tied up for a while, and I took my gun onshore to try and pick up a few of the duck that dotted the waters of thelittle lakes or jheels which lay flashing amid the hillocks beyond theriver banks. The shores of these being perfectly bare and open, it wasobviously impossible to escape the keenly observant eyes of the duck, which appeared, unlike all other birds in Kashmir, to retain theircustomary wariness. Crouching low amid the furrows of a newly-ploughed field, I sent theshikari with a knot of natives to the far side of the water, whence theyadvanced in open line, splashing and shouting. Presently, with much fuss and indignant quacking, a cloud of duck rose, and, circling after their fashion, as though reluctant to quit theirresting-place, gave me several chances of a long shot before, working highinto the air, they departed with loud expostulation to some quieter haunt. Later in the afternoon we tied up to the bank for the night near a largejheel, where we all landed, Charlotte to try a rifle which she hadborrowed, and I, if possible, to slay a few more duck, while Jane satpeacefully on a bank and enjoyed the glorious sunset. The bag having been swelled by the addition of another dozen"specimens"--obtained by the same manoeuvres as before--we strolled backto our ships in the luminous dusk, visions of roast "canard" floatingseductively before our mental vision. There proved to be several varieties of duck among the countless flockswhich I saw, notably mallard, teal, pochard, and shoveller. Likewise therewere many coots, while herons, disturbed in their meditations by theuntoward racket, flapped heavily away with disgusted squawks. Jane is getting along remarkably well with her Hindustani. I have justfound her diary, and hasten to give an extract:-- "Woke up very early; much bitten by pice. Tom started off to try and shoota burra sahib, as he hears and hopes they've not yet shed all their horns. " "He really looked very nice in his new Pushtoo suit, with putty on hislegs and chaplains on his feet. .. . His chickory walked in front, carryinghis bandobast. " "9 A. M. --Sat down to my solitary breakfast of poached ekkas and paysandutonga, with excellent chuprassies (something like scones). After breakfast, tried on my new kilta, which I have had made quite short for walking. Igenerally prefer walking to being carried in a pagdandy. " "Then took another lesson in Hindustani from my murghi, though I reallythink I hardly require it! My attention a good deal distracted by theantics of a pair of bul-buls (not at all the same as our coo-coos) in thejungle overhead. " "7 P. M. --T. Returned after what he called a blank blank day. He found somebheesties (one of them a chikor ram or wild ghât) chewing the khud on aprecipitous dâk. " "They were rather far off, about a mile he thinks, but he couldn't get anynearer owing to a frightful ghari-wallah with deep piasses which laybetween, so he put up his ornithoptic sight for 2000 yards and 'pumpedlead' into the bheesties for half-an-hour. " "He says he _thinks_ he hit one, but they all went away--as his chickoryremarked--'ek dam, ' and Tom agreed with him. " "He fell into a budmash on his way home and was half-drowned, but thechickory, assisted by a friendly chota-hazri, managed to pull him out . .. Quite an eventful day!" "10 P. M. --The body of the ram chikor has just been brought in. It looks asif it had been dead for weeks, but the doolie, who found it, says that inthis climate a few hours is sufficient to obliterate a body. .. . Anyhow thehead and tail seem all right. .. . Tom says the proper thing to do is tomeasure something--he can't quite remember whether it is the horns or thetail, but the latter seems the more remarkable, so we measured that, andfound it to be 3 feet 4 inches. " "By a little judicious pulling, the chickory, who knows all aboutmeasuring things, elongated it to 4 feet 3 inches. " "This, he says, is a '_Record_'--how nice!" _Wednesday, April 12. _--The place where we tied up was not far from thepoint where the Jhelum expands into the Wular Lake--a broad expanse ofwater, some seven or eight miles wide in places, which holds the proudrecord of being the largest lake in all India. The mountains rise steeply from its northern shores, and from their narrowglens, squalls swift and strong are said frequently to sweep over the openwater, particularly in the afternoons. The bold sailormen of Kashmir arenot conspicuous for nautical daring--in fact their flat-bottomed arks, top-heavy and unwieldy, destitute alike of anchor and rudder, are not fitto cope with either wind or wave; they therefore aim at punting hurriedlyacross the danger space as soon after dawn as may be--panting withexertion and terror, they hustle across the smooth and waveless water, invoking at every breath the protection of local saints. Long before we had left our beds, and blissfully unconscious of our awfuldanger, we were striking out for Bandipur, which haven we safely reachedabout 8 A. M. On a still and glorious morning. Then came the business of collecting coolies and ponies, and loading themup with the tents and lesser baggage under the direction of Sabz Ali andthe shikari. By nine o'clock we were off. Charlotte and Jane, mounted astride a braceof native ponies, led the way, and, in ragged array, the rest of theprocession followed. A quarter of a mile from the landing-place, clusteredat the foot of a steep little hill--a spur from the higher ranges--liesthe village of Bandipur, dirty and picturesque, with, its rickety-lookingwooden houses, and its crowded little bazaar. It is a place of someimportance in Kashmir, being the starting-point for the Astor country andGilgit--and here the sahib on shikar bent, obtains coolies and ponies totake him over the Tragbal Pass into Gurais. A post and telegraph officestands proudly in the middle of the little village, and behind it lies arange of "godowns" filled with stores for the use of a flying columnshould the British Raj require to send troops quickly along the Gilgitroad. Passing through into the open country, we found ourselves on a goodroad--good, that is to say, for riding or marching, as no roads in Kashmirare adapted for wheeled traffic excepting the main artery from Baramula toSrinagar, and the greater portion of the route from Srinagar to Gulmarg. This road we followed up a gradually narrowing valley, and over a brawlinglittle river, until at Kralpura the Gilgit road begins the steep ascent tothe Tragbal by a series of wide zigzags up the face of a mountain. Thepass which we should have had to tackle, had we carried out our originalintention of going into Astor for markhor and ibex, is nearly 12, 000 feetabove sea level, and is still securely and implacably closed to all butthe hardiest sportsmen. A short cut, which we took up the hill face, ledus through a rough scrub of berberis and wild daphne (the former justshowing green and the latter in flower) until, somewhat scant of breath, we regained the road, and followed it to the left up a gorge. As themountains closed in on either side, we began to look out for the camp, which we knew was not far up the nullah. Presently, turning off the Gilgitroad, along a track to the left, we came upon Walter--bearded like thepard--a pard which had left off shaving for about a week. He was pensivelysitting on a big sun-warmed boulder, beguiling the time while awaiting usby contemplating the antics of a large family of monkeys, which he pointedout to Jane, to her great joy. Tender inquiries as to camp and consequent lunch revealed the sad factthat some miles of exceedingly rough path yet lay betwixt us and the havenwhere we would be. So we pricked forward, along a sort of cattle track, across dirtysnow-filled little gullies, and over rock-strewn slopes, until the whitegleam of Walter's tent showed clear on its perch atop of a flat-roofednative hut. Crossing the stream which tumbled down the valley, by a somewhat "wobbly"bridge, and picking our way through the mixen which forms the approach toevery well-appointed hut, we arrived upon the roof which supported thetent. This we achieved without any undue trouble, the building, like most"gujar" homes, being constructed on the side of a hill sufficiently steepto obviate the necessity for any back wall--the rear of the roofspringing directly from the hillside. A Gujar village, owing to thispeculiarity of construction, always looks oddly like a deposit of greathalf-open oysters clinging to the face of the hill. After a welcome lunch, the ladies both pronounced decidedly againstremaining in or near the highly-scented precincts of the village. Theargument that there was no flat ground excepting roofs to be seen wasoverruled; so Walter and I climbed a neighbouring ridge, and selected asite on the crest. It was not, certainly, a very good site for a camp, as it was so narrowthat the unwary might easily step over the edge on either side, andtoboggan gracefully either back on top of the aforesaid roof, or forwardinto a very rocky-bedded stream which employed its superfluous energy intossing some frayed and battered logs from boulder to boulder, and whichwould have rejoiced greatly in doing the same to a fallen nestling fromthe eyry above. Neither was the ridge level, and our tents were pitched at such an anglethat the slumberer whose grasp of the bed-head relaxed "In the mist and shadow of sleep" was brought to wakefulness by finding his toes gently sliding out into thenipping and eager air of night. The holding-ground for the tent-pegs was not all that could be desired, and visions of our tents spreading their wings in the gale and vanishinginto space haunted us. No--it was not an ideal camping-ground, and Jane, whose rosy dreams ofcamping in Kashmir had pictured her little white canvas home set up in aflowery mead by the side of a purling brook, gazed upon the rugged slopeswhich rose around--the cold snow gleaming through the shaggypine-trees--with a shiver and a distinct air of disapproval. It grew more than chilly too, as the sun dipped early behind the ridgethat rose jealous between us and the western light, and an icy breeze fromthe snow came stealing down the gorge and whispering among the tallertree-tops in the nullah at our feet. We were about 1500 feet above the Wular Lake, and snow lay in thickpatches within a few yards of our tents, and had obviously only meltedquite recently from the site of the camp, leaving more clammy mud aboutthe place than we really required. As it is reasonable to suppose that the bilingual lady who composes thefashion columns of the _Daily Horror_ is most anxious to know how the fairsex was accoutred at our dinner party that night, I hasten to inform herthat Charlotte was gowned in an elegant confection of Puttoo of a simplyindescribable nuance of _crême de boue_--the train, extremely décolletéeat the lower end, cunningly revealing at every turn glimpses of anenchanting pair of frou-frou putties. The neat bottines, _à la_ Diane Chasseresse, took a charming touch oflightness from the aluminium nails which decorated the "uppers" with aquaint and original Dravidian cornice. She carried a spring bouquet of wild onions _en branche_--ornaments (ofcourse), diamonds. Every one remarked that Jane was simply too lovely for words, as, with thesweet simplicity of an _ingénue, en combinaison_ with the craft of aMachiavella (I beg to point out that I know my Italian genders), shedraped her lissom form in the clinging folds of an enormous habit _de peaude brebis_--portions of ear and the tip of her nose tilted over the edgeof the deep turned-up collar, which, on one side, supported the coquettishdroop of the hairy "Tammy" that, dexterously pinned to the spikes of adiamond fender, gave a _clou_ to the entire "_sac d'artifice_. " Walter, having already shot two bara singh and a serow, came under the"statute of limitations" of the Kashmir Game Laws, and had to sound the"cease firing" as regards these animals; but Charlotte and I, having"khubbar" of game, started at 7 A. M. In pursuit. She, attended by Walterand in tow of Asna (the best shikari in all Kashmir), followed up thenullah which lay to our right, while I deflected to the north. Havingdonned grass shoes, I started off up a very steep slope which rosedirectly behind the camp. Reaching snow within a few minutes of leaving mytent, I was glad to find it hard and the going good, the early sun not yethaving had time to soften and destroy the crisp surface. Up and up we toiled, I puffing like any grampus--partly by reason of notyet being in good condition, and partly on account of the height, whichwas probably nearly 9000 feet above sea level. As we rose to the shoulderof the hill the gradient became much easier, and I had leisure to admirethe panorama that stretched around the snowy ridge, which fell awayabruptly on either side through dense pine forests. The day was quiteglorious. .. . The sun, blazing in a cloudless sky, cast sharp steel-blueshadows where rock or tree stood between the snow and his nobility. Thewhite peaks that rose around in marvellous array seemed so near in thebright air that it seemed as though one could see the smallest creaturemoving on their distant slopes. But there was little life observable inthis still and silent world--nothing but an occasional pair of crowsflapping steadily over the woods, or a far vulture circling at a giddyheight in the "blue dome of the air. " Silence everywhere, except for thedistant and perpetual voice of many waters murmuring in the unseen depthsbelow. To the south--showing clear above the serrated back of the ridge beyondthe camp--stood the Pir Panjal; pale ivory in the pale horizon below thesun. At the foot of the valley up which we had come yesterday, and partlyscreened by the intruding buttresses of its enfolding hills, the WularLake lay a shimmering shield of molten silver. In front, the sheeted mountains which guard Gurais and flank the icyportals of the Tragbal stood, a series of glistening slopes andcold-crowned precipices, while to the east Haramok reared his 17, 000 feetinto a threefold peak of snowy majesty. It was a sight to thank God for, and to remember with joy all the days ofone's life. Doubtless there are many views as wonderful in this lovelyland, but this was the first, and therefore not to be effaced nor itsmemory dimmed by anything that may come after. The shikari had not climbed the mountain's brow to waste time over scenery;so, having apparently gone as far as he wanted on the ridge, he plungeddown among the silver firs to the right, and I, with my heart in my mouth, went after him. At first it seemed to the inexperienced that we wereslithering down the most awful places, and that, should the snow give way, I should have to swiftly embrace the nearest tree to avoid being shot down, a human avalanche, farther than I cared to think. However, I soon found itwas all right. A welcome halt for lunch brought the tiffin coolie to thefront. A blanket spread upon the hard snow at the foot of a fir made anexcellent seat, and a cold roast teal, an apple, and a small flask ofwhisky were soon exhumed from the basket. Water, or rather the want of it, was a difficulty, for I was uncommonly thirsty, and no sign of any waterwas to be seen. A judicious blending of the dry teal with bits ofsucculent apple overcame the drought, and the half-hour for refreshmentpassed all too quickly. The men considered it now time to get up some "shikar, " so they invented abear. This was exciting! They had separated (there were four of them) insearch of traces of bara singh, &c. , and some one found the bear, or itsden, or a lock of its wool--I really couldn't quite ascertain which--butfearful excitement was the immediate result. A consultation took place in frenzied whispers. My rifle was peeled fromits case, and we proceeded to scramble stealthily down a horribly steepface much broken by rocks. The shikari being in front with my rifle overhis shoulder, I was favoured with frequent glimpses down its ugly blackbarrel as I, like Jill, "came tumbling after, " and I rejoiced that all thecartridges were safely stowed in my own pocket. Well! we searched likeconspirators for that bear, peeped round rocks and peered into holes, andanxiously eyed all possible and impossible places where a bear might besupposed to reside, but there was no bear; and at length we arrived on thebank of the torrent which rioted noisily down the bottom of the nullah. I now began to realise that plunging about in snow, often over one's knees, and scrambling among the fallen tree-trunks and great rocks selected bythe torrent to make its bed, was distinctly tiring work! Presently we came to a bridge over the river. It consisted of a single log, and appeared extremely slender. The stream was not deep enough to drown aman, but, all the same, a slip, sending one into the foaming water among aparticularly large and hard collection of boulders, seemed mostundesirable, and I stepped across, like Agag, delicately, carefullybalancing myself with a khudstick. The men came prancing over as if theywere on a good high-road, the careless ease with which they made thepassage bordering on impertinence! I reflected, however, that sheep, andsuch like beasts of humble brain, can stroll upon the brink of gruesomeprecipices without any fear of falling, and my self-respect returned. After another half-hour of stiff scrambling I sat down to rest awhile, leaving the men to spy the neighbourhood. Of course they had to findsomething, so this time they found a "serow"--a somewhat scarce beast. Iawaited the coming of the serow at various coigns of vantage where theysaid it was bound to pass, while the four men surrounded it from differentdirections. Finally, like the Levite, it passed by on the other side--atleast I never saw it. The shikari afterwards informed me, in confidence, that it was, like the inexcusable baby in _Peter Simple_, "a very littleone. " We now made the best of our way down the nullah, and when an apology for apath became apparent I rejoiced greatly, and followed it along itscorkscrew course until the camp came suddenly into view as we topped aspur, which gave the path a final excuse for dragging me up a stiff twohundred feet, and then sending me down a knee-shaking descent, for noapparent reason but pure "cussedness. " Charlotte had got home just before me, having seen nothing to shoot at. She, too, seemed anxious for tea! During the day Sabz Ali had been doing his level best to improve theposition in our sleeping-tent. The camp-beds had stood at such an anglethat it was almost impossible to avoid sliding gradually into the outerdarkness, but S. A. Had scraped out earth from the head, and filled up aterrace at the foot, in a way which gave us hope of sound sleep. Ourthings had been carefully stowed, too, and a sort of hole scooped for thebath. Luxury stared us in the face! The sunset certainly was a little dull last night, but we were quiteunprepared for the dreary aspect of Dame Nature to which we awoke thismorning. It was raining very heavily, and a dense pall of mist hung lowamong the pines, giving an impression of melancholy durability. There was obviously nothing to do but exist as cheerfully as might beuntil the weather improved. The wet had shrunk canvas and rope gear tillthe tent-guys were as taut as fiddle-strings; and as it did not seem tohave occurred to any of the servants to attend to this, an immediate tourof the camp had to be undertaken, in "rubbers" and waterproofs, to slackoff guys and inspect the drainage system, as we had no wish to have ourearthen floor--already sufficiently cold and clammy--turned into anabsolute swamp. These things done, we scuttled and slid down to the mess tent, andbreakfasted as best we might; and the best was surprisingly good, considering the difficulties the wretched servants must have had incooking anything in their wet lair, where the miserable fire of dampsticks produced apparently little but acrid smoke. We passed a dismal day, as, wrapped in our warmest clothes, we sat uponour beds watching the rain turn to snow, then to hail and sleet, andfinally back to rain again; while the ever-changing wisps of grey mistgathered thick in the glens, or "put forth an arm and crept from pine topine. " Towards evening the clouds broke a little, and the forest-clad steepsappeared through them, powdered thickly with new snow. Walter and Isallied forth from our sodden tents and held a council of war in the mud. It was decided to quit our somewhat unsatisfactory and precarious positionearly to-morrow, if fine, as the weather looked so nasty, and a squall ofwind might have awkward consequences. _Friday, April_ 14. --A very fairly fine morning enabled us to strike campyesterday, and get the baggage off in good time. The Smithsons decided tomake for the jheels near the river, in order to give the duck a finalworry round before the season closes on the 15th. My shikari having reported a good bara singh in a small nullah off theErin, I arranged to go in search of him. The march down to Bandipur was ashort and easy one, and we got comfortably settled on board our boatsearly in the afternoon. About sunset the clouds gathered thick over thehills which we had left, and a thunderstorm broke, its preliminary squallthrowing the crews of our fleet into a fearful fuss, and sending them onto the bank with extra ropes and holdfasts to make all secure. An elderlylady, with a dirty red cap and very untidy ringlets, superintended thebusiness with much clamour. We take her to be the wife or grandmother (notsure which) of the skipper. It was with an undoubted sense of solid comfort that we lay in our cosybeds under a wooden roof, whereon the fat rain-drops sputtered, while thethunder still crackled and banged in the distance! We shifted before dawn to a small village a couple of miles to the east, and at 6. 30 Jane and I set out to attack the bara singh, of which theshikari held out high hope. My wife, mounted on a rough pony, was able toaccomplish with great comfort the two miles of flat country which we hadto traverse before turning off sharp to the right along a track which ledsteeply upwards through the scrub that clothed the lower part of thenullah. There is something unusually charming in the dawn here--the crisp, buoyantair, the silent hills, their lower slopes and corries still a purplemystery; on high, the silver peaks--looking ridiculously close--changeswiftly from their cold pallor into rosy life at the first touch of therisen sun. The first part of our day's work was easy enough. The sun was still hiddenfrom us behind the mountain flange on our left; the snow patches on thesky-line ahead seemed comparatively near, and the diabolical swiftness ofthe shikari's stealthy walk was yet to be fully realised. Up and up we went, first through a thick scrub or jungle of a highlyprickly description, over a few small streams, then out upon a grassyridge, up which we slowly panted. The gradient became sharper, and I beganto feel a little anxious about Jane, as the short, brown grass wasslippery with frost--a slip would be very easy, and the results unpleasant. However, with the able assistance of the shikari, she did very well, and, having crossed a shelving patch of snow by cutting steps with ourkhudstick, we found ourselves, after an hour and a half's stiff climbing, on the sky-line of the ridge that had seemed but an easy stroll from below. The heights and distances are most deceptive, partly on account of thecrystal clearness of the air, and partly because of the magnitude ofeverything in proportion. The mountains are not only high themselves, buttheir spurs and foothills would rank as able-bodied mountains were theynot dwarfed by peaks which average 15, 000 feet in height above the sea. The pines which clothe their sides, the chenars and poplars in the valley, are all enormous when compared with their European cousins. The view was most remarkable as we gained the crest of the ridge--a sea ofwhite cloud came boiling up from the valley to the east, and, pouring overthe saddle upon which we stood, gave only occasional glimpses of snow andpine and precipice above, or the glint of water in the rice-fields farbelow. Once, between the swirling cloud masses, the near hills lay clearin the sunshine for a few moments and revealed a party of five bara singhhinds, crossing the slope in front of us, and not more than 150 yards away. Alas! there was no stag. This was not satisfactory weather for stalking. However I was hopeful, asI have noticed that in the fine forenoons a thick white belt of cloudoften forms about the snow level--roughly, some 8000 feet above the sea, or 3000 above the Wular Lake--and hangs there for an hour or two, todisappear entirely by midday. And so it came about to-day; after a haltfor tiffin, I set forward in brilliant sunshine, while Jane remainedquietly perched on the hillside, as the shikari said the road was not goodfor a lady. The shikari was right, as, within ten minutes of starting, wehad to drop from the crest of the ridge to circumvent a big rock whichbarred our way, to find ourselves confronted by a very unpleasant-lookingslope of short brown grass, which fell away at an angle of about 50° towhat seemed an endless depth. This grass, having only just becomeemancipated from its winter snow, had all its hair--so to speak--brushedstraight down, and there was mighty little stuff to hold on to! Carefullydigging little holes with our khudsticks, and not disdaining the help ofmy shikari, I got across, and thankfully scrambled back to the safety ofthe ridge. Now we reached snow, and the going became easier, whereupon Ahmed Botpromptly set a pace which left me struggling far behind. As the sun grewstronger the surface-crust of the snow became soft, and at every few stepsone went through to the knees, until both muscles and temper became sorelytried. For an hour or so we kept climbing up what was evidently one of themany steep and rugged ranges which, radiating from Haramok, on this sideflank the Wular with their lofty bastions. Having apparently attained theheight he deemed necessary, and got well above the part of the pine forestin which he expected to find game, Ahmed Bot turned to the left of theridge, and we were immediately involved in the deep drifts which coveredthe pine-clad slope of the nullah. Over snow-covered trunks of prostratetrees, over hidden holes and broken rocks, we toiled and scrambled until, emerging breathless on a bare knoll--smooth and white as a greatwedding-cake--we obtained a searching view into the neighbouring gullies. Still no sign or track of any "beast, " so we worked back until, tired andhot, I regained the place where Madame lay basking beneath her sunshade. The shikari and his myrmidons departed to "look" another bit of country, while I, nothing loth, remained to await events in the neighbourhood ofthe refreshment department. On the return of the men, who had of course seen nothing, we set off forhome, climbing down the edge of the ridge where yellow colchicum starredthe turf. It was steep--verging on the precipitous in places--and Janefrankly expressed her satisfaction when we accomplished the worst part andentered a dense jungle of scrubby bushes, all of which seemed to growspines of sorts. A bear was said to have been seen here yesterday, so wekept our weather eyelids lifting, but were not favoured with a sight ofhim. We had almost gained the bottom of the hill, with but two short milesto dinner and a tub, when weird shrieks and whistles were exchangedbetween our people and an excited villager below. The shikari, his eyesgleaming with uncontrollable excitement, announced that the "big stag" waswaiting for me at that very moment!--and therewith Ahmed Bot dashed offdown the hill, leaving me to follow as best I might. Leaving my wife incharge of the tiffin coolie, I tumbled off after the shikari, whom I foundgloating with the messenger over the inspiriting particulars of themonarch of the glen, which, I understood, crouched expectant some paltry2000 feet above us, near the top of the nullah! It was past six o'clock, and the light already showing signs of waning, sowe lost no time in attacking the hill again. I was pretty well "done, " andhad to accept a tow from the shikari, and hand in hand we pressed up thataccursed hill until, at seven o'clock, the sun set and it began to growdusk. Lying down near the edge of the snow, to gain breath and let theshikari crawl round and "look" the face of the hill, I was soon moved toactivity by the news that the stag was lying under a pine tree within afew hundred yards. A short "crawl" brought me within sight of the beast, who lay half-hidden by a rock. It was now so dark that even with myglasses I could only make sure that it was a "horn beast" and not a hind;there was no time to lose, so, putting up my sight for 150 yards, I lethim have it, and was nearly as much surprised as gratified to see him rollout on the snow to the shot. My vexation and disgust may be imagined whenI found the noble beast to be a miserable 8-pointer, which I would neverhave fired at if I could have seen its head properly. Heartily consigningthe shikari, together with the mendacious villager and all his kind, to ahot place, I dolefully stumbled away downhill again in the gathering dark, and finally deposited my weary and dejected self on board the boat, afterfourteen hours of the hardest walking I have ever done. There is a confused tale prevalent that the bear, taking a mean advantageof my absence, has been down to the village and eaten a few ponies, orfrightened them--I can't make out which. CHAPTER VII BACK TO SRINAGAR Easter Day, _April_ 23. --We left the Erin district early in the morningfollowing the bara singh fiasco, and punted and poled up the river to jointhe Smithsons in a last attack upon the duck. We found the bold Colonel, "Rough with slaughter and red with fight, " enjoying himself hugely among the jheels, and we prepared to join in thefray; but our _chasse_ was put an end to by the discovery that the 14th, and not the 15th, was the last legal day for shooting. So we packed awayour guns and towed up to Srinagar, which we reached on Sunday afternoon. Our brief experience of camping and "shikar" had proved to my wife thatshe was not cast in the heroic mould of a female Nimrod. Not being a shotherself--as Charlotte is--she saw that, as far as she was concerned, ashooting expedition with the Smithsons would entail a great deal ofsolitary rumination in camp, while the rest of the party pursued the redbear to his den, or chased the nimble markhor up and down the precipices. The joys of reading, knitting, and washing the family clothesmight--probably would--pall after a time; and the physical exertion of"walking with the guns" in Kashmir is decidedly more of an undertakingthan over a Perthshire grouse moor! Our original arrangement, beforecoming out to join the Smithsons, was that the time should be spent incamping, boating, "loafing, " and shooting. Being perfectly ignorant of theconditions of life out here, we were unaware of the fact that it ispractically impossible to combine serious shooting with any other form ofamusement. In Scotland one may stalk one day, fish the next, and golf thethird, but out here it is not so. The worshipper of Diana must be preparedto sacrifice everything else at her shrine; he must go far afield, and beprepared to live hard and work hard, and even then it may befall that histrophies of the chase are none too plentiful. That will depend a good dealon his shikari and his own knowledge, together with luck. Walter had the good fortune to come upon two fine stags not far from hiscamp almost as soon as he got there. He was within fifty yards of them asthey were moving slowly in deep snow, and he killed them both; the best ofthese was a remarkably fine 10-pointer, length of horn 41 inches and span38-1/2 inches. His wife spent an equal time in the same neighbourhood andnever saw anything. [1] When we talked over plans with Colonel and Mrs. Smithson at Pindi, thegeneral idea had crystallised into a scheme for going into Astor to shoot, immediately upon our arrival in Kashmir, and, in order to reach Srinagarbefore April 1st--the date of issue of shooting passes--we had struggledhard to make our way into the country before it was really attractive tothe ordinary visitor. When we did reach Srinagar we found that our friends had abandoned allidea of an expedition to Astor, partly on account of expense, butprincipally on account of the backwardness of the season, whichpractically precluded ladies from crossing the Tragbal and Boorzil Passesfor some time. The merits and demerits of the Tilail district andBaltistan came up for review, and then we almost decided to go to Lehuntil we reflected that the return journey over a bare and opencountry--arid and hot as an Egyptian desert--in the month of August mightnot be unmixed joy, and the Smithsons were assured that they would find nosport whatever _en route_, but would have to go several marches beyond Lehto obtain the chance of an Ovis Ammon or Thibetan antelope. The Leh scheme thus having come to naught, and our friends being stillwholly intent on "shikar" to the exclusion of all other pursuits, wedecided to be independent, so we hired a nice-looking boarded dounga, whose fresh and clean appearance pleased us, for a term of three months. Nedou's Hotel offered so few attractions and so many drawbacks that wewere prepared to do anything rather than return to it, and, as a matter ofeconomy, we scored heavily, as, on working it out, we found that the boat, including the cook-boat, would cost 60 rupees per month. Our food and thewages of those servants whom we should not have required at the hotel cameto approximately 80 rupees per month, making a total of 140 rupees, or £9, 6s. 8d. ; whereas our hotel bill would have come to 12 rupees per day, without extras--or 360 rupees (£24) per month--a clear saving in money aswell as in comfort. Our new habitation--the house dounga _Moon_--was owned and partly workedby Satarah, an astute old rascal, whose "tawny beard, " like Hudibras'-- "Was the equal grace Both of his wisdom and his face; In cut and dye so like a tyle A sudden view it would beguile: The upper part whereof was whey, The nether orange mixt with grey. " His costume consisted of a curious sort of short nightgown worn over whiteand flappy trousers, below which were revealed a pair of big, flat navalfeet. The first lieutenant, Sabhana--sleek and civil-spoken, butdesperately afraid of work--was, we understand, son-in-law to the AdmiralSatarah, having to wife the Lady Jiggry, eldest daughter of that worthy, who, with her younger sisters Nouri, Azizi, and "the Baba, " completed theship's company. The _Moon_ differed from an ordinary house-boat in being narrower, andpossessing a long bow and stern which projected far enough from the bodyof the boat to enable men to pole or paddle with ease; a house-boat canonly be towed. On embarking by means of a narrow gangway--a plankpossessed of an uncontrollable desire to "tip-up" at unexpected anddisconcerting moments--one entered first a small vestibule, or"ante-cabin, " which held our big boxes and opened into thedrawing-room--quite a roomy apartment, about fifteen feet by ten feet, fitted with a fireplace, a rough writing-table, and overmantel, surmountedby a photograph--something faded--of Mrs. Langtry! A small table and acouple of deck chairs graced the floor, while upon the walls aheterogeneous collection of pictures, including a coloured lithograph of acottage and a brook, a fearful and wonderful portrayal of an otter, and avery fancy stag of unlimited points dazzled the eye. The ceiling wasdecorated with an elaborate and most effective design in wood--a fashionvery common in Srinagar, consisting of a sort of patchwork panelling ofsmall pieces of wood, cut to length and shape, and tacked on to a backingin geometrical designs. At a little distance the effect is rich andexcellent, but close inspection shows up the tintacks and the glue, and aprying finger penetrates the solid-looking panel with perfect ease. The drawing-room was separated from the dining "saloon" by a slidingdoor--which frequently refused to slide at all, or else perversely slid sosuddenly as to endanger finger-tips and cause unseemly words to flow. Thisnoble apartment of elegant dimensions (to borrow the undefiled English ofthe house-agent) could contain four feasters at a pinch. Sabz Ali havingcooked the dinner, the cook-boat was laid alongside, and Sabz Ali, clambering in and out of the window, proceeded to serve the repast, ablack paw, presumably belonging to Ayata, the kitchenmaid-man, appearingfrom time to time to retrieve the soiled plates or hand up the next course. A funny little sideboard and cupboard contained a slender stock of knives, forks, and glasses, and part of a broken-down dinner set, while thefireplace easily held three dozen of soda-water. Then came Jane's bedroom, fitted with a cupboard and shelves, which were aconstant source of covetousness to me, who had none. A small bathroomcompleted our suite of apartments, and, after the bare boards of the_Cruiser_, the _Moon_ seemed to overflow with luxury. We have been taking life easily here for the last week. The Smithsonsintend going into Tilail as soon as the Tragbal becomes feasible; wepropose to remain in Srinagar for a while. The weather has not been veryfine--cold winds and a good deal of rain, varied by thunderstorms, beingour daily experience. The spring is, I am told, exceptionally backward, and, although the almond is in full and lovely flower, the poplars andchenars are barely showing a sign of life. My wife having gone to lunch at the Residency this afternoon, I walkedhalf-way up the Takht-i-Suleiman, whose sharp, rock-strewn pyramid rises athousand feet above Srinagar. The view of the Kashmir plain, through which the river winds like a silversnake; the solemn ring of mountains, enclosing the valley with a rampartof rock and snow; the innumerable roofs of the city, glittering likeburnished scales in the keen sunlight, densely clustered round thefort-crowned height of Hari Parbat, went to make up such a picture asTurner would have kneeled to. Of course it is simply futile to compare one magnificent view with anotherwhich differs entirely in kind. All that one can do is to lay by in thememory a mental picture-gallery of recollection; and as I sat in theshelter of a big rock, gazing out over the level plain stretching below, where the changing shadows as they swept by turned the amber masses of thetrees to gold, I conjured up in my mind's eye other scenes whose beautieswill remain with me while life shall last:--The purple and gold of aglorious sunset over Etna, the Greek theatre of Taormina in front of me, with the sea below--a shimmering opal that melted away in the haze beyondSyracuse; the awful rapids raging furiously below Niagara, a very oceantortured and maddened to blind fury, pouring its irresistible torrentsthrough the chasm above the whirlpool; and again, a cloudless Octobermorning, with just the keen zest of early autumn in the air, as I lay highup on a hillside in Ardgour watching for deer--with the hills of Lochaberand Ballachulish reflected in all their glory of purple and russet in thewaters of Loch Linnhe, windless and still! Chills can be caught amidst the most glorious scenery--the little tufts ofpurple self-heal at my feet were shivering and shaking in a biting breezethat swept down from the snows to the north-east, and although I am anadmirer of Kingsley, I do not hold with him in his wrong-headed admirationfor a "nor'-easter"--so I quitted my perch in search of tea. _Easter Monday_. --The Smithsons scuttled away in a great hurry to-day, their shikari, Asna (the best shikari in Kashmir), having heard that, owing to the lateness of the season, the bara singh have not even yet allshed their horns--so Charlotte is filled with high hope. The bears, too, are said to be waking from their winter's doze and poking around in warmand balmy corners. Armed to the teeth and thirsting for blood, the hunter and the huntresscast loose their matted dounga and paddled away merrily down the Jhelum toBandipur, thence to pursue the royal bara singh, and later, if possible, scale the snow-barred slopes of the Tragbal and penetrate the lonelyTilail Valley to assail the red bear and the multitudinous ibex. Jane and I having decided that a purely shikar expedition into the moredifficult parts of the country was not suited to our prosaic habits, remained to enjoy the effeminate pleasures of Srinagar till the weathershould grow a few degrees warmer. As we are bidden to a sort of state luncheon to-morrow, given by theMaharajah, it appeared to me to be but right and seemly to go and inscribemy name in the visitors' book of His Highness, and also to call upon hisbrother, the Rajah Sir Amar Singh. I went with the more alacrity as Ithought it might prove interesting. Strolling across the big bridge abovethe Palace, I soon found myself in the purely native quarter, immersed ina seething crowd of men and beasts, from beneath whose passing feet acloud of dust rose pungent. The water-sellers, the hawkers of vegetablesand of sweets, the cattle, the loafers and the children got into the wayand out of it in kaleidoscopic confusion. By the side of the street, money-changers, wrapped in silent consideration, bent over their trays ofqueer and outlandish coins. Bright cottons and silks flaunted pennons ofgorgeous colours. Brass, glowing like gold, rose piled on low widecounters. In front stood the Palace, looking its best from this point, andshowing huge beside the huddle of wooden and plaster huts which hem it in. General Raja Sir Amar Singh lives in a sort of glorified English villa. Were it not for the flowering oleanders and hibiscus in front and thesilvery gleam of temple domes beyond, one might suppose oneself near thebanks of Father Thames. And were it not for the group of stalwartretainers at the door, the illusion need not be lost on entering the house. The hall and staircase were decorated with a profusion of skins and horns, somewhat modern and brilliant rugs, and tall glasses full of flowersclosely copied from Nature; while the drawing-room was of a type veryfrequently seen near London. Like so many British reception-rooms, it shone replete with _objets d'art_, rather inclining to Oriental luxury than Japanese restraint. My host, who came in almost immediately, was charming, speaking Englishwith fluency, although he has never been in England. He is essentially a strong man, and remarkably well posted in everything, both political and social, that occurs in the state, mixing far morefreely than his brother with the English, towards whom his courtesy isproverbial. His elder brother, the Maharajah of Jammu and Kashmir, is in many respectsof a different type. Keeping more aloof from the English colony, he spendsmuch of his time in devotion and the privacy of the inner Palace. On leaving Sir Amar Singh, one of his henchmen conducted me across theiron bridge spanning a cut from the Jhelum, and into the warren-likeprecincts of the Palace; presently we emerged from an obscure passage, andfound ourselves at the "front door, " where, in the visitors' book, bymeans of the stumpy pencil attached thereto, I inscribed my name andcondition. _April_ 27. --His Highness the Maharajah having invited us to a luncheongiven by him in honour of Colonel Pears, the new Resident, we prepared tocross the famous Dal Lake to the Nishat Bagh, the scene of the presentfeast, which we fondly hoped might recall the glorious days of the Mogulswhen Jehangir dallied in the historic Shalimar with the fair Nourmahal. "Th' Imperial Selim held a feast In his magnificent Shalimar:-- In whose saloons . .. The valleys' loveliest all assembled. " Our shikara, a sort of canoe paddled by four active fellows, with thestern, where we sat on cushions, carefully screened from the sun by anawning, was brought alongside the dounga at about 11. 30, as we had someseven or eight miles to accomplish before reaching the Nishat Bagh. Leaving the main river just above the Club, we paddled down the Sunt-i-kulCanal, which runs between the European quarter and the Takht-i-Suleiman, the rough brown hill which, crowned with its temple, forms a constantbackground to Srinagar. The canal was closely lined with house-boats and their satellitecook-boats, clinging to the poplar-shaded banks. The golf-links lay on ourleft, and on a low spur to the right stood the hospital, which the energyand philanthropy of the Neves has gained for the remarkably ungratefulKashmiri. It is told that a man, being exceedingly ill, was cared for andnursed during many weeks in the Mission Hospital, his whole familylikewise living on the kindly sahibs. When he was cured and shown the door, he burst into tears because he was not paid wages for all the time he hadspent in hospital! Just before entering the waterway of noble chenars, known as the ChenarBagh (a camping-ground reserved for bachelors only), we ported our helm(or at least would have done so had there been any rudders in Kashmir), and pushed through the lock-gate, which gives entrance to the Dal Lake, against a brisk current. This gate, cunningly arranged upon the non-return-valve principle, isnormally kept open by the current from the Dal; but if the Jhelum, risingin flood, threatens to pour back into the lake and swamp the low groundand floating gardens, it closes automatically, and so remains sealed untilthe outward flow regains the mastery. A sharp bout of paddling, puffing, and splashing shot us into the peacefulwaters of the Dal Lake, over which every traveller has gushed and raved. It is difficult, indeed, not to do so, for it is truly a dream of beauty. A placid sheet of still water, its surface only broken here and there bythe silvery trails of rippled wake left by the darting shikaras orslow-moving market boats, lay before us, shining in the crystal-clearatmosphere. On the right rose the Takht, his thousand feet of rockystature dwarfed into insignificance by holy Mahadeo and his peers, whoseshattered peaks ring round the lake to the north, their dark cliffs andshaggy steeps mirrored in its peaceful surface. On the lower slopes strong patches of yellow mustard and white masses ofblossoming pear-trees rose behind the tender green fringe of the youngwillows. As we swept on, the lake widened. On the left a network of water lanesthreaded the maze of low-growing brushwood and whispering reeds, and roundus extended the half-submerged patches of soil which form the celebrated"floating gardens" of the lake. From any point of view except theutilitarian, these gardens are a fraud. A combination of matted anddecaying water-plants, mud, and young cabbages kept in place by rows andthickets of willow scrub, is curious, but not lovely; and our eyes turnedaway to where Hari Parbat raised his crown of crumbling forts above thenative city, or to the mysterious ruins of Peri Mahal, clinging like aswallow's nest to the shelving slopes above Gupkar. "Still onward; and the clear canal Is rounded to as clear a lake;" and we emerged from the willow-fringed water lanes, and saw across thewider shield of glistering water the white cube of the Nishat BaghPavilion--the Garden of Joy, made for Jehangir the Mogul--standing by thewater's edge, and at its foot a great throng and clutter of boats, amidstwhose snaky prows we pushed our way and landed, something stiff aftersitting for two hours in a cramped shikara. Other guests--some thirty in all--were arriving, either like us by boat, or by carriage _viâ_ Gupkar, and we strolled in groups up the slopinggardens, which still show, in their wild and unrestrained beauty, theloving touch of the long-vanished hand of the Mogul. Down seven wide grassy terraces a series of fountains splashed andtwinkled in the sun. Broad chenars, just beginning to break into leaf, gave promise of ample shade against the day when the blaze should becomeoverpowering. So far so good, but the grass that bordered the path was notthe sweet green turf of an English lawn, and the way was edged by bigearthen pots, into which were hastily stuck wisps of iris blooms andPersian lilac. The topmost terrace widened out, enclosing a large basin ofclear water, in the middle of which played a fountain. On one side wasraised a marquee, revealing welcome preparations for lunch. On theopposite side of the fountain a profusion of chairs, shaded by a greatawning, stood expectantly facing a bandstand. Here we were welcomed by HisHighness, a somewhat small man with exceedingly neat legs and an enormouswhite pugaree, in his customary gracious manner. It was now half-past two, and we had breakfasted early, so that a movetowards the luncheon tent was most welcome. Finding the fair lady whom Iwas detailed to personally conduct, and the ticketed place where I was tosit, I prepared to make a Gargantuan meal. Was it not almost on this veryspot that "The board was spread with fruit and wine, With grapes of gold, like those that shine On Casbin's hills;--pomegranates full Of melting sweetness, and the pears And sunniest apples that Cabul In all its thousand gardens bears. Plantains, the golden and the green, Malaya's nectar'd mangusteen; Prunes of Bokara, and sweet nuts From the far groves of Samarcand, And Basra dates, and apricots, Seed of the sun, from Iran's land;-- With rich conserve of Visna cherries, Of orange flowers, and of those berries That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles Feed on in Erac's rocky dells. . Wines, too, of every clime and hue Around their liquid lustre threw; Amber Rosolli. . And Shiraz wine, that richly ran. . Melted within the goblets there!" This reckless, but unsubstantial and very unwholesome meal, was not for us, and while waiting patiently for the first course to appear, I glanced downthe long table to admire the decorations. They were delightful, consistingof glass flower-vases spaced regularly along the festive board, and filledto overflowing with tufts and clumps of flowers. Innumerable plates filledwith fruit and sweetmeats graced the feast, and a magnificent array ofknives and forks gave promise of good things to come. Presently the expected dainties arrived, resembling but little thelately-described poetic feast; a strict attention to business enabled usto keep the wolf from the door, and a very cheerful party finally emergedfrom the big tent to stroll by the fountains that flashed under thechenars. The Maharajah, of course, did not lunch with us, but held aloof, peepingoccasionally into the cook-house to satisfy himself that the lions werebeing fed properly, and in accordance with their unclean customs. Finally, he and his chief officers of state vanished into a secluded tent, where he probably took a little refreshment, having first carefullyperformed the ablutions necessary after the contamination of theunbeliever. His Highness reappeared from nowhere in particular as his guests strolledacross the terrace, and, after a little polite conversation, we took ourleave and set forth for Srinagar. It was a glorious afternoon, and we deeply regretted that time would notpermit us to visit the neighbouring Shalimar Bagh, which lay hidden amongthe trees near by. The excursion must remain a "hope deferred" for thepresent, as we had again to thread the maze of half-submerged melon plotsand miniature kitchen gardens which, even in the golden glow of a perfectevening, could not be made to fit in with our preconceived ideas of"floating gardens. " Jane was frankly disappointed, as she admitted tohaving pictured in her mind's eye a series of peripatetic herbaceousborders in full flower, cruising about the lake at their own sweet willand tended by fair Kashmirian maidens. By-the-bye, here let me expose, once for all, the fallacy of Moore'sdrivel about the lovely maids of fair "Cashmere. " _There are none!_ Thisappears a startling statement and a sweeping; but, as a matter of fact, the Eastern girl is not left, like her Western sister, to flirt and frivolinto middle age in single "cussedness, " but almost invariably becomes arespectable married lady at ten or twelve, and drapes her lovely, but notover clean, head in the mantle of old sacking, which it is _de rigueur_for matrons to adopt. The good Tommy Moore did not know this, but, letting his warm Irishimagination run riot through a mixed bag of Eastern romancists and theirworks, he evolved, amid a _pôt pourri_ of impossibilities, an impossibledamsel as unlike anything to be found in these parts as the celebratedelephant evolved from his inner consciousness by the German professor! As I traversed the main, or rolled by train, From my Western habitation, I frequently thought--perhaps more than I ought-- Upon many a quiet occasion Of the elegant forms and manifold charms Of the beautiful female Asian. For the good Tommy Moore, in his pages of yore, Sang as though he could never be weary Of fair Nourmahal--an adorable "gal"-- And of Paradise and the Peri, Until, I declare, I was wild to be where I might gaze on the lovely Kashmiri. Through the hot plains of Ind I fled like the wind, Unenchanted by mistress or ayah, The dusky Hindu, I soon saw, wouldn't do, So I paused not, until in the sky----Ah!-- Far upward arose the perpetual snows And the peaks of the proud Himalaya. But in Kashmir, alas! I found not a lass Who answered to Tommy's description-- For the make of such maid I am sadly afraid The fond parents have lost the prescription, And I murmured; "No doubt, the old breed has died out, At least such is my honest conviction. " In the horrible slums which form the foul homes Of the rag-covered dames of the city, I saw wrinkled hags, all wrapped in old rags, Whose appearance excited but pity. Beyond question the word which it would be absurd To apply to these ladies is "pretty. " In the high Gujar huts were but brats and old sluts, These last being the plainest of women; Then I sought on the waters the sisters and daughters Of the Mangis--those "bold, able seamen" (I have often been told that the Mangi is bold, And as brave as at least two or three men). One lady I saw--I am told her papa In the market did forage and "gram" sell-- Decked all over with rings, necklets, bangles and things, She appeared a desirable damsel; And I cried "Oh, Eureka! I've found what I seek: Tell me quick--Is she 'madam' or 'ma'mselle'?" It was comical, but to this question I put-- A remarkably innocent query-- I received but a sigh or evasive reply, Or a blush from the modest Kashmiri; And I gathered at last that the lady was "fast, " And her name should be Phryne, not Heré. Toddled up a small tot--her hair tied in a knot-- Who remarked, "I can hardly consider You've the ghost of a chance on this wild-goosie dance Unless you should hap on a 'widder!' For our maidens at ten--ay, and less now and then-- Are all booked to the wealthiest bidder. " "My dear man, it's no use to indulge in abuse Of our customs, so be not enraged, sir-- No woman a maid is--we're all married ladies. Our charms very early are caged, sir-- I'm eleven myself, " remarked the small elf, "And a year ago I was engaged, sir!" Ah, well! The country is the loveliest I ever saw, and that goes far tomake up for its disgusting population. Here, indeed, it is that "Every prospect pleases, and only man is vile. " We stopped to look at the ruins of an ancient mosque, built in the days ofAkbar by the Shiahs. Its remains may be deeply interesting to thearchaeologist, but to me a neighbouring ziarat, wooden, with its grassyroof one blaze of scarlet tulips, was far more attractive. Moving homeward, we floated under a lovely old bridge, whose three rose-toned arches datefrom the sixteenth century--the age of the Great Moguls. The extremesolidity of its piers contrasts strongly with the exceedingly sketchy (andsketchable) bridges manufactured by the Kashmiri. In fairness, though, I must point out that, as the bridge in Kashmirusually spans a stream liable at almost any moment to overwhelming floods, it would appear to be a sound idea to build as flimsily as possible, withan eye to economical replacement. The Kashmiri carries this plan to its logical conclusion when he fells atree across a raging torrent, and calls it a bridge, to the unutterablediscomfiture of the Western wayfarer. [1] That lady subsequently killed a remarkably good 13-pointer bara singh and some bears in October. CHAPTER VIII THE LOLAB _May_ 1. --The pear and cherry blossom has been so lovely in and aroundSrinagar that we determined to go to the Lolab Valley and see the appleblossom in full flower. We started in some trepidation, for the warm weather lately has meltedmuch snow on the hills, and Jhelum is so full that we were told that ourthree-decker would be unable to pass under the city bridges--of whichthere are seven. We decided to see for ourselves, so set forth abouteleven, and soon came to the first bridge, the Amira Kadal, which carriesthe main tonga road into Srinagar, tying up just above it, amid theclamour and jabber of an idle crowd. The Admiral solemnly measured the clear space between the top of the archand the water with a long pole, consulted noisily with the crowd, yelledhis ideas to the crew, and decided to attempt the passage. Hen-coops, chairs, half-a-dozen flower-pots containing sickly specimens ofplants, and all other movables being cleared from the upper deck, we setsail, and shot the bridge very neatly, only having a few inches ofdaylight between the upper deck and the wooden beams upon which theroadway rests. _Ce nest que, le premier "pont" que coute_. The other bridges were all easier than the first, and we shot them gaily, spending the rest of the day in floating quietly down the river, andfinally anchoring--or rather mooring, for anchors are, like boat-hooks, masts, sails, rudders, and rigging, alike unknown to the "jollye mariners"of the Jhelum--some two or three miles above the entrance to the dreadedWular Lake. This awful stretch of water, so feared by the Kashmiri that his eyesgoggle when he even thinks of it, is an innocent enough looking lake, generally occupied in reflectively reproducing its surroundings upsidedown, but occasionally its calm surface is ruffled by a little breeze, andit is reported that wild and horrible squalls sweep down the nullahs ofHaramok at times, and destroy the unwary. These squalls are said to bemost frequent in the afternoons, and are probably the accompaniments ofthe thunderstorms. It is only considered possible to cross the Wular between dawn and 10 or11 A. M. , and no persuasion will prevail upon a native boatman to risk hislife on the lake after lunch. Before turning in, I gave orders that a start should be made next morningat five o'clock, but a heavy squall of rain and thunder during the nighthad the effect of causing orders to be set at naught, and atbreakfast-time there was no sign of "up anchor" nor even of "heavingshort. " An interview with the Admiral showed me that the Wular, in hisopinion, was too dangerous to cross to-day--in fact he wouldn't dream ofasking coolies to risk it. He was given to understand that we intended tocross, and that the sooner he started the safer it would be. No coolies being forthcoming, I inhumanly gave orders to get underway--the available crew consisting of the wicked Satarah, the firstlieutenant, and the Lady Jiggry. Sulkily and slowly we wended our way pastthe wide flats which border the Wular, all blazing golden with mustard infull pungent flower. Before entering the lake the Admiral meekly requested to be allowed to tryfor coolies in a small village near by. He was allowed quarter of an hourfor pressgang work, and sure enough he came back within a very reasonabletime with a few spare hands, and then--paddling and poling for dearlife--we glided swiftly through the tangled lily-pads and the greenrosettes of the Singhara, and soon were _in medias res_ and fairlycommitted to the deep. The Wular lay like a burnished mirror, reflecting the buttresses ofHaramok on our right, and the snowy ranges by the Tragbal ahead, itssilvery surface lined here and there with the wavering tracks of otherboats, or broken by bristling clumps of reeds and tall water-plants. Ourtransit was perfectly peaceful, and by lunch-time we were safely tied upto a bank, purple with irises, just below Bandipur. A visit to the post-office and a stroll up the rocky hill behind it, wherewe sat for some time and watched a pair of jackals sneaking about, completed a peaceful afternoon. _May_ 3. --We were up with the lark, and, having moved along the coast afew miles to the west of Bandipur, left the ship before six of the clockin pursuit of bear. I had "khubbar" of one in the Malingam Nullah, and, after a brisk walk over the lower slopes, we entered the nullah andclambered up about 1500 feet to a quiet and retired spot under a shadythorn-bush, where we breakfasted. We thereafter climbed a little higher, and then sat down while theshikaris departed to spy, their method of spying being, I believe, somewhat after this fashion:--Leaving the sahib with hisbelongings--notably the tiffin coolie--in a spot carefully selected forits seclusion, the miscreants depart hurriedly and rapidly up the nearestinaccessible crag; this is "business, " and throws dust, so to say, in theeyes of the sahib, by means of an exhibition of activity and zeal. Passingout of sight over the sky-line, the hunters pause, wink at one another, and, choosing a shady and convenient corner, proceed to squat, light theirpipes, and discuss matters--chiefly financial--until they deem it time toreturn, scrambling and breathless with excitement, to relate all that theyhave seen and done. So, while the shikaris unceasingly spied for bear, for nine mortal hoursJane and I camped out on a remarkably hard and unyielding stone, varied byother seats equally tiresome. Fortunately we had brought books with us, and we relieved the monotony byobserving the habits of a pair of "kastooras, " a hawk, and a brace ofchikor at intervals, but it was truly a tedious chase. At four o'clock the sons of Nimrod returned, declaring that the bear hadbeen seen, but that as we had on chaplies and not grass shoes, it would beimpossible for us to pursue him. I asked the shikari why the ---- goose hehad let me come out in chaplies instead of grass shoes if the country wasso rough? His reply was to the effect that whatever it pleased me to wearpleased him! _May_ 4. --Armed _cap-à-pie_ so to speak, with pith helmets and grass shoes, we again set forth at dawn of day to hunt the bear. Breakfast under thesame tree, sitting on the same patch of rose-coloured flowers--a sort offumitory (_Corydalus rutaefolia_)--followed by another nine-hour bivouac, brought us to 5 P. M. And the extreme limit of boredom, when lo! theshikaris burst upon us in a state of frenzied excitement to announce thebear! Off we went up a steep track for a quarter of an hour, until, at thefoot of a rough snow slope, the shikari told the much disgusted Jane thatshe must wait there, the rest of the climb being too hard for her, and, intruth, it was pretty bad. Up a very steep gully filled with loose stonesand rotten snow, scrambling, and often hauling ourselves up with our handsby means of roots and trailing branches, we slowly worked our way up aplace I would never have even attempted in cold blood. Twenty minutes' severe exertion brought us to a shelf, or rather slope, ofrock on the right, sparsely covered with wiry brown grass from which thesnow had but very recently gone, and crowned by a crest of stunted pines. Up this we wriggled, I being mainly towed up by my shikari's cummerbund, and, lying under a pine, we peered over the top. A steep gully divided us from a rough ridge, upon a grassy ledge of which, about 200 yards off, a big black beast was grubbing and rooting about. The shikari, shaking with excitement, handed me the rifle, urging me toshoot. I did nothing of the sort, having no breath, and my hand beingunsteady from a fast and stiff climb. I regret to be obliged to admit that, not realising that it would belittle short of miraculous to kill a bear stone-dead at 200 yards with aMannlicher, and being also, naturally, somewhat carried away by the sightof a real bear within possible distance, I waited until I was perfectlysteady, and fired. The brute fell over, but immediately picked himself upagain and made off. I saw I had broken his fore-shoulder and fired againas he disappeared over the far side of the ledge, but missed, and I sawthat bear no more. We had the utmost difficulty in crossing the precipitous gully to a spotbelow the ledge upon which the beast had been feeding--the ledge itself wecould not reach at all; and the lateness of the hour and the difficulty ofthe country in which we were, prevented us from trying to enter the nextravine and work up and back by the way the bear had gone. A neck-breakingcrawl down a horrible grass slope brought us to better ground, and I sadlyjoined Jane to be well and deservedly scolded for firing a foolish shot. The lady was very much disgusted at having been defrauded of the sight ofa bear "quite wild, " as she expressed it--a certain short-tempered animalwhich had eaten up her best umbrella in the Zoo at Dusseldorf not havingfulfilled the necessary condition of wildness. Next day I sent out coolies to search for traces, promising lavish"backshish" in the event of success, but I got no trustworthy news, "andthat was the end of that hunting. " _May_ 6. --Jane took a respite from the chase, and I sallied forth alone atdawn up a nullah from Alsu to look for a bear which was said to frequentthose parts. A brisk walk of some four miles over the flat, followed by aclimb up a track--steep as usual--to the left of the main track to theLolab, brought us to a grassy ridge, where I sat down patiently to awaitthe bear's pleasure. I took my note-book with me, and whiled away sometime in writing the following:-- Let me jot down a sketch of my present position and surroundings; it willserve to bring the scene back to me, perhaps, when I am again sitting inmy own particular armchair watching the fat thrushes hopping about thelawn. Well, I am perched in a little hollow under a big grey boulder, whichserves to shelter me to a certain, but limited, extent from the briskshowers that come sweeping over from the Lolab Valley. The hollow is sosmall that it barely contains my tiffin basket, rifle, gun, and self--infact, my grass-shod and puttied extremities dangle over the rim, whence asteep slope shelves down some 200 feet to a brawling burn, the hum ofwhich, mingling with the fitful sighing of the pines as the breeze sweepsthrough their sounding boughs, is perpetually in my ears. Across thelittle torrent, and not more than a hundred yards away, rises a slope, covered with rough grass and scrub, similar to that in the face of which Iam ensconced. Here the bear was seen at 7 A. M. By a Gujar, who gave the fullestparticulars to Ahmed Bot (my shikari) in a series of yells from a hill-topas we came up the valley. We arrived on the scene about seven, just intime to be too late, apparently. It is now 3 P. M. , and the bear issupposed to be asleep, and I am possessing my soul in patience until itshall be Bruin's pleasure to awake and sally forth for his afternoon tea. There is certainly no bear now, so I pass the time in sleeping, eating, smoking, writing, and observing the manners and customs of a family ofmonkeys who are disporting themselves in a deep glen to the left. Beyondthis ravine rises a high spur, beautifully wooded, the principal treesbeing deodar, blue pine (_Excelsa_) and yew. This is sloped at theinvariable and disgusting angle of 45 degrees. Beyond it rise furtherwooded slopes, with snow gleaming through the deep green, and above all isthe changing sky, where the clear blue gives way to a billowy expanse ofwhite rolling clouds or dark rain-laden masses, which pour into the upperclefts of the ravine, and blot out the serried ranks of the pines, until athorough drenching seems inevitable--when lo! a glint of blue through thegloomy background, and soon again, "With never a stain, the pavilion of Heaven is bare. " The immediate foreground, as I said before, slopes sharply from my veryfeet, where a clump of wild sage and jasmin (the leaves just breaking)grows over a charming little bunch of sweet violets. Lower down I can seethe lilac flowers of a self-heal, and the bottom of the little gorge isclothed with a bush like a hazel, only with large, soft whitish flowers. My solitude has just been enlivened by the appearance of a cheerful partyof lovely birds. They are very busy among the "hazels, " flying from bushto bush with restless activity, and wasting no time in idleness. They areabout the size of large finches--slender in shape, with longish tails. They are divided into two perfectly distinct kinds, probably male andfemale. The former have the back, head, and wings black; the latter barredwith scarlet, the breast and underparts also scarlet. The others--which Iassume to be the females--replace the black with ashy olive, the wingsbeing barred with yellow, the underparts yellowish. The very familiar noteof the cuckoo, somewhere up in the jungle, reminds me of an English spring. 4 P. M. --I knew it! I knew that if the wind held down the nullah I shouldbe dragged up that horrible ridge opposite. Hardly had I written the abovewhen I was hunted from my lair, and rushed down 200 steep feet, and thenup some 500 or 600 on the other side of the stream, through an abattis ofclinging undergrowth that made a severe toil of what could never have beena pleasure. There can be no doubt but that a pith helmet--a really shady, broad one--is a most infernal machine under which to force one's waythrough brushwood. Well, all things come to an end--wind first, temper next, and finally thejourney. My shikari is a fiend in human shape. He slinks along on the flat at what_looks_ like a mild three-miles-an-hour constitutional, but unless you area _real_ four-mile man you will be left hopelessly astern; but when hegets upon his favourite "one in one" slope, then does he simply sail away, with the tiffin coolie carrying a fat basket and all your spare lumber inhis wake, while you toil upward and ever upwards--gasping--until with yourlast available breath you murmur "Asti, " and sink upon the nearest stone alimp, perspiring worm! 5. 30 P. M. --That bear has taken a sleeping draught! I am now perched on a lonely rock, my hard taskmaster having routed me outof a very comfortable place under a blue pine, whose discarded needlesafforded me a really agreeable resting-place, and dragged me away downagain through the pine forest and jungle; hurried me across a roaringtorrent on a fallen tree trunk; personally conducted me hastily up a placelike the roof of a house; and finally, explaining that the bear, whendisturbed, must inevitably come close past me, has departed with his staff(the chota shikari, the tiffin coolie, and a baboon-faced native) to wakeup the bear and send him along. After the first flurry of feeling all alone in the world, with only aprobable bear for society, and having loaded all my guns, clasped my visoron my head and my Bessemer hug-proof strait-waistcoat round my "tummy, " Ifelt calm enough to await events with equanimity. 6. 15 P. M. --A large and solemn monkey is sitting on the top of a thick andsquat yew tree regarding me with unfeigned interest. The torrent isroaring away in the cleft below. Nothing else seems alive, and I ambecoming bored----What? A bear? No! The shikari, thank goodness! "Well, shikari--Baloo dekho hai?" No, it is passing strange, but he has_not_ seen a bear. "All right! Pick up the blunderbuss, and let us maketracks for the ship. " _Wednesday, May_ 10. --Beguiled by legends of many bears, detailed to mewith apparently heartfelt sincerity by Ahmed Bot, I have been pursuingthese phantoms industriously. On Monday we quitted our boat, and started upon a trip into the LolabValley. The views, as the path wound up the green and flower-spangledslope, were very beautiful, and, when we had ascended about 1500 feet andwere about opposite to the supposed haunt of Saturday's bear, wedetermined to camp and enjoy the scenery, not omitting an eveningexpedition in search of our shy friend. Jane joining me, we had a most charming ramble down a narrow track to thebed of the stream which rushes down from the snow-covered ridge guardingthe Lolab. Here we crossed into a splendid belt of gaunt silver firs, thefirst I have seen here; whitish yellow marsh-marigolds and a most vivid"smalt" blue forget-me-not with large flowers were abundant, also anoxalis very like our own wood-sorrel. Emerging from the pines, we crossed a grassy slope covered with tallprimulas (P. _denticulata_) of varying shades of mauve and lilac, and satdown for a bit among the flowers while the shikaris looked for game. (Ineed hardly remark that the noble but elusive beast had appeared on thescene shortly after I left on Saturday; a Gujar told the shikari, and theshikari told me, so it must be true. ) When we had gathered as many flowersas we could carry, we strolled back to the camp to watch the sunsettransmute the snowy crest of Haramok to a golden rose. Yesterday, Tuesday, I left the camp at dawn, and went all over the sameground, but with no better success, only seeing a couple of bara singh, hornless now, and therefore comparatively uninteresting from a "shikar"point of view. After a delightful but bearless ramble I returned tobreakfast, and then we struck camp, and completed the ascent of the passover into the Lolab. Arrived at the top, we turned off the path to theright, and, climbing a short way, came out upon the lower part of theNagmarg, a pretty, open clearing among the pines where the grass, dottedthickly with yellow colchicum, was only showing here and there through themelting snow. Choosing a snug and dry place on some sun-warmed rocks atthe foot of a tree, we prepared to lunch and laze, and soon spread abroadthe contents of the tiffin basket. There is something, nay much, of charm in the utter freedom and solitudeof Kashmir camp life. There is no beaten track to be followed diligentlyby the tourist, German, American, or British, guide-book in hand and guideat elbow. No empty sardine-tins, nor untidy scraps of paper, mar the cleanand lonely margs or village camping-grounds. The happy wanderer, selecting a grassy dell or convenient shady tree witha clear spring or dancing rivulet near by, invokes the tiffin coolie, andif a duly watchful eye has been kept upon that incorrigible sluggard, inshort space the contents of the basket deck the sward. What have we here?Yes, of course, cold chicken-- "For beef is rare within these oxless isles. " Bread! (how lucky we sent that coolie into Srinagar the other day). Butter, nicely stowed in its little white jar, cheese-cakes (one of the Sabz Ali'smasterpieces), and a few unconsidered trifles in the form of "jam pups"and a stick of chocolate. Whisky is there, if required, but really the cold spring water is"delicate to drink" without spirituous accompaniment. Hunger appeased, the beauty of the surrounding scenery becomes intensifiedwhen seen through the balmy veil of smoke caused by the consumption of amild cheroot, and peace and contentment reign while we feed the sprightlycrows with chicken bones and bits of cheese rind. Shall we ever forget--Jane and I--that simple feast on the Nagmarg? The sloping snow melting into little rills which trickled through thefresh-springing flower-strewn grass; the extraordinary blue of thehillsides overlooking the Lolab Valley seen through the sloping boughs ofthe pines; the crows hopping audaciously around or croaking on a driedbranch just above our heads; and above all, the glorious sense of freedom, of aloofness from all disturbing elements, of utter and irresponsibleindependence in a lovely land unspoiled by hand of man? The afternoon sun smote us full in the face as we descended the bare andnot too smooth path that led into the valley, and we were right glad toreach the shade of a grove of deodars that covered the lower slopes of thehill. The Lolab Valley, into which we had now penetrated, is a rich andpicturesque expanse of level plain, some fifteen miles long by three orfour broad, apparently completely surrounded by a densely-wooded curtainof mountains, rising to an elevation of some 3000 feet above the valley onthe south and west, but ranging on the other sides up into the loftysummits which bar the route into Gurais and the Tilail. The mountain chainis not really continuous, the river Pohru, which drains the valley, finding outlet to the west e'er it bends sharply to the south and entersthe Wular near Sopor. Perhaps the most noticeable objects in the Lolab are the walnut trees;they are now just coming into full leaf, and their great trunks, hoarywith age and softly velveted with dark green moss, form the noble columnsof many a lovely camping-ground. We pitched our tents at Lalpura in agrove of giants, the majesty of which formed an exquisite contrast to thewhite foam of a cluster of apple trees in bloom. It has been so hot to-day that we have stayed quietly in camp, reading, sketching, and enjoying the _dolce far niente_ of an idle life. _Sunday, May_ 14. --On Thursday we left Lalpura and marched to Kulgam, ashort distance of some eight or ten miles. Mr. Blunt, the forestofficer, [1] had most kindly placed the forest bungalows of the Lolab atour disposal; but, as they all lie on the other side of the valley, we areobliged to camp every night. We have been working along the north sideof the Lolab, as the shikari is full of bear "khubbar, " and as long as theweather remains fair we really do not much care where we go! Skirting thefoot of the wooded ridge on our right, and with the flat and populouslevels of the valley on our left, we marched along a good path shaded inmany places by the magnificent walnuts and snowy fruit-trees for which theLolab is justly famed, until, crossing the Pohru by a rickety bridge, andtoiling up a hot, bare slope, we reached Kulgam, nestling at the foot ofthe hills. After tiffin and a short rest we set forth up the nullah behind thevillage to look for (need I say?) a bear. The gradient was stiff, as usual, and the path none too good. Feeling that our laborious climb deserved tobe rewarded by, at any rate, the sight of game, and Ahmed Bot having senta special message to the Lumbadhar at Kulgam directing him to keep thenullah quiet, we were justly incensed when, having toiled up some coupleof thousand weary feet, we met a gay party of the _élite_ of Kulgamprancing down the hill with blankets stuffed with wild leeks, or some suchdelicacy. Ahmed Bot showed reckless courage. Having overwhelmed the enemy with avituperative broadside, he fell upon them single-handed, tore from themtheir cherished blankets, and spilt the leeks to the four winds. I expected nothing less than to be promptly hurled down the khud, withJill after me, by the six enraged burghers of Kulgam. But no. They simplysat down together on a rock, and blubbered loud and long; we sat downopposite them on another rock and laughed, and laughed--tableau! On Friday I went for a delightful walk through the pine and deodar forests, the ostensible objective being, of course, a bear. Putting aside all ideasof sport, I gave myself up to the simple joy of mere existence in such aland; noting a handsome iris with broad red lilac blooms, which I had notseen before; listening to the intermittent voice of the cuckoo, andpausing every here and there to gaze over the fair valley, backed by itsencircling ranges of sunlit mountains. The chota shikari is a youth of great activity, both mental and physical. He almost wept with excitement on observing the mark of a bear's paw on adusty bit of path. He said it was a bear which had left that paw-mark, soI believed him. Late in the dusk of the afternoon he _saw_ a bear sittinglooking out of a cave. I could only make out a black hole, but he saw itsears move. I regarded the spot with a powerful telescope, but only sawmore hole; still, I cannot doubt the chota shikari. The burra shikari sawit too, but was of opinion that it was too late to go and bag it. I thinkhe was right, so we went back to camp without further adventure. Yesterday we left Kulgam, and followed up a track to a small village whichlies at the foot of the track leading over to Gurais and the Tilailcountry. Here we camped in a grove of walnuts, which stood by an icyspring. Jane and I went for a stroll, watched a couple of smallwoodpeckers hunting the trunk of a young fir within a few feet of us, butretreated hurriedly to camp on the approach of a heavy thunderstorm. Thiswas but the prelude to a bad break in the weather; all to-day it hasrained in torrents, and everything is sopping and soaked. The littlestream which yesterday trickled by the camp is become a young river, andit is a perfect mystery how Sabz Ali manages to cook our food over a fireguarded from the full force of the rain by blankets propped up with sticks, and how, having cooked it, he can bring it, still hot, across the twentyyards of rain-swept space which intervenes between the cook-house and ourtent. _Monday, May_ 15. --The deluge continued all night, and only at about teno'clock this forenoon did the heavy curtain of rain break up into raggedswirls of cloud, which, torn by the serrated ridges of the gloomy pines, rolled dense and dark up the gorges, resonant now with the roar offull-fed torrents. The men are all beginning to complain of fever, and have eaten up a greatquantity of quinine. Considering the dismal conditions under which theyhave been living for the last couple of days, this is not surprising; so, with the first promise of an improvement in the weather, we struck camp, determined to make for the forest bungalow at Doras and obtain the shelterof a solid roof. Many showers, but no serious downpour, enlivened ourmarch, and we arrived at the snug little wooden house just in time toescape a particularly fine specimen of a thunderstorm. The Doras bungalowseemed a very palace of luxury, with its dry, airy rooms and wide verandah, all of sweet-smelling deodar wood. The men, too, were thankful to have agood roof over their heads, and we heard no more of fever. _Wednesday, May_ 17. --Yesterday it rained without ceasing, until thevalley in front of us took the appearance of a lake--A party of terns, white above and with black breasts, skirled and wrangled over the "casual"water. It was still very wet this morning, but as it cleared somewhatafter breakfast, we made up our minds to quit the Lolab and get back toour boat. Doras has sad memories for Jane, for here died the "chota murghi, " a blackchicken endowed with the most affectionate disposition. It was permittedto sit on the lady's knee, and scratch its yellow beak with its littleyellow claw; but I never cared to let it remain long upon my shoulder--aperch it ardently affected. Well! it is dead, poor dear, and whether fromshock (the pony which carried its basket having fallen down with it _enroute_ from "Walnut Camp"), or from a surfeit of caterpillars which werewashed in myriads off the trees there, we cannot tell. Sabz Ali broughtthe little corpse along, holding it by one pathetic leg to show thehorrified Jane, before giving it to the kites and crows. He has many"murghis" left; baskets full, as he says, for they are cheap in the Lolab, but we shall never love another so dearly. We had a shocking time while climbing to the pass which leads over toRampur, the road being deep in slimy mud, and so slippery that theunfortunate baggage ponies could hardly get along. Jane, who is insplendid condition now, toiled nobly up a track which would have beendelightful had the weather been a little less hideous. Reaching the ridge which divides the Lolab from the Pohru Valley, weturned to the left, along the edge, instead of descending forthwith, as wehad hoped and expected to do. It was raw and cold, with flying wreaths ofdamp mist shutting out the view, and we were glad of a comforting tiffin, swallowed somewhat hurriedly, under a forlorn and stunted specimen of ablue pine. Then on along a rough and slippery catwalk that made us wonderif the baggage ponies would achieve a safe arrival at Rampur. Crossing a steep, rock-strewn ridge, covered with crown imperial in fullflower, we began a sharp descent through a wood of deodars; and now thethunder, which had been grumbling and rumbling in the distance, came uponus, and a deafening peal sent us scurrying down the hill at our best pace;the lightning-blasted trunks stretching skywards their blackened andtempest-torn limbs in ghastly witness of what had been and what might beagain. At last we cleared the wood, and, plunging across a perfect slough of deepmud, crawled on to the verandah of the Rampur forest-house, where we satanxiously watching the hillside until we saw our faithful ponies safelysliding down the hill. _Thursday, May_ 18. --The changes of weather in this country are sudden andsurprising. This morning we woke to a perfect day--the sun bathing thewarm hillsides, the picturesque brown village, and the brilliant masses ofsnowy blossoming fruit-trees with a radiant smile. And, but for thetell-tale riot of the streams and the sponginess of the compound, therewas nothing to betray the past misdeeds of the clerk of the weather. At noon we set out to cover the short distance that lay between us andKunis, where we had made tryst with Satarah. The country was like a seriesof English woodland glades--watered by many purling streams, and brightwith masses of apple blossom; the turf around the trees all white and pinkwith petals torn from the branches by the recent storms. Clumps of firclothed the hills with sombre green--a perfect background to a perfectpicture. The flowers all along our path to-day were much in evidence after the rain. Little prickly rose-bushes (_R. Webbiana_) were covered with pink blossomsjust bursting into full glory; bushes of white may, yellow berberis, Daphne (_Oleoides?_), and many another flowering shrub grew in tangledprofusion, while pimpernel (red and blue), a small androsace(_rotundifolia_), hawks-bit, stork's bill, wild geranium, a tiny mallow, eye-bright, forget-me-not, a little yellow oxalis, a speedwell, and manyanother, to me unknown, blossom starred the roadside. In the fields roundKunis the poppies flared, and the iris bordered the fields with a ribbonof royal purple. We reached Kunis at two o'clock, and found the village half submerged, thewater being up and over the low shores from the recent rain. Our boatswere moored in a clump of willows, whose feet stood so deeply in the waterthat we had to embark on pony-back! After lunch came the usual differenceof opinion with the Admiral, who seems to have great difficulty ingrasping the fact that our will is law as to times and seasons for sailing. He always assumes the rôle of passive resister, and is always defeatedwith ignominy. He insisted that it was too late to think of reachingBandipur, but we maintained that we could get at any rate part of the way;so he cast off from his willow-tree, and sulkily poked and poled out intothe Wular, taking uncommon good care to hug the shore with fervour. Here and there a group of willows standing far out into the lake, or ahalf-drowned village, drove us out into the open water, and once when, like a latter-day Vasco de Gama, the Admiral was striving to double thedreadful promontory of a water-logged fence, a puff of wind fell upon us, lashing the smooth water into ripples, whereupon the crew lost their witswith fright, and the lady mariners in the cook-boat set up a dismalhowling; the ark, taking charge, crashed through the fence, her waycarrying us to the very door of a frontier villa of an amphibious village. With amazing alacrity the crew tied us up to the door-post, and preparedto go into winter quarters. This did not suit us at all, and "The harmless storm being ended, " we ruthlessly broke away from our haven of refuge, and safely arrived atAlsu. _Friday, May_ 19. --An ominous stillness and repose at 3 o'clock thismorning sent me forth to see why the windlass was not being manned. Athing like a big grey bat flapping about, proved, on inspection, to bethat rascal the Lord High Admiral Satarah. He said he could not start, asthe hired coolies from Kunis had been so terrified by the horrors ofyesterday that they had departed in the night, sacrificing their payrather than run any more risks with such daredevils as the mem-sahib andme. This was vexatious and entirely unexpected, as I had never beforeknown a coolie to bolt before pay-day. Sabz Ali and Satarah were promptlydespatched on a pressgang foray, while I put to sea with thefirst-lieutenant to show that I meant business. A crew was found in asurprisingly short time, and a frenzied dart was made for the mouth of theJhelum. All day we poled round the shore of the lake, over flooded fields wherethe mustard had spread its cloth of gold a short week ago, over the veryhedges we had scrambled through when duck-shooting in April, until in theevening we entered the river just below Sumbal. The towing-path was almost, in many places quite, under water, and thewhole country looked most forlorn and melancholy as the sun went down--apale yellow ball in a pale yellow haze. _Sunday, May_ 21. --All yesterday we towed up the river against a currentwhich ran swift and strong. The passage of the bridge at Surahal gave us some trouble, as the floodedriver brought our upper works within a narrow distance of the highestpoint of the span, but we finally scraped through with the loss of aportion of the railing which decorated our upper deck. The strain of towing was severe, so, when a brisk squall and threateningthunder-shower overtook us at the mouth of the Sind River, we decided totie up there for the night. This morning we started at four o'clock, but only reached our berth atSrinagar at two, having spent no less than six hours in forcing the boatsby pole and rope for the last three miles through the town! An incredibleamount of panting, pushing, yelling, and hauling, with frantic invocationsto "Jampaws" and other saints, was required to enable us to crawl inch byinch against the racing water which met us in the narrow canal below thePalace. All's well that ends well, and here we are once more in Srinagar, after atrip which has been really delightful, albeit the weather latterly has notbeen by any means all that could have been desired, and we have slain nobears![2] [1] Commonly called the "Jungly-sahib. " [2] Can it be that Bernier was right? "Il ne s'y trouve ni serpens, ni tigres, ni ours, ni lions, si ce n'est très rarement. "--_Voyage de Kachemire_. CHAPTER IX SRINAGAR AGAIN We have spent the last three weeks or so quietly in Srinagar, our boatsforming links in the long chain that, during the "season, " extends formiles along both banks of the river. A large contingent of amphibiansdwells in the canal leading to the Dal gates, and the Chenar Bagh, sacredto the bachelor, shows not a spare inch along its shady length. Not being either professional globe-trotters or Athenians, we have notfelt obliged to be perpetually in high-strung pursuit of some new thing;and to the seeker after mild and modest enjoyment there is much to be saidin favour of a sojourn at Srinagar. Polo, gymkhanas, lawn-tennis, picnics, and golf are everyday occurrences, followed by a rendezvous at the club, where every one congregates for asmoke and chat, until the sun goes down behind the poplars, and the swiftshikaras come darting over the stream like water-beetles to carry off thesahibs to their boats, to dress, dine, and reassemble for "bridge, " orperhaps a dance at Nedou's Hotel, or at that most hospitable hub ofSrinagar, the Residency. Polo is, naturally, practically restricted to the man who brings up hisponies from the Punjab, but golf is for all, and the nine-hole course, although flat, is not stale, and need not be unprofitable, unless you arefallen upon--as I was--by two stalwart Sappers, sons of Canada and potentwielders of the cleek, who gave me enough to do to keep my rupees in mypocket and the honour of the mother country upheld! On May 26th we took shikara and paddled across the Dal Lake to seesomething of the Mohammedan festival, consisting in a pilgrimage to theMosque of Hasrat Bal, where a hair of the prophet's beard is the specialobject of adoration. As we neared the goal the plot thickened. Hundreds of boats--from enormousdoungas containing the noisy inhabitants of, I should suppose, a wholevillage, down to the tiniest shikara, whose passenger was perched withcareful balance to retain a margin of safety to his two inches offreeboard--converged upon the crowded bank, above which rose the mosque. How can I best attempt to describe the din, the crush, the light, thecolour? Was it like Henley? Well, perhaps it might be considered as a mad, fantastic Henley. Replace the fair ladies and the startling "blazers" withveiled houris and their lords clad in all colours of the rainbow; for oneimmortal "Squash" put hundreds of "squashes, " all playing upon weirdinstruments, or singing in "a singular minor key"; let the smell ofoutlandish cookery be wafted to you from the "family" boats and from thebivouacs on the shore; let a constant uproar fall upon your ears as whenthe Hall defeats Third Trinity by half a length; and, finally, for theflat banks of Father Thames and the trim lawns of Phyllis Court, you mustsubstitute the Nasim Bagh crowned with its huge chenars, and Mahadcolooking down upon you from his thirteen thousand feet of precipice andsnow. Half-an-hour of this kaleidoscopic whirl of gaiety satisfied us. The sun, in spite of an awning, was a little trying, so we sought the quiet andshade of the Nasim Bagh for lunch and repose. Returning towards Srinagar about sundown, we stopped to visit the ancientMosque of Hassanabad, which stands on a narrow inlet or creek of the DalLake, shaded by chenars and willows in all their fresh spring green. Alittle lawn of softest turf slopes up gently to the ruined mosque, ofwhich a portion of an apse and vaulted dome alone stand sentinel over itsfallen greatness. Around lie the tombs of princes, whose bones havemouldered for eight hundred years under the irises, which wave their greensabres crowned with royal purple in the whispering twilight. Near by, the mud and timber walls of a ziarat stand, softly brown, supporting a deeply overhanging, grass-grown roof, blazing with scarlettulips. Through its very centre, and as though supporting it, pierces thegnarled trunk of a walnut tree, reminding one of Ygdrasil, the Upholder ofthe Universe. _May_ 27. --What an improvement it would be if a house-dounga could befitted with torpedo netting! Jane finds herself in the most embarrassingsituations, while dressing in the morning, from the unwelcome pertinacityof the merchants who swarm up the river in the early hours from theirlairs, and lay themselves alongside the helpless house-boats. By 10 A. M. We have to repel boarders in all directions. Mr. Sami Joo isendeavouring to sell boots from the bow, while Guffar Ali is pressingembroidery on our acceptance from the stern. Ali Jan is in a boat full ofcarved-wood rubbish on the starboard side, while Samad Shah, Sabhana, andhalf-a-dozen other robbers line the river bank opposite our port windowsand clamour for custom. A powerful garden-hose of considerable calibremight be useful, but for the present I have given Sabz Ali orders to rigout long poles, which will prevent the enemy from so easily getting toclose quarters. _June_ 17. --It is quite curious that it should be so difficult to findtime to keep up this journal. Mark Twain, in that best of burlesques, _TheInnocents Abroad_ affirms, if I remember rightly, that you could notcondemn your worst enemy to greater suffering than to bind him down tokeep an accurate diary for a year. It is the inexorable necessity for writing day by day one's impressionsthat becomes so trying; and yet it must be done daily if it is to be doneat all, for the only virtue I can attain to in writing is truth; andimpressions from memory, like sketches from memory, are of no value fromthe hand of any but a master. The time set apart for diary-writing is the hour which properly intervenesbetween chota hasri and the announcement of my bath; but, somehow, therenever seems to be very much time. Either the early tea is late or bath isearly, or a shikar expedition, with a grass slipper in pursuit of flies, takes up the precious moments, and so the business of the day gets allbehindhand. The fly question is becoming serious. Personally, I do not consider thatfleas, mosquitoes, or any other recognised insect pests (excepting, perhaps, harvest bugs) are so utterly unendurable as the "little, busy, thirsty fly. " It seems odd, too, as he neither stings nor bites, that heshould be so objectionable; but his tickly method of walking over yournose or down your neck, and the exasperating pertinacity with which herefuses to take "no" for an answer when you flick him delicately with ahandkerchief, but "cuts" and comes again, maddens you until you rise, bloody-minded in your wrath, and, seizing the nearest sledgehammer, fallupon the brute as he sits twiddling his legs in a sunny patch on the table, then lo-- "Unwounded from the dreadful close "-- he frisks cheerfully away, leaving you to gather up cursefully thefragments of the china bowl your wife bought yesterday in the bazaar! How he manages to congregate in his legions in this ship is a mystery. Every window is guarded by "meat safe" blinds of wire gauze; the doors are, normally, kept shut; and yet, after one has swept round like an iratewhirlwind with a grass slipper, and slain or desperately wounded everyvisible fly in the cabin, and at last sat down again to pant and paint, hoping for surcease from annoyance, not five minutes pass before one, two, nay, a round dozen of the miscreants are gaily licking the moisture offthe cobalt (may they die in agony!), or trying to swim across the glass ofwater, or playing hop-scotch on the nape of my neck. From what mysterious lair or hidden orifice they come I know not, but herethey are in profusion until another massacre of the innocents is decreed. It is a sound thing to go round one's sleeping-cabin at night before"turning in, " and make a bag of all that can be found "dreaming the happyhours away" on the bulkheads and ceiling. It sends us to bed in thevirtuous frame of mind of the Village Blacksmith-- "Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose" There are other microbes besides flies in Kashmir which areexasperating--coolies, for instance. I had engaged men through Chattar Singh (the State Transport factotum atSrinagar) to take us up the river, and decreed that we should start at4 A. M. Yesterday. We had been to an _al fresco_ gathering at the Residency the night before, and so were rather sleepy in the early morning, and I did not wake at fouro'clock. At six we had not got far on our way, and at ten we were butlevel with Pandrettan, barely three miles from Srinagar as the crow (thatmodel of rectilinear volition) flies. I was busy painting all the forenoon, and failed to note the sluggishsteps of our coolies, but in the afternoon it was borne in upon us that ifwe wanted to reach Avantipura that night, as we had arranged, a littleacceleration was necessary. Then the trouble began. The coolies were bone-lazy, the admiral andfirst-lieutenant were sulky, and the weather was stuffy and threatenedthunder--the conditions were altogether detrimental to placidity oftemper. By sunset we had the shikari, the kitchen-maid, and the sweeper on thetow-rope, and even the great and good Sabz Ali was seen to bear a hand inpoling. Much recrimination now ensued between Sabz Ali and the Admiral, and the whole crowd made the air resound with Kashmiri "language, " everyone, apparently, abusing everybody else, and making very nasty remarksabout their lady ancestors. At 10 P. M. I got four more coolies from a village, apparently chieflyinhabited by dogs, who deeply resented our proximity, and at 2 o'clockthis morning we reached the haven where we would be--Avantipura. This morning I discharged the Srinagar coolies and took a fresh lot, whopull better and talk less. How differently things may be put and yet the truth retained. Yesterday wereclined at our ease in our cosy floating cottage, towed up the lovelyriver by a picturesque crew of bronze Kashmiris, the swish of the passingwater only broken by their melodious voices. The brilliancy of the morninggave way in the afternoon to a soft haze which fell over the snowy ranges, mellowing their clear tones to a soft and pearly grey, while thereflections of the big chenars which graced the river bank deepened us theafternoon shadows lengthened and spread over the wide landscape. Towardsevening we strolled along the river bank plucking the ripe mulberries, andidly watching the terns and kingfishers busily seeking their suppers overthe glassy water; and at night we sat on deck while the moon rose higherin the quiet sky, and the dark river banks assumed a clearer ebony as sherose above the lofty fringe of trees, until the towing-path lay a track ofpure silver reaching away to the dim belt of woodland which shroudedAvantipura. That is a perfectly accurate description of the day, and so is this:-- It was very hot--and there is nothing hid from the heat of the sun onboard a wooden house-dounga. The flies, too, were unusually malevolent, and I could scarcely paint, and my wife could hardly read by reason oftheir unwelcome attentions. The coolies were a poor lot and a slack, and as the day grew stuffier andsultrier so did their efforts on the tow-path become "small by degrees andbeautifully less. " That irrepressible bird--the old cock--refused to consider himself asunder arrest in his hen-coop, and insisted upon crowing about fifteentimes a minute with that fidgeting irregularity which seems peculiar tocertain unpleasant sounds, and which retains the ear fixed in nervoustension for the next explosion of defiance or pride, or whatever evilimpulse it is which causes a cock to crow. Driven overboard by the cock, and a feeling that exercise would bebeneficial, we landed in the afternoon, and plodded along the bank forsome miles. The innumerable mulberry trees are loaded with ripe fruit, theground below being literally black with fallen berries. We ate some, andpronounced them to be but mawkish things. After dinner we sat on deck, as the lamp smelt too strongly to let usenjoy ourselves in the cabin, and the coolies on the bank and the peoplein our boat and those in the cook-boat engaged in a triangular duel ofwords, until the last few grains of my patience ran through the glass, andI spake with _my_ tongue. There is certainly some curious quality in the air of this country whichaffects the nerves: maybe it is the elevation at which one lives--certainit is that many people complain of unwonted irritability andsusceptibility to petty annoyances. And, while travelling in Kashmir iseasy and comfortable enough along beaten tracks, yet the petty worriesconnected with all matters of transport and supply are incessant, andbecome much more serious if one cannot speak or understand Hindustani. It takes some little time for the Western mind to grasp the fact that theKashmiri cannot and must not be treated on the "man and brothel" principle. He is by nature a slave, and his brain is in many respects the undevelopedbrain of a child; in certain ways, however, his outward childishnessconceals the subtlety of the Heathen Chinee. He has in no degree come to comprehend the dignity of labour any more thana Poplar pauper comprehends it, but fortunately his Guardians, whilegranting certain advantages in his tenure of land and payment of rent, have bound him, in return, to work for a fair payment, when required to doso by his Government, as exercised by the local Tehsildhar. The demand made upon a village for coolies is not, therefore, an arbitraryand high-handed system of bullying, but simply a call upon the villages tofulfil their obligation towards the State by doing a fair day's work for afair day's pay of from four to six annas. I do not, of course, propose to entangle myself in the working of the LandSettlement, which is most fully and admirably explained in Lawrence's_Valley of Kashmir_. The coolie, drawn from his native village reluctant, like a periwinklefrom its shell, is never a good starter, and when he finds himself at theend of a tow-rope or bowed beneath half a hundredweight of the sahib'strinkets, with a three-thousand-feet pass to attain in front of him, he isextremely apt to burst into tears--idle tears--or be overcome by a fit ofthat fell disease--"the lurgies. " Lest my reader should not be acquaintedwith this illness, at least under that name, here is the diagnosis of thelurgies as given by a very ordinary seaman to the ship's doctor. "Well, sir, I eats well, and I sleeps well; but when I've got a job ofwork to do--Lor' bless you, sir! I breaks out all over of a tremble!" CHAPTER X THE LIDAR VALLEY We were glad enough to leave Srinagar, as that place has been undoubtedlytrying lately, being extremely hot and relaxing. The river, which had beenup to the fourteen-foot level, as shown on the gate ports at the entranceto the Sunt-i-kul Canal, had fallen to 9-1/2 feet, and the mud, exposedboth on its banks and in the fields and flats which had been flooded, musthave given out unwholesome exhalations, of which the riverine population, the dwellers in house-boats and doungas, got the full benefit. Jane has certainly been anything but well lately, and I confess to acertain feeling best described as "slack and livery. " We had not intended to remain nearly so long in Srinagar, but thecontinuity of the chain of entertainments proved too firm to break, anddances and dinners, bridge and golf, kept us bound from day to day, untilthe _fête_ at the Residency on the 15th practically brought the Srinagarseason to a close, and broke up the line of house-boats that had beenmoored along both banks of the river. We had arranged to start with a party of three other boats up the river, visiting Atchibal with our friends, and then going up the Lidar Valley, while they retraced their way to Srinagar. The most popular bachelor in Kashmir was appointed commodore, and deputedto set the pace and arrange rendezvous. He began by sending on his bighouse-boat, dragged by many coolies, to Pampur, a distance of some tenmiles by water, and, following himself on horseback by road, instituted asort of "Devil take the hindmost" race, for which we were not prepared. On reaching Pampur we heard that the "Baltic Fleet" had sailed forAvantipura, so we followed on; but, alas! having made a forced march tothis latter place, we found that Rodjestvenski Phelps had again escaped usand "gone before. " We consigned him and the elusive "chota resident, " who was in command ofthe rest of the party, to perdition, and decided to pursue the even tenorof our way to the Lidar Valley. The upper reaches of the Jhelum tire not wildly or excitingly lovely. Thenarrowed waters, like sweet Thames, run softly between quiet British banks, willow veiled. The wide level flats of the lower river give place to lowsloping hills or "karewas, " which fall in terraced undulations from thefoothills of the higher ranges which close in the eastern extremity of theKashmir Valley. It was well into the evening, and the sun had just set, throwing aglorious rosy flush over the snows which surround the Lidar Valley, whenwe came to the picturesque bridge which crosses the stream at Bejbehara. The scene here was charming--a grand festa or religious tamasha beingtoward; the whole river was swarming with boats--great doungas, with theirfestive crews yelling a monotonous chant, paddled uproariously by. Lightshikaras darted in and out, making up for want of volume in their song bythe piercing shrillness of their utterances. The banks and bridge teemedwith swarming life, and all Kashmir seemed to have contributed itsnoisiest members to the revel. Beyond the bridge we could see through the gathering dusk many house-boatsof the sahibs clustering under a group of magnificent chenars, over whosedark masses the moon was just rising, full orbed. The piers of the bridgeseemed to be set in foliage, large willows having grown up from theirbases, giving a most curious effect. We marked with some apprehension theswiftness of the oily current which came swirling round the piers, andsoon we found ourselves stuck fast about half-way under the bridge, apparently unable to force our boat another inch against the stream whichboiled past. An appalling uproar was caused by the coolies and theunemployed upon the bridge, who all, as usual, gave unlimited advice toevery one else as to the proper management of affairs under the existingcircumstances, but did nothing whatever in support of their theories. Thesituation was becoming quite interesting, and the "mem-sahib" and I, sitting on the roof of our boat, were speculating as to what would happennext when the Gordian knot was cut by the unexpected energy and courage ofthe first-lieutenant, who boldly slapped an argumentative coolie in theface, while the admiral dashed promiscuously into the shikara, and--yelling "Hard-a-starboard!--Full speed ahead!--Sit on thesafety--valve!"--boldly shot into an overhanging mulberry tree, whereinour tow-rope was much entangled. The rope was cleared, the crew poledlike fury, the coolies hauled for all they were worth, every one yelledhimself hoarse, and we forged ahead. We crashed under the mulberry tree, which swept us from stem to stern, nearly carrying the hen-coop overboard;while Jane and I lay flat under a perfect hail of squashy black fruitwhich covered the upper deck. We went on shore for a moonlight stroll after dinner. The place was like aglorified English park; chenars of the first magnitude, taking the placeof oaks, rose from the short crisp turf, while a band of stately poplarsstood sentry on the river bank. Through blackest shadow and over patchesof moonlit sward we rambled till we came upon the ruins of a temple, ofwhich little was left but a crumbled heap of masonry in the middle of arectangular grassy hollow which had evidently been a tank, small detachedmounds, showing where the piers of a little bridge had stood, givingaccess to the building from the bank. An avenue of chenars led straight tothe bridge, showing either the antiquity of the trees or the comparativelymodern date of the temple. _June 19_. --Yesterday afternoon we left Bejbehara, and went on to Kanbal, the port of Islamabad. A hot and sultry day, oppressive and enervating toall but the flies, which were remarkably energetic and lively. The riverbelow Islamabad is quite narrow, and hemmed in between high mudbanks. Here we found the "Baltic Fleet, " but, knowing that our fugitive friendsmust have already reached Atchibal, we held to our intention of going upthe Lidar. Having tied up to a remarkably smelly bank, which was just lofty enough toscreen our heated brows from any wandering breeze, we landed to explore. Ahot walk of a mile or so along a dusty, poplar-lined road brought us tothe town of Islamabad, which, however, concealed its beauties mosteffectually in a mass of foliage. Although it ranks as the second town inKashmir, it can hardly be said to be more than a big village, evenallowing for its 9000 inhabitants, its picturesque springs, and its boastof having been once upon a time the capital of the valley. The firsthundred yards of "city, " consisting of a highly-seasoned bazaar paved withthe accumulated filth of ages, was enough to satisfy our thirst forsight-seeing, and after a visit to the post-office we trudged back througha most oppressive grey haze to the boat. Crowds of the _élite_ of theneighbourhood were hastening into Islamabad, where the "tamasha, " which wecame upon at Bejbehara, is to be continued to-morrow. We had a good deal of difficulty in getting transport for our expedition, as the Assistant Resident and his party had, apparently, cleared the placeof available ponies and coolies. An appeal to the Tehsildhar was no use, as that dignitary had gone to Atchibal in the Court train. However, alittle pressure applied to Lassoo, the local livery stablekeeper, producedeight baggage ponies and a good-looking cream-coloured steed, with man'ssaddle, for my wife. The syce, a jovial-looking little flat-faced fellow, was a native ofLadakh. We made a fairly early start, getting off about six, and, having skirtedthe town and passed the neat little Zenana Mission Hospital, we had apretty but uneventful march of some six miles to Bawan, where, under a bigchenar, we halted for the greater part of the day. Here let me point out that life is but a series of neglected opportunities. We were within a couple of miles of Martand, the principal temple inKashmir, and we did not go to see it! I blush as I write this, knowingthat hereafter no well-conducted globe-trotter will own to my acquaintance, and, indeed, the case requires explanation. Well, then, it was excessivelyhot; we were both in bad condition, and I had ten miles more to march, sowe decided to visit Martand on our way down the valley. Alas! we came thisway no more. Little knowing how much we were missing, we sat contented in the shadewhile the hot hours went by, merely strolling down to visit a sacred tankfull of cool green water and swarming with holy carp, which scrambled in asolid mass for bits of the chupatty which Jane threw to them. A clear stream gushed out of a bank overhung by a tangle of wild plants. To the left was a weird figure of the presiding deity, painted red, andfrankly hideous. We were truly sorry to feel obliged, at four o'clock, to leave Bawan withits massy trees and abundance of clear running water, and step out intothe heat and glare of the afternoon. I found it a trying march. The road led along a fairly good track amongrice-fields, whence the sloping sun glinted its maddening reflection, buthere and there clumps of walnuts--the fruit just at the picklingstage--cast a broad cool shadow, in which one lingered to pant and mop aheated brow e'er plunging out again into the grievous white sunlight. The cavalcade was increased during the afternoon by the addition to ournumbers of a dog--a distinctly ugly, red-haired native sort of dog, commonly called a pi-dog. He appeared, full of business--from nowhere inparticular--and his business appeared to be to go to Eshmakam with us. As we neared that place the road began to rise through the loveliestwoodland scenery--white roses everywhere in great bushes of foamy white, and in climbing wreaths that drooped from the higher trees, wild indigo inpurple patches reminding one not a little of heather. Above the stillunseen village a big ziarat or monastery shone yellow in the sinkingsunlight, and overhead rose a rugged grey wall of strangely pinnacledcrags, outliers of the Wardwan, showing dusky blue in the clear-cutshadows, and rose grey where the low sun caught with dying glory theprojecting peaks and bastions. In a sort of orchard of walnut trees, on short, clean, green grass, wepitched our tents, and right glad was I to sit in a comfortable Roorkheechair and admire the preparations for dinner after a stiff day, albeit weonly "made good" some sixteen miles at most. _June_ 20. --A brilliant morning saw us off for Pahlgam, along a road whichwas simply a glorified garden. Roses white and roses pink in wildprofusion, jasmin both white and yellow, wild indigo, a tall and veryhandsome spiraea, forget-me-not, a tiny sort of Michaelmas daisy, wildstrawberry, and honeysuckle, among many a (to me unknown) blossom, clothedthe hillside or drooped over the bank of the clear stream, by whoseflower-spangled margin lay our path, where, as in Milton's description ofEden, "Each beauteous flower, Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine Reared high their flourished heads. " Soon the valley narrowed, and closer on our left roared the Lidar, foamingover its boulders in wild haste to find peace and tranquil flow in thebroad bosom of Jhelum. The road became somewhat hilly, and at one steep zigzag the nerves of Janefailed her slightly and she dismounted, rightly judging that a false stepon the part of the cream-coloured courser would be followed by a hurrieddescent into the Lidar. I explained to her that I would certainly do whatI could for her with a dredge in the Wular when I came down, but shepreferred, she said, not to put me to any inconvenience in the matter. Wewere asked to subscribe, a few days later, at Pahlgam to provide thepostman with a new pony, his late lamented "Tattoo" having been startledby a flash of lightning at that very spot, and having paid for the errorwith his life. A halt was called for lunch under a blue pine, where we quickly discoveredhow paltry its shade is in comparison with the generous screen cast by achenar; scarcely has the heated traveller picked out a seeminglyumbrageous spot to recline upon when, lo! a flickering shaft of sunlight, broken into an irritating dazzle by a quivering bunch of pine needles, strikes him in the eye, and he sets to work to crawl vainly around insearch of a better screen. Nothing approaches the great circle of solid coolness thrown by a bigchenar. The walnut does its best, and comes in a good second. Pines(especially blue ones) are, as I remarked before, unsatisfactory. But if the pine is not all that can be wished as a shade-producer, he isin all his varieties a beautiful object to look upon. First, I think, inpoint of magnificence towers the Himalayan spruce, rearing his gaunt shaft, "Like the mast of some tall ammiral, " from the shelving steeps that overhang the torrents, and piercing highinto the blue. In living majesty he shares the honours with the deodar, but he is merely good to look upon; his timber is useless and in his decayhis fallen and lightning-blasted remains lie rotting on these wild hills, while the precious trunks of the deodar and the excelsa are laboriouslycollected, and floated and dragged to the lower valleys, producing muchgood money to Sir Amar Singh and the best of building timber to thepurchaser. The road towards Pahlgam is a charming woodland walk, where the wildstrawberries, still hardly out of flower, grow thick amidst a tangle ofchestnut, yew, wild cherry, and flowering shrubs. Overhead and to theright the rocky steeps rise abruptly until they culminate in the crags ofKohinar, and on the left the snow-fed Lidar roars "through the clovenravine in cataract after cataract. " About four miles from Pahlgam, on turning a corner of the gorge, asplendid view bursts upon the wayfarer. The great twin brethren of Kolahoicome suddenly into sight, where they stand blocking the head of the valley, their double peaks shining with everlasting snow. It needed all the beauty of the scene to make me forget that the thirteenmiles from Eshmakam were long and hot, and that I was woefully out ofcondition, and we rejoiced to see the gleam of tents amid the pine-woodwhich constitutes the camping-ground of Pahlgam. We sat peacefully on the thyme and clover-covered maiden, amongst a herdof happily browsing cattle, until our tents were up and the irritating butneedful bustle of arrival was over, and the tea-table spread. Pahlgam stands some 2000 feet above Srinagar, and although it is notsupposed to be bracing, yet to us, jaded votaries of fashion in stuffySrinagar, the fresh, clear, pine-scented air was purely delightful, and acouple of days saw us "like kidlings blythe and merry"--that is to say, asmuch so as a couple of sedate middle-aged people could reasonably beexpected to appear. The camping-ground is in a wood of blue pines, which, extending from the steeper uplands, covers much of the leveller valley, and abuts with woody promontories on the flowery strath which borders theriver. Here some dozen or so of visitors had already selected littleclearings, and the flicker of white tents, the squealing of ponies, andthe jabber of native servants banished all ideas of loneliness. About half a mile below the camping-ground is the bungalow of Colonel Ward, clear of the wood and with Kolahoi just showing over the green shoulderwhich hides him from Pahlgam. I was fortunate enough to find the Colonelbefore he left for Datchgam to meet the Residency party, and to get, through his kindness, certain information which I wanted about the birdsof Kashmir. An enthusiast in natural history, Colonel Ward has given himself withheart-whole devotion for many years to the study of the beasts and birdsof Kashmir, and he is practically the one and only authority on thesubject. We were very anxious to cross the high pass above Lidarwat over into theSind Valley, having arranged to meet the Smithsons at Gangabal on theirway back from Tilail. Knowing that Colonel Ward would be posted as to thestate of the snow, I had written to him from Srinagar for information. Hisreply, which I got at Islamabad, was not encouraging, nor was his opinionaltered now. The pass might be possible, but was certainly not advisablefor ladies at present. _Friday, June 23_. --We were detained here at Pahlgam until about oneo'clock to-day, as Colonel Ward, as well as two minor potentates, hadmarched yesterday, employing every available coolie. The fifteen whom Irequired were sent back to me by the Colonel, and turned up about noon, so, after lunch, we set forth. Camels are usually unwilling starters. I knew one who never could beinduced to do his duty until a fire had been lit under him as a gentlestimulant. He lived in Suakin, and existence was one long grievance to him, but no other animal with which I am acquainted approaches a Pahlgam cooliein _vis inertiâ_. Whether a too copious lunch had rendered my men torpid, or whether theattractions of their happy homes drew them, I know not, but after theloads (and these not heavy) had been, after much wrangling, bound upontheir backs, and they had limped along for a few hundred yards or so, onefell sick, or said he was sick, and, peacefully squatting on a convenientstone, refused to budge. We were still close to some of the scattered huts of Pahlgam, so anauthority, in the shape of a lumbadhar or chowkidar, or some such, came toour help, and promptly collected for us an elderly gentleman who wastending his flocks and herds in the vicinity. Doubtless it was provoking, when he was looking forward to a comfortable afternoon tea in the bosom ofhis family, after a hard day's work of doing nothing, to be called upon tocarry a nasty angular yakdan for seven miles along a distinctly unevenroad; but was he therefore justified in blubbering like a baby, andbehaving like an ape being led to execution? The first half-mile was dreadful. At every couple of hundred yards thecoolies would sit down in a bunch, groaning and crying, and nothing lessthan a push or a thump would induce them to move. We felt likeslave-drivers, and indeed Sabz Ali and the shikari behaved as such, although their prods and objurgations were not so hurtful as they appeared, being somewhat after the fashion of the tale told by an idiot, "Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. " Presently we became so much irritated by the ceaseless row that we decidedto sit down and read and sketch by the roadside, in order to let the wholemournful train pass out of sight and earshot. Now, I wish to maintain in all seriousness that I am not a Legree, andthat, although I by no means hold the "man and brother" theory, yet I amperfectly prepared to respect the _droits de l'homme_. This may appear a statement inconsistent with my acknowledgment that Ipermitted coolies to be beaten--the beating being no more than atechnical "assault, " and never a "thrashing!"--but my contention is thatwhen you have to deal with people of so low an organisation that they canonly be reached by elementary arguments, they must be treated absolutelyas children, and judiciously whacked as such. No Kashmiri without the impulsion of _force majeure_ would ever do anywork--no logical argument will enable him to see ultimate good inimmediate irksomeness. It is very difficult for the Western mind to give the Kashmiri credit forany virtues, his failings being so conspicuous and repellent; for not onlyis he an outrageous coward, but he feels no shame in admitting hiscowardice. He is a most accomplished thief, and the truth is not in him. He and his are much fouler than Neapolitan lazzaroni, and his morals--well, let us give the Kashmiri his due, and turn to his virtues. He is, on thewhole, cheerful and lively, devoted to children, and kind to animals. [1] Here is a story which is fairly characteristic of the charming Kashmiri. During the floods which nearly ruined Kashmir in 1901, a village near acertain colonel's bungalow was in danger of losing all its crops and halfits houses, the neighbouring river being in spate. My friend, on going tosee if anything could be done, found the water rising, and the adult maleinhabitants of the village lying upon the ground, and beating their headsand hands upon it in woebegone impotence. He walked about upon their stomachs a little to invigorate them, and, sending forthwith for a gang of coolies from an adjacent village which laya little higher, he set the whole crowd to work to divert part of thestream by means of driftwood and damming, and was, in the end, able tosave the houses and a good part of the crops. When the hired coolies came to be paid for their labour, the villagersalso put in a claim for wages, and were desperately vexed at my friend'srefusal to grant it, complaining bitterly of having had to work hard fornothing! You will find a good description of the Kashmiri in _All's Well that EndsWell:_-- _Parolles_. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister. .. . He professes not keeping of oaths, in breaking them, he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue; . .. He has everything that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. * * * * * He excels his brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is: in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. We had not long sat sketching and basking in the genial glow of a summerafternoon among the mountains, when it began to be borne in upon us thatthe weather was going to change, and that the usual thunderstorm wasmeditating a descent upon us. Black clouds came boiling up over themountain peaks, and the too familiar grumble of distant thunder sent ushurrying along the lovely ravine, through which the path leads to Aru. Only a seven miles' journey, but ere we had gone half-way the storm broke, and a thick veil of sweeping rain fell between us and the surroundingmountains. Presently we found a serious solution of continuity in the track, which, after leading us along a precarious ledge by the side of the river, finished abruptly; sheared clean off by a recent landslip. We were very wet, but the river looked wetter still, and it boiled roundthe rocky point, where the road should have been but was not, in adistinctly disagreeable manner. However, Jane dismounting, I climbed upon the cream-coloured courser, andproceeded to ford the gap. The water swirled well above the syce's knees, but the noble steed picked his way with the greatest circumspection overand among the submerged boulders, till, after splashing through somehundred yards of water, he deposited me, not much wetter than before, onthe continuation of the high-road, whence I had the satisfaction ofwatching Jane go through the same performance. Hoping against hope that the coolies, by a little haste, might have gotthe tents pitched before the storm came on, we plodded on, until, wet tothe very skin, we slopped into Aru, to behold a draggled party squattinground a central floppy heap in a wet field, which, as we gazed, slowlyupreared itself into a drooping tent. In dear old England this sort of experience would have spelt shockingcolds, and probably rheumatism for life, but here--well, we crawled intoour tent and found it, thanks to a couple of waterproof sheets spread onthe ground, surprisingly dry. A change of clothes, a good dinner, producedunder the most unfavourable circumstances from a wretched littlecooking-tent, and a fire burning goodness knows how, in the open, showedthe world to be quite a nice place after all. After dinner a great camp-fire was lit in front of our tent, the raincleared off, and I sat smoking with much content, while all our soakinggarments were festooned on branches round the blaze, and Jane and I turnedthem like roasting joints, at intervals, until the steam rose like incensetowards the stars. The coolies, too, had quite got over their homesickness, and wereextraordinarily cheerful, their incessant jabber falling as a lullaby onour ears as we dropped off to sleep. _Saturday, June_ 24. --We got away in good time for our short eight-milemarch to Lidarwat. The coolies went off gaily--the day was warm andbrilliant, and the views down the valley towards Pahlgam superb. We had camped on the low ground at Aru, just across the bridge, but abouthalf a mile on, and upon a grassy plateau there is an ideal camping-groundfacing down the Lidar Valley, towards the peaks which rise behind Pahlgam. Want of water is the only drawback to this spot, but if mussiks arecarried, water can easily be brought from a small nullah towards Lidarwat. Tearing ourselves away from this spot, and turning our backs upon one ofthe most gorgeous views in Kashmir, we plunged into a beautiful wood. Maidenhair and many another fern grew in masses among the great rootswhich twined like snakes over the rocky slopes. Far below, with muffledroar, the unseen river tore its downward way. By-and-by, the path emerging from the wood shelved along a green hillside, where bracken and golden spurge clothed the little hollows, while wildwall-flower, Jacob's Ladder, and a large purple cranes-bill brightened theslopes where happy cattle, but lately released from their winter'simprisonment, were feeding greedily on the young green grass. I fancy the cattle have a remarkably poor time here in winter. Hay is notmade, and very little winter forage seems to be collected. As the snowsfall lower on the hills, the flocks and herds are driven down to the lowground, where they drag through the dark days as best they can, onmaize-stalks and such like. I noticed early in May the water buffaloes just turned out to graze in theLolab, and more weakly, melancholy collections of skin--and--bone I haveseldom seen. Now, however, up high in every sunny grassy valley, the Gujars may befound camping with their flocks--cattle, ponies, buffaloes, and goats, working upwards hard on the track of the receding snow, where the primulaand the gentian star the spring turf. A series of grassy uplands brought us close to Lidarwat, when a sharpshower, arriving unexpectedly from nowhere in particular, sent us to eatour lunch under the shelter of some fairly waterproof trees in the companyof a herd of water buffaloes of especially evil aspect. One hoary brute in particular, with enormous horns and pale blue eyes, made me think of the legend concerning the origin of the buffalo. When the Almighty was hard at work creating the animals, the devil cameand looked on until he became filled with emulation, and begged the Deityto let him try his hand at creation. So the Almighty agreed, asking himwhat beast he would prefer to make, and he said, "A cow. " So he went awayand created a water buffalo, which so disgusted the Creator that the devilwas not permitted to make any more experiments. As soon as the rain held up and the thunder had rolled off up the valley, we packed the tiffin basket, had one more drink from an icy spring, andleft the shelter of the friendly trees, followed by the glares of all thebuffaloes, who appear to have a decided antipathy to the "sahib logue. " We soon came to Lidarwat, passing several tents there, pitched by the edgeof a green lawn, and sheltered by a deep belt of trees. Crossing to theright bank of the river by the usual rickety bridge, we continued our way, as the farther up the glen we get to-night, the less shall we leave forto-morrow, when we intend to visit the Kolahoi Glacier. The cream-coloured courser nearly wrecked my Kashmir holiday at this point, owing to the silly dislike of white folk which he possesses in common withthe buffaloes. As I was incautiously handing Jane her beloved parasol, hewhisked round and let out at me, and I was only saved from a nasty kick bymy closeness to the beast, whose hock made such an impression upon mythigh as to cause me to go a bit short for a while. We camped in rather a moist-looking place, where the wood begins to showsigns of finishing, and the slopes fall steep and bare to the river. A rather rank and weedy undergrowth was not inviting, and was stronglysuggestive of dampness and rheumatism. It was fairly chilly, too, at night, as our camp was some 11, 000 feet above the sea, and the little breezesthat came sighing through the pines were straight from the snow. _Sunday, June 25_. --A most glorious morning saw us start early for anexpedition to the Kolahoi Glacier. The sombre ravine in which we werecamped amid the pines lay still in a mysterious blue haze, but the sun hadalready caught the snow-streaked mountain-tops to our left, and gildedtheir rugged sides with a swiftly descending mantle of warmth and light. A very fine waterfall came tumbling down a wooded chasm on our right, andas fine waterfalls are scarce in Kashmir we stopped for some time toadmire it duly. The track now led out into a wide and treeless valley, flanked bysnow-crowned mountains, and we pushed on merrily until we arrived at thebrink of a rascally torrent, which gave us some trouble to ford, beingboth exceeding swift and fairly deep. Luckily, it was greedy, and, notcontent with one channel, had spread itself out into four or five branches, and thus so squandered itself that Jane on her pony and I on coolie-backaccomplished the passage without mishap. For some miles we held on alongan easy path which curved to the right along the right bank of the river, which was spanned in many places by great snow bridges, often hundreds ofyards in width. We lunched sitting on the trunk of a dead birch which hadbeen carried by the snow down from its eyrie, and then left, a melancholyskeleton, bleaching on the slowly melting avalanche. Some two milesfarther on we could see the end of the Kolahoi Glacier, its grey androck-strewn snout standing abrupt above the white slopes of snow. Behind rose the fine peak of Harbagwan, in as yet undisputed splendour, Kolahoi being still hidden behind the cliffs which towered on our right. Distances seem short in this brilliant air, but we walked for a long whileover the short turf, flushing crimson with primulas and golden with smallbuttercups, and then over snowy hillocks, before we reached the solid iceof the great glacier. It was so completely covered with fragments of grey rock that Jane couldhardly he persuaded that it really was an ice slope that we werescrambling up with such difficulty, until a peep into a cold mysteriouscleft convinced her that she was really and truly standing upon 200 feetof solid ice. The sight that now burst upon us was one to be remembered. Kolahoi toweredethereal--a sunlit wedge of sheer rock some six thousand feet aboveus--into the crystal air. From his feet the white frozen billows of thegreat glacier rolled, a glistering sea, to where we, atoms in the enormousloneliness, stood breathless in admiration. Around the head of the wideamphitheatre wherein we stood rose a circle of stately peaks, their basesflanged with rocky buttresses, dark amid the long sweeps of radiant snow, their shattered peaks reared high into the very heavens. A great silencereigned. There was no wind with us, and yet, even as we watched, a whitecloud flitted past the virgin peak of Kolahoi--ghostly, intangible; andimmediately, even as vultures assemble suddenly, no one knows whence, sodid the clouds appear, surging over the gleaming shoulders of the mountainridges, and up and round the grim precipices. We turned and hurried downthe face of the glacier, and made for camp, as we knew from muchexperience that a thunderstorm was inevitable. Over the beds of dirty snow, down by the side of the new-born torrent, which leaped full-grown to life from the womb of a green cavern below theglacier; over patches of pulpy turf just freed from its wintry bondage, and already carpeted with masses of rose-coloured primulas, we hastened, keeping to the left bank of the stream, in order to avoid the torrentwhich had so troubled us in the morning, which we knew would be deeper inthe afternoon owing to the melting of the snows in the sunshine. We had got but a bare half of our journey done when the storm burst, andin a very short time we were reduced to the recklessness which comes ofbeing as wet as you can possibly be. "The thunder bellows far from snow to snow (Home, Rose and Home, Provence and La Palie), And loud and louder roars the flood below. Heigho! But soon in shelter we shall be (Home, Rose and Home, Provence and La Palie). " Crossing the river on a big snow-bridge below the point where our oldenemy came thundering down the mountain-side, we tramped gaily through mudand mire and over slippery rocks until we were gladdened by the sight ofour camp, dripping away peacefully in the midst of the weeping forest. The rain, as usual, ceased in the evening. A great camp-fire was lit, andthe neighbouring buffaloes of Gujar-Kote having kindly supplied us withmilk, we dined wisely and well and dropped off to sleep, lulled by theroaring of the Kolahoi River, which raced through the darkness close by. _Tuesday, June 27_. --Being still hopeful of achieving the pass over intothe Sind, we struck camp early yesterday and marched down to Lidarwat, only to find that the party which we knew had camped there with a view tocrossing, had given up the idea and retreated down the valley; so I sent aswift messenger to countermand the three days' supply of "rassad" which Ihad ordered from Pahlgam for my men, and we marched on to Aru. Upon thespur which overlooks Aru we found Dr. Neve encamped, and proceeded todiscuss the possibility of crossing into the Sind Valley _viâ_ Sekwas, Khem Sar, and Koolan. The Doctor, who is an enterprising mountaineer, washimself about to cross, but he did not encourage Jane to go and dolikewise, as he said it would be very difficult owing to the late spring, and would probably entail a good deal of work with ropes and ice-axes. This absolutely decided us, our valour being greatly tempered bydiscretion, and we camped quietly at Aru, and came on into Pahlgam thisforenoon. The river, for some reason best known to itself, was so low thatwe got dry-shod past the corner which had worried us so much on the way up. [1] This is incorrect, the European Residents having frequently attempted, but hitherto vainly, to induce the native authorities to curb Kashmiri cruelty. CHAPTER XI GANGABAL Friday, _June_ 30. --The last few days have been somewhat uneventful. Weleft Pahlgam at early dawn on Wednesday, just as the first lemon-colouredlight was spreading in the east over the pine-serrated heights above thecamp. The rapids below Colonel Ward's bungalow, which had been fierce andswollen as we passed them on our upward way, were now reduced to roaringafter the subdued fashion of the sucking dove; so we hardly paused tocontemplate either them or the big boulder, red-stained and holy, atGanesbal, but hastened on to the point where, just before turning a highbluff which shuts him from sight for the last time, we got the view ofKolahoi, with the newly-risen sun glowing on his upper slopes. An hourflew by much too fast, and it was with great reluctance that we finallyturned our back on the finest part of the Lidar Valley, and sadly resumedour march to Sellar, crossing the river and following a rather hot anddull road. Sellar itself is not nearly as pretty as Eshmakam, and we grewrather tired of it by evening, as we arrived soon after one o'clock, andfound little to do or see. Yesterday we left Sellar and marched to Bejbehara, the hottest and dullestmarch I know of in Kashmir. A shadeless road slopes gently down across theplains to the river. All along this road we overtook parties of cooliesladen with creels of silk cocoons, whose destination is the big silkfactory at Srinagar, small clouds of hot red dust rising into the stillair, knocked up by the shuffling tread of their grass-shod feet. In the fields, dry and burnt to our eyes after the green valleys, squattedthe reapers, snipping the sparse ears, apparently one by one, with sickleslike penknives. They seemed to get the work done somehow, as little sheafslaid in rows bore witness; but the patience of Job must have been uponthem! The chenars of Bejbehara threw a most welcome shade from the noonday sun, which was striking down with evil force as we panted across the steamyrice-fields which surround them. Hither we came at noon, only to find that our boats were not awaiting usas we had directed. A messenger bearing bitter words was promptlydespatched to root the lazy scoundrels out from Islamabad, while Jane andI camped out beneath a huge tree and lunched, worked, and sketched untilfour o'clock, when the Admiral brought the fleet in and fondly deemed hisday's work done. This was by no means our view of the case, and the usual troublebegan--"No coolies"--"Very late"--"Plenty tired, " &c. &c. Of course Satarah was defeated, and was soon to be seen sulkily polingaway in the stern-sheets, while his son-in-law still more sulkily paddledin the bow. We made about eight or ten miles, having a swift current under us, beforea strong squall came up the valley, making the old ark slue aboutprodigiously, and inducing us to tie up for the night. This morning we slipped down stream to Srinagar, only halting for a shortwhile to obtain some of the native bread for which Pampur is celebrated. The river seemed exceedingly hot and stuffy after the lovely air which wehave been breathing lately, and we quite determined that the sooner we getout of the valley the better for our pleasure, if not for our health. We have been greatly exercised as to how best dispose of the time untilSeptember, for, during the months of July and August, the heat in thevalley is very considerable, and every one seeks the higher summerretreats. The Smithsons suggested an expedition to Leh, which would, undoubtedly, have been a most interesting trip, but which would in no wisehave spared us in the matter of heat. Had we started about this time forLeh we should have reached our destination towards the end of July, andwould therefore have found ourselves setting out again across an arid andextremely hot country on the return journey somewhere about the middle ofAugust. The game did not seem to be worth the candle, and the Smithsons themselvesshied at the idea when it was borne in upon them that there would belittle or no shooting to be done _en route_. The alternatives seemed to lie between Gulmarg, where most of the beautyand fashion of Kashmir disports itself during the hot weather, Sonamarg, and Pahlgam. Sonamarg, from description, seemed likely to be quiet, not to say dull, asa residence for two months. One cannot live by scenery alone, and even theloveliest may become _toujours pâté de l'anguille. _ Pahlgam suffered in our eyes from the same failing, and our thoughtsturned to Gulmarg. Here, however, a difficulty arose. It is a notoriouslywet place. We heard horrid tales of golf enthusiasts playing in waders, and of revellers half drowned while returning from dinners in neighbouringtents. We thought of rooms in Nedou's Hotel, but our memories of this hostelry inSrinagar were not altogether sweet, and we did not in the least hankerafter a second edition; moreover, every available room had been engagedlong ago, and it was extremely doubtful, to say the least of it, if thegood Mr. Nedou could do anything for us. The prospect of a two-monthsojourn in a wet tent wherein no fire could ever be lighted, and in whichJane pictured her frocks and smart hats lying in their boxes all crumpledand shorn of their dainty freshness, was far from enticing! Tent existence, when one lives the simple life far from the madding crowd, clad in puttoo and shooting-boots, or grass shoes, is delightful; but tentlife in the midst of a round of society functions--golf, polo, with theirattendant teas and dinners--was not to be thought of without gravemisgiving. Sorely perplexed, and almost at our wits' end, the Gordian knot was cut byour being offered a small hut which had been occupied by a clerk in theState employ, now absent, and which the Resident most kindly placed at ourdisposal for a merely nominal rent. Needless to say we gratefully acceptedthe offer, in spite of the assurance that the hut was of very minutedimensions. _Sunday, July_ 2. --Yesterday we toiled hard in the heat to get everythingin train for a move to Gulmarg. Subhana, that excellent tailor andembroiderer, arranged to have all our heavy luggage sent up to meet us onthe 10th, and from him, too, we arranged for the hire of such furniture aswe might require, for we knew that the hut was bare as the cupboard ofnursery fame. This morning we set off down the river to keep tryst with the Smithsons atGangabal, where we hope to meet them about the 5th on their way back fromTilail. The usual struggle with the crew resulted, also as usual, in ourfavour, and we got right through to Gunderbal at the mouth of the SindRiver, where we now lie amid a flotilla of boats whose occupiers have fledaway from the sultriness and smelliness of Srinagar in search of the coolcurrents, both of air and water, which are popularly supposed to flow downthe Sind. As Jane and I returned from a visit to the post-office along a swelteringpath among the rice-fields, from which warm waves of air rose steaminginto the sunset, we failed to observe the celebrated and superior coolnessof Gunderbal' _Thursday, July_ 6. --The lumbadhar of Gunderbal, in spite of hismagnificent name, is a rascal of the deepest dye. He put much water in ourmilk, to the furious disgust of Sabz Ali, and he failed to provide thecoolies I had ordered; I therefore reported him to Chattar Singh, and sentmy messengers forth, like another Lars Porsena, to catch coolies. This was early on Tuesday morning, and a sufficient number of ponies andcoolies having been got together by 5. 30, we started. I may here note that, owing to a confusion between _Gunderbal_ (the port, so to speak, of the Sind Valley, and route to Leh and Thibet) and_Gangabal_, a lake lying some 12, 000 feet above the sea behind Haramok, our arrangement to meet the Smithsons at Gangabal was altered by a letterfrom them announcing their imminent arrival at Gunderbal! This wasperturbing, but as the mistake was not ours, we decided not to allowourselves to be baulked of a trip for which we had surrendered anexpedition to Shisha Nag, beyond Pahlgam. The lower part of the Sind Valley is in nowise interesting; the way wasboth tedious and hot, and we rejoiced greatly when, having crossed theSind River, we found a lovely spring and halted for tiffin. After anhour's rest we followed the main road a little farther, and then, passingthe mouth of the Chittagul Nullah, turned up the Wangat Valley. Thescenery became finer, and the last hour's march along a steepmountain-side, with the Wangat River far below on our right, was a greatimprovement on what we had left behind us. The little village of Wangat, perched upon a steep spur above the river, was woefully deficient of anything like a good camping-ground. We finallyselected a small bare rice patch, which, though extremely "knubbly, " hadthe merits of being almost level, moderately remote from the village andits smells, and quite close to a perfect spring. Yesterday we achieved a really early start, leaving Wangat at 4. 15, thepath being weirdly illuminated by extempore torches made of pine-woodwhich the shikari had prepared. A moderately level march of some threemiles brought us to the ruined temples of Vernag and the beginning of ourwork, for here the path, turning sharply to the left, led us inexorably upthe almost precipitous face of the mountain by means of short zigzags. It was a stiff pull. The sun was now peering triumphantly over the hillson the far side of the valley, and the path was (an extraordinary thing inKashmir) excessively dusty. Up and on we panted, Jane partly supported byhaving the bight of the shikari's puggaree round her waist while he towedher by the ends. There was no relaxation of the steep gradient, no water, and no shade, andthe height to be surmounted was 4000 feet. If the longest lane has a turning, so the highest hill has a top, and wecame at last to the blissful point where the path deigned to assume anapproach to the horizontal, and led us to the most delightful spring inKashmir! The water, ice-cold and clear, gushes out of a crevice in therock, and with the joy of wandering Israelites we threw ourselves on theground, basked in the glorious mountain air, and shouted for the tiffinbasket. Only the faithful "Yellow Bag" was forthcoming, the tiffin coolie beingstill "hull down, " and from its varied contents we extracted the onlyedibles, apricots and rock cakes. Never have we enjoyed any meal more than that somewhat light breakfast, washed down by water which was a pure joy to drink. Alas! There were but two rock cakes apiece! Another half-hour's clamber, along a pretty rough track, brought us to a point whence we looked down along green slope to our destination, Tronkol--a few Gujar huts, indistinctamidst a clump of very ancient birch-trees, standing out as a sort ofoasis among the bare and boulder-strewn slopes. The view was superb. To the right, the mountain-side fell steeply to where, in the depths of the Wangat Nullah, a tiny white thread marked the riverfoaming 4000 feet below, and beyond rose a jagged range of spires andpinnacles, snow lying white at the bases of the dark precipices. "Theseare the savage wilds" which bar the route from the Wangat into Tilail andthe Upper Sind. Over Tronkol, bare uplands, rising wave above wave, shut out the view ofGangabal and the track over into the Erin Nullah and down to Bandipur. On our left towered the bastions of Haramok, his snow-crowned head risinggrimly into the clear blue sky. We pitched our camp at Tronkol about two o'clock, on a green level somelittle way beyond the Gujar huts, and just above a stream which picked itsriotous way along a bed of enormous boulders, sheltered to a certainextent by a fringe of hoary birches. We had never beheld such great birches as these, many of them, alas! mereskeletons of former grandeur, whose whitening limbs speak eloquently of ahundred years of ceaseless struggle with storm and tempest. I saw no young ones springing up to replace these dying warriors. TheGujars and their buffaloes probably prevent any youthful green thing fromgrowing. It seems a pity. Towards evening we observed baggage ponies approaching, and at the sightwe felt aggrieved; for, in our colossal selfishness, we fancied thatTronkol was ours, and ours alone. A small tent was pitched, and presentlyto our surly eyes appeared a lonely lady, who proceeded solemnly to playPatience in front of it while her dinner was being got ready. A visit of ceremony, and an invitation to share our "irishystoo" andcamp-fire, brought Mrs. Locock across, and we made the acquaintance of alady well known for her prowess as a shikari throughout Kashmir-- "There hunted 'she' the walrus, the narwal, and the seal. Ah! 'twas a noble game, And, like the lightning's flame; Flew our harpoons of steel" I cannot resist the quotation, but I do not really think Mrs. Locock huntswalruses in Kashmir, and I know she doesn't use a harpoon. No matter, sheproved a cheery and delightful companion, and we entirely forgave her forcoming to Tronkol and poaching on our preserves. We were extremely amused at the surprise she expressed at Jane's feat inclimbing from Wangat. Evidently Jane's reputation is not that of abullock-workman in Srinagar! This morning we all three went to see Lake Gangabal. An easy path leadsover some three or four miles of rolling down to our destination, which isone of a whole chain of lakes--or rather tarns--which lie under thenorthern slopes of Haramok. We came first upon a small piece of water, lying blue and still in themorning sun, and from which a noisy stream poured forth its glacier water. This we had a good deal of trouble in crossing, the ladies being borne onthe broad backs of coolies, in attitudes more quaint than graceful. Asecond and deeper stream being safely forded, we climbed a low ridge tofind Gangabad stretched before us--a smooth plane of turquoise blue andpale icy green, beneath the dark ramparts of Haramok, whose"eagle-baffling" crags and glittering glaciers rose six thousand sheerfeet above. In the foreground the earth, still brown, and only justreleased from its long winter covering of snow, bore masses of smallgolden ranunculus and rose-hued primulas. An extraordinary sense of silence and solitude filled one--no birds orbeasts were visible, and only the tinkle of tiny rills running down to thelake, and the distant clamour of the infant river, broke, or ratheraccentuated, the loneliness of the scene. We had brought breakfast with us, and after eating it we made haste torecross the two rivers, because, troublesome as they were to ford in themorning, they would certainly grow worse with every hour of ice-meltingsunshine. Once more on the camp side, however, we strolled along in leisurely mood, staying to lunch on top of the ridge overlooking Tronkol. I left theladies then to find their leisurely way back among the flowery hollows, and made for a peak overlooking the head of the Chittagul Nullah. A sharpclimb up broken rocks and over snow slopes brought me to the top, a pointsome 13, 500 feet above the sea. In front of me Haramok, seamed withsnow-filled gullies, still towered far above; immediately below, thesaddle--brown, bare earth, snow-streaked--divided the Chittagul Nullahfrom Tronkol. Far away down the valley the Sind River gleamed like asilver thread in the afternoon light, and beyond, the Wular lay a palehaze in the distance. To the northward rose the fantastic range of peaks that overhang theWangat gorge, and almost below my feet, at a depth of some 1500 feet, laya sombre lakelet, steely dark and still, in the shadow of the ridge uponwhich I sat. The sun was going down fast into a fleecy bed of clouds, amid which I knewthat Nanga Parbat lay swathed from sight. To see that mountain monarch hadbeen the chief object of my climb, so, recognising that the sight of himwas a hope deferred, I made haste to scramble down to the tarn below, stopping here and there to fill my pith hat with wild rhubarb, and to pickor admire the new and always fascinating wild flowers as I passed. Large-flowered, white anemones; tiny gentian, with vivid small blueblossoms; loose-flowered, purple primulas, and many strange and novelblossoms starred the grassy patches, or filled the rocky crevices withabundant beauty. By the lake side the moisture-loving, rose-coloured primula reappeared inmasses, and as I followed down its outgoing stream towards the camp, Iwaded through a tangle of columbine, white and blue; a great purple salvia, arnica, and a profusion of varied flowers in rampant bloom. _Saturday, July_ 8. --An early start homewards yesterday, in the cold dawn, rewarded us by the sight of the first beams of the rising sun lighting upthe threefold head of Haramok with an unspeakable glory, as we crossed theopen boulder-strewn uplands, before descending into the nullah, which laybelow us still wrapped in a mysterious purple haze. The downward zigzags, with their uncompromising steepness, proved almost as tiring as the ascenthad been, and we were more than ready for breakfast by the time we reachedthe ruined temples of Vernag. These temples, built probably about the beginning of the eighth century, are, like all the others which I have seen in Kashmir, small, and somewhatuninteresting, except to the archaeologist. They consist, invariably, of a"cella" containing the object of veneration, the lingam, surmounted by ahigh-pitched conical stone roof. In structure they show apparently signsof Greek influence in the doorways, and the triangular pediments abovethem. Phallic worship would seem to have been always confined to thesetemples, with ophiolatry--the nagas or water-snake deities beingaccommodated in sacred tanks, in the midst of which the early Kashmirtemples were usually placed. Any one who wishes to study the temple architecture of Kashmir cannot dobetter than read Fergusson's _Indian Architecture_, wherein he will findall the information he wants. To the ordinary "man in the street" the ancient buildings of Kashmir donot appeal, either by their aesthetic value or by the dignity of size. Martand, the greatest, and probably the finest, both in point of grandeurand of situation, I regret to say, I did not see; but the temples atBhanyar, Pandrettan, and Wangat resemble one another closely in design andgeneral insignificance. The position of the Wangat ruins, embosomed in thewild tangle "Of a steep wilderness, whose airy sides With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, Access denied; and overhead up grew Insuperable height of loftiest shade, Cedar, and pine, and fir, " and seated at the base of a solemn circle of mountains, gives the group oftottering shrines a picturesqueness and importance which I cannot concedethat they would otherwise have had. I do not remember ever to have seen it noted that all buildings which areimpressive by the mere majesty of size are to be found in plains and notin mountainous countries. This is probably due to two causes. The onebeing the denser population of the fat plains, whereby a greater concourseof builders and of worshippers would be sustained, and the other beingthe--probably unconscious--instinct which debarred the architect fromattempting to vie with nature in the mountains and impel him to work outhis most majestic designs amid wide and level horizons. The fact remains, whatever may be the cause, that architecture has neverbeen advanced much beyond the mere domestic in very mountainous regions, with the exception of the mediaeval strongholds, which formed the nucleusof every town or village, where a _point d'appui_ was required againstinvasion, for the protection of the community. Breakfast, followed by a prowl among the ruins and a short space forsketching, gave the sun time to pour his beams with quite unpleasantinsistence into the confined fold in the hills, where we began to gaspuntil the ladies mounted their ponies, and we took our way down the valley, crossing the river below Wangat, and keeping along the left bank toVernaboug, where we camped, the only incident of any importance being thesad loss of Jane's field-glasses, which, carried by her syce in a boot-bag, were dropped in a stream by that idiot while crossing, he having lost hisfooting in a pool, and, clutching wildly at the pony's reins, let go theprecious binoculars. This morning we were up betimes, Mrs. Locock having ordained a bear "honk"!This was, to me, a new departure in shikar, and truly it was amusing tosee the shikari, bursting with importance, mustering the forty half-nakedcoolies whom he had collected to beat. A couple of men with tom-toms slunground their necks completed the party, which marched in stragglingprocession out of the village at dawn. A mile of easy walking brought us to the rough jungly cliffs, seamed withtransverse nullahs, narrow and steep, which bordered the river. Here wewere placed in passes, with great caution and mystery, by the shikari andhis chief-of-the-staff--the "oldest inhabitant" of Vernaboug; and here wesat in the morning stillness until a distant clamour and the faint beatingof tom-toms afar off made us sit up more warily, and watch eagerly for theexpected bear. The yells increase, and the tom-toms, vigorously banged, seem calculatedto fuss any self-respecting bear into fits. We watch a narrow spacebetween two bushes some dozen yards away, and see that the Mannlicheracross our knees and the smooth-bore, ball loaded in the right andchokeless barrel, lie handy for instant use. Hidden in the dense jungle, some hundred yards below, sits Mrs. Locock onthe matted top of a hazel, while Jane, chittering with suppressedexcitement, crouches a few paces behind me. The beaters approach, and pandemonium reigns. A few scared birds dart past, but no bear comes; and when the first brown body shows among the brushwoodwe shout to stop the uproar, and all move on to another beat. Four "honks" produced nothing, so far as I was concerned; but abear--according to her shikari--passed close by Mrs. Locock, so thicklyscreened by jungle that she couldn't see it. This may be so, but Kashmirshikaris have remarkably vivid imaginations. After a delightful morning to all parties concerned--for we were muchamused, the coolies were adequately paid, and the bear wasn't worried--wereturned to breakfast, and then marched fifteen hot miles into Gunderbal, where we found the Smithsons, with whom we dined. They have been in Guraisand the Tilail district ever since they left Srinagar on the 24th April, and have had an adventurous and difficult time, with plenty of snow andtorrents and avalanches, but somewhat poor sport. This is not according to one's preconceived ideas of shikar in Kashmir, asthey went into a nullah which no sahib had penetrated for five years; theyhad the best shikari in Kashmir (he said it, and he ought to know); theyworked very hard, and their bag consisted of one or two moderate ibex anda red bear. _Tuesday, July_ 11. --On Sunday morning the combined fleet sailed forPalhallan. The Smithsons had a "matted dounga, " and she "walked away" fromour heavier ark down the winding Sind at a great pace. We reached Shadipurat 11 A. M. , but the Smithsons had "gone before, " so, crossing the Jhelum, we made after them in hot pursuit, and reached them and Palhallan atsunset. A narrow canal, bordered by low swampy marshland, allowed us to get withina mile of the village and tie up among the shallows, whereupon themosquitoes gathered from far and near, and fell upon us. The final packing, effected amid a hungry crowd of little piping fiends, was a veritable nightmare, and yesterday morning we rescued our mangledremains from the enemy, and, having paid off our boats, hurriedlyclambered on to the ponies which had come--late, as usual--from Palhallanto convey what was left by the mosquitoes to Gulmarg. The unfortunate Jane--always a popular person--is especially so withinsects; and if there is a flea or a mosquito anywhere within range itimmediately rushes to her. She paid dearly for her fatal gift of attractiveness at Palhallan--hereyes, usually so keen, being what is vulgarly termed "bunged up, " andevery vulnerable spot in like piteous plight! We quitted Palhallan as the Lot family quitted Sodom and Gomorrah, butwith no lingering tendency to look backward; we cast our eyes unto thehills, and kicked the best pace we could out of our "tattoos, " halting forbreakfast soon after crossing the hot, white road which runs from Baramulato Srinagar. As we left the steamy valley and wound up a rapidly ascending path amongthe lower fringes and outliers of the forest our spirits rose, and by thetime we had clambered up the last stiff pull and emerged from thedarkly-wooded track into the little clearing, where perches the village ofBabamarishi, we were positively cheerful. Once more the air was fresh and buoyant, the spring water was cool and"delicate to drink, " and from our tents we could look out over the valleylying dim in a yellow heat-haze far below. Babamarishi is a picturesquely-grouped collection of the usualrickety-looking wooden huts, no dirtier, but perhaps noisier than usual, owing to the presence of a very holy ziarat much frequented by loudlyconversational devotees. We spent the crisp, warm afternoon peacefullystretched on the sloping sward in front of our tents, and making theacquaintance of the only good thing that came out of Palhallan--a charmingquartette of young geese which Sabz Ali had bought and brought. These delightful birds evinced the most perfect friendliness andconfidence in us, and we became greatly attached to them. They and thefowls seemed excellent travellers, and after a long day's march would comeup smiling, like the jackdaw of Rheims, "not a penny the worse. " This morning we had but a short and easy march from Babamarishi to Gulmarg, along a good road, through a fine forest of silver fir. CHAPTER XII GULMARG Somehow one's preconceived ideas of a place are almost always quite wrong, and so Gulmarg seemed quite different from what I had expected. It seemedall twisted the wrong way, and was really quite unlike the place which myimagination had evolved. Turning through a narrow gap, we found ourselves facing a wide, green, undulating valley completely surrounded by dense fir forest. Beyond, tothe left, rose the sloping bulk of Apharwat, one of the range of the PirPanjal; while to the right low, wooded hillocks bounded the valley andfell, on their outward flanks, to the Kashmir plain. Immediately in front of us a small village or bazaar swarmed with nativelife, and sloped down to a stream which wound through the hollows. All round the edge of the forest a continuous ring of wooden huts andwhite tents showed that the "sahib" on holiday intent had marked Gulmargfor his own. As we rode through the bazaar the view expanded. Apharwat showed all hissomewhat disappointing face; his upper slopes, streaked with dirty snow, looked remarkably dingy when contrasted with the dazzling white cloudswhich went sailing past his uninteresting summit. The absence of allvariety in form or light and shade, and the dull lines of hisforeshortened front, made it hard to realise that he stood some fivethousand feet above us. Near the centre of the marg, on a small hill, was a large wooden buildingsurrounded by many satellite huts and tents: this we rightly guessed to beNedou's Hotel. Below, on a spur, was the little church, and to the right, in the hollow, the club-house faced the level polo-ground. A winding stream, which we subsequently found to be perfectly ubiquitous, and an insatiable devourer of errant golf-balls, ran deviously through thevalley, which seemed to be rather over a mile long, and almost equallywide. The Smithsons rode away vaguely in search of a camping-ground; while we, having found out where our hut was, turned back and climbed a knoll behindthe bazaar, and found ourselves in front of our future home, a very plainand roughly-built rectangular wooden hut, containing a small square roomopening upon a verandah, and having a bedroom and bathroom on each side. Such was our palace, and we were well satisfied with it. The cook-house and servants' quarters were in a hut close by, and I couldsummon my retainers or chide them for undue chatter from my bedroomwindow--a serviceable short cut for the dinner, too, in wet and stormyweather! Life at Gulmarg is extremely apt to degenerate into the "trivial round" ofthe golf links varied by polo, or polo varied by golf, with occasionalgymkhanas and picnics. There are, doubtless, many delightful excursions tobe made, but upon the whole it seems difficult to break far beyond the"Circular Road, " a fairly level and well-kept bridle-path, which for eightbeautiful miles winds through the pine forest, giving marvellous glimpsesof snowy peaks and sunlit valleys. The "Circular Road" is always fine, whether seen after rain, when, farbelow in the Ferozepore Nullah, the "Swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, " or when in the evening sunlight the whole broad Valley of Kashmir liesglowing at our feet, ringed afar by the ethereal mountains whose palesnows stand faint in the golden light, until beneath the yellowing sky theclouds turn rosy, and from their midst Haramok and Kolahoi raise theirproud heads towards the earliest star. The expedition to the top of Apharwat is, in my opinion, hardly worthmaking, but then I was not very lucky in the weather. Major Cardew, R. F. A. , and I arranged to do the climb together, and duly started one excessivelydamp and foggy morning towards the middle of July. Taking our ponies, we scrambled up a rough path through the forest toKillanmarg, a boulder-strewn slope, some half a mile wide, which liesbetween the upper edge of the forest and the final slopes of the mountain. Sending our ponies home, we set about the ascent of the 3500 feet thatremained between us and our goal. The whole hillside was a perfect wildgarden. Columbines, potentillas--yellow, bronze, and crimson--primulas, anemones, gentian, arnica, and quantities of unknown blossoms gave usample excuse for lingering panting in the rarefied air, as we struggledthrough brushwood first, and then over loose rocks and finally slopes ofshelving snow, before we found ourselves on the crest of the mountain, shivering slightly in the raw, foggy air. Our view was narrowed down to the bleak slopes of rock and snow thatimmediately surrounded us, for our hope that we should get above the cloudbelt was not fulfilled, and beyond a dismal tarn, lying just below us, inwhose black waters forlorn little bergs of rotten snow floated, and a verymuch circumscribed view of dull tops swathed in flying mist, we sawnothing. Had the sky been clear, I am told that the view would have beenmagnificent, but I should think probably no better than that fromKillanmarg, as it is a mistake to suppose that a high, or at least toohigh, elevation "lends enchantment. " As a rule the view is finer when seenhalf-way up a lofty mountain than that obtained from the summit. We did not stay long upon the top of Apharwat discussing the best point ofview, because Cardew sagaciously remarked that if it grew much thicker hewouldn't be answerable for finding the way down, and as I have a holyhorror of rambling about strange (and possibly precipitous) mountains in afog, we set about retracing our own footsteps in the snow until weregained the ridge we had come up by. A remarkably wet couple we were when we presented ourselves at ourrespective front doors, just in time for a "rub down" before lunch! The golf at Gulmarg is very good, the 18-hole course being exceedinglysporting, and tricky enough to defeat the very elect. Jane and I hadconveyed our clubs out to Kashmir, knowing that they were likely to proveuseful. I had also taken the precaution to pack up a box or two of balls, but I found my labour all in vain, as "Haskells" and "Kemshall-Arlingtons"were supplied by the club at precisely the same price as in England--viz. , 1 r. 8 an. , or two shillings. New clubs are also cheap and in plenty, but repairs to old favourites arenot always satisfactory. My pet driver, having been damaged, was veryevilly treated by the native craftsman, who bound up its wounds with largescrews! The mountains of Kashmir have been a constant joy to us. Varying withevery change of light and shade, custom cannot stale their infinitevariety; but as yet I had not seen the great monarch of Chilas, NangaParbat. In July and early August he is rarely visible from Gulmarg, owing to thehaziness of the atmosphere. One clear morning, however, towards the end ofJuly, after a night of rain and storm, I was strolling along the CircularRoad when, lo! far away in the north-west, soaring ethereal above the blueranges that overlook Gurais, above the cloud-banks floating beyond theirsummits, the great mountain, unapproachable in his glory, stood revealed. The early morning sun struck full on his untrodden snows, making it hardto realise that eighty-five miles of air separated me from that clear-cutpeak. Soon, very soon, a light cloud clung to his eastern face, and withinten minutes the whole vision had faded into an up-piled tower of seethingclouds. Later in the season, as the air grew clearer, Jane and I made almost dailypilgrimages to the point, only a few minutes' walk from our hut, whence, framed by a foreground of columnar pines, Nanga Parbat could generally beseen for a time in the morning. _Tuesday, August_ 1. --Society in Gulmarg is particularly cheery, as indeedmight be expected where two or three hundred English men and women aregathered together to amuse themselves and lay in a fresh store of healthand energy before returning to the routine of duty in the plains. There have been many picnics lately, the little glades or margs, which arefrequent in the forest slopes, being ideal places of rendezvous formerrymakers on horse or foot. Picnics of all sorts and sizes, from thelittle impromptu gatherings of half-a-dozen congenial young souls (alwaysan even number, please), who ride off into the romantic shades to nibblebiscuits and make tea, to the dainty repasts provided by a hospitable lady, whose official hut overlooks the Ferozepore Nullah, and who, in turn, overlooks her cook, to the great gratification of her guests. How small a thing will upset the best-laid plans of hospitality! It issaid that a most carefully planned picnic, where all the little tables, set for two, were discreetly screened apart among the bushes, was entirelyruined by a piratical damsel undertaking a cutting-out expedition for thecapture of the hostess' best young man. Our evenings are by no means dull. On many a starlit night has Janemounted the noble steed which, through the kindness of the Resident, wehave hired from the "State, " and ridden across the marg attended by herslaves (her husband and the ancient shikari, to wit), to dine and playbridge in some hospitable hut, or dance or see theatricals at Nedou'sHotel. Last week we tore ourselves away from our daily golf, and joined theSmithsons in a futile expedition to the foot of the Ferozepore Nullah forbear. Three days we spent in vain endeavour to find "baloo, " and on thefourth we wended our toilsome way up the hill again to Gulmarg. _Monday, August_ 27. --There are drawbacks as well as advantages in beingperched, as it were, just above the bazaar. Its proximity enables our goodSabz Ali to sally forth each morning and secure the earliest consignmentof "butter and eggs and a pound of cheese, " which has come up fromSrinagar, and select the best of the fruit and vegetables. It affords alsoan interesting promenade for the geese, who solemnly march down the mainstreet daily for recreation and such stray articles of food as may befound in the heterogeneous rubbish-heaps. It possesses, however, a superabundance of pi-dogs, who gather together onthe slope in front of our hut in the watches of the night, and serenade usto a maddening extent. The natives, too, have a sinful habit of chattering and shouting at anhour when all well-conducted persons should be steeped in their beautysleep. A few nights ago this culminated in what Keats would have called a "purpleriot. " The sweeper and his friends were holding a meeting for the purposeof conversation and the consumption of apple brandy. Having fruitlessly sent the shikari to try and stop the insufferable noise, I was fain to sally forth myself to investigate matters. Then to a happy and light-hearted party seated chattering round a blazingfire there came suddenly the unwelcome apparition of an exceedingly iratesahib, in evening dress and pumps, brandishing a khudstick. A wild scurry, in which the bonfire was scattered, a few remarks inforcible English, a whack which just missed the hindmost reveller, and theplace became a deserted village. Next morning Sabz Ali came to me in a towering rage to report that thesweeper--that unclean outcast--had dared to say most opprobrious things tohim, being inspired thereto by the devil and apple brandy. Nothing lessthan the immediate execution of the culprit by hanging, drawing, andquartering would satisfy the outraged feelings of our henchman. I promised a yet severer punishment. I said I would "cut" the wretchedminion's pay that month to the amount of a rupee. Vengeance was satisfied, and the victim reduced to tears. It is good to hear Jane--who for many years has been accustomed to havingher own way in all household matters--ordering breakfast. "Well, Sabz Ali--what shall we have for breakfast to-morrow?" "Jessa mem-sahib arder!"--with a friendly grin. "Then I shall have kidneys. "' "No kidney, mem-sahib! Kidney plenty money--two annas six pice ek. Oh, plenty dear!" "I'm tired of eggs. Is there any cold chicken youcould grill?" "Chota murghi one egg lay, mem-sahib, anda poach. Sahib, chicken grilllaike!" "Oh, all right! But I thought of a mutton-chop for the major sahib. " "Muttony stup" (mutton's tough). "Sahib no laike!" "Very well, that will do--a poached egg for me and grilled chicken for thesahib. " "No, mem-sahib--no 'nuf. Sahib plenty 'ungry--chicken grill, peechyramble-tamble egg!" "Have it your own way. I daresay the major sahib _would_ like scrambledeggs, and we'll have coffee--not tea. " "No, mem-sahib. No coffee--coffee finish!" "Send the shikari down to the bazaar, then, for a tin of coffee fromNusserwanjee. " "Shikari saaf kuro lakri ke major sahib" (cleaning the golf-clubs). "Teabreakfast, coffee kal" (to-morrow). And, utterly routed on every point, Jane gives in gracefully, and makes anexcellent breakfast as prearranged by Sabz Ali! The news is spread that there will be an exhibition of pictures held inSrinagar in September. Every second person is a--more or less--heaven-bornartist out here, so there promises to be no lack of exhibits. I dreamed adream last night, and in my dream I was walking along the bund and cameupon an elderly gentleman laying Naples yellow on a canvas with a trowel. The river was smooth and golden, and reflected the sensuous golden tonesof the sky. Trees arose from golden puddles, half screening a ziarat which, upon the glowing canvas, appeared remarkably like a village church. "Howbeautiful!" I cried, "how gloriously oleographic!" and the painter, removing a brush from his mouth, smiled, well pleased, and said, "I am aLeader among Victorian artists and the public adores me!" and I left himvigorously painting pot-boilers. Then in a damp dell among the willows ofthe Dal I found a foreigner in spectacles, and the light upon his pictureswas the light that never was on sea or land; but through a silvery mistthe willows showed ghostly grey, and a shadowy group of classic nymphswere ringed in the dance, and I cried "O Corot! lend me your spectacles. Ifain, like you, would see crude nature dimmed to a silvery perpetualtwilight. " And Corot replied: "Mon ami moi je ne vois jamais le soleil, jeme plonge toujours, dans les ombres bleuâtres et les rayons pâles del'aube. " Then upward I fared till, treading the clear heights, I found onefrantically painting the peaks and pinnacles of the mountains in weirdstipples of alternate red and blue. "Great heavens!" I exclaimed, "what disordered manner is this!" The artist glanced swiftly at me, and said disdainfully: "I am a modern ofthe moderns, and if you cannot see that mountains are like that, it isyour fault--not mine. Go back, you stand too close. " And as I went back I looked over my shoulder, and, truly, the flaringrose-colour had blended amicably with the blue, and I admitted thatperhaps Segantini was not so mad as he looked. A little lower down a stout Scotchman painted a flowery valley. Theflowers were many and bright, but not so garish as they appeared to him, and I hinted as much; but he scorned my criticism. "Mon, " he shouted, "I painted the Three Graces, an' they made me anAcademeesian. I painted a flowery glen in the Tyrol (dearie me, but thaeflowers cost me a fortune in blue paint), and it was coft for the ChantryBequest, and hoo daur _you_ talk to me?" Then I departed hurriedly and came upon four men, two of them with longbeards, and all with unkempt hair, laboriously depicting a blue pine, needle by needle, and every one in its proper place. I asked them iftheirs was not a very troublesome way of painting. They looked at one another with earnest blue eyes, and remarked that herewas evidently a Philistine who knew not Cimabue and cared not a jot forGiotto; and the first said: "Sir, methinks he who would climb the goldenstairs should do so step by step;" and the second said, sadly: "We are butscapegoats, truly, being cast forth by the vindictive Victorians of ourday. " The third murmured in somewhat broken English. "Victoria Victrix, Beata Beatrix, " whereby I recognised him to be a poet, if not a painter. But the fourth--an energetic-looking man with a somewhat arrogantmanner--said briskly: "Perchance the ass is right; these pine needles arebecoming monotonous, and I have seventeen million four hundred andsixty-two thousand five hundred and eleven more to do. Beshrew me if I donot take to pot-boiling!" Down by the water-side a lady sat, sketching in water-colours for dearlife; around her lay a litter of half-finished works, scattered likeautumn leaves in Vallombrosa. I approached her, quite friendly, andoffered to gather them up for her--at least some of them, sayingsoothingly, for I saw she was in a temper-- "Dear, dear, Clara, why, what _is_ the matter?" "I am painting the Venice of the East, " she cried petulantly, "but for thelife of me I can't see a campanile, and how can I possibly paint a picturewithout a campanile?" I understood that, of course, she couldn't, so I stole away softly ontip-toe, leaving her turning doungas into gondolas for all she was worth. A dark, dapper man, with an alert air and an eyeglass, sat near theseventh bridge, writing. Beside him stood an easel and other painting-gear. I asked him what he was doing, and he answered, with a fine smile, "I amgently making enemies;" so, to turn the subject, I picked up a largecanvas, smeared over with invisible grey, like the broadside of a modernbattleship, and sprinkled here and there with pale yellow blobs. "What have we here, James?" I inquired cheerfully, and he, staying hisclaw-like hand in mid-air, made reply-- "A chromatic in tones of sad colour, with golden accidentals--Kashmirnight-lights. " "Ah! quite so, " I exclaimed; "but have I got it right side up?" He looked at it doubtfully for a moment, then, pointing to a remarkablebutterfly (_Vanessa Sifflerius_) depicted in the corner, cried: "It's allright; you'll never make a mistake if you keep this insect in the _rightbottom corner_. It is put there on purpose. " Lastly, on an eminence I saw a man like an eagle, sitting facing full thesun, and upon his glowing canvas was portrayed the heavens above and theearth beneath and the waters under the earth, and behind him sat one whopatted him upon the back, and looked at intervals over his shoulder at theglorious work, and then wrote in a book a eulogy thereof; and I, too, cameand looked over the painter's shoulder, and I muttered, with OliverWendell Holmes, "The foreground golden dirt, The sunshine painted with a squirt. " Then the man who patted the painter on the back turned upon meaggressively, and said: "This is the only painter who ever was, or will be, and if you don't agree with me you are a fool. " The painter, smiling a slyMonna-Lisan smile of triumph, remarked: "Right you are, John. I ratherthink this _will_ knock that rascal Claude, " and I laughed so that I awoke;but the memory of the dream remained with me, and it seemed to me that, perhaps, we poor amateurs might not be any better able to compass aughtbut caricatures of this marvellous scenery than the ghostly limners of mydream! The hut just above ours was tenanted by a party of three young Lancers onleave from Rawal Pindi, a gramophone, and a few dogs. One of the soldiers was laid up with a bad ankle, and it soon became adaily custom for Jane or me to play a game of chess or piquet with theinvalid. Later on, when leave had expired for the hale, when the dogs had departed, and the voice of the gramophone was no more heard in the land, we came tosee a great deal of the wounded warrior, and finally arranged topersonally conduct him off the premises, and return him, in time formedical survey, to Rawal Pindi. Many years ago I read a delightful poem called _The Paradise of Birds_--Ibelieve it was by Mortimer Collins, [1] but I am not sure. Now the Poet(who, together with Windbag, sailed to this very paradise of birds) deemedthat this happy asylum of the feathered fowls was somewhere at the back ofthe North Pole. He cannot have known of Kashmir, or he would assuredlyhave sent the persecuted birds thither, and placed the "Roc's Egg" asjanitor, somewhere by the portals of the Jhelum Valley. Kashmir is trulyand indeed the paradise of birds, for there no man molests them, and noschoolboy collects eggs, and the result is a fascinating fearlessness, theresult of perpetual peace and plenty. I regret exceedingly that my ornithological knowledge is extremely limited. I could find no books to help me, [2] and, as I did not care to kill anybirds merely to enable me to identify their species, my notes were merely"popular" and not "scientific. " Shall I confess that I began an erudite work on the birds of Kashmir, butgot no further than the Hoopoe? It began as follows:-- THE HOOPOE _Early history of_. --Tereus, King of Thrace, annoyed his wife Procne somuch by the very marked attention which he paid to her sister Philomela, that she lost her temper so far as to chop up her son Itylus, and presenthim to his papa in the form of a ragoût. This, naturally, disgusted Tereus very much, and he "fell upon" the ladieswith a sword, but, just as he was about to stab them to the heart, he waschanged into a Hoopoe, Philomela into a nightingale, Procne into a swallow, while Itylus became a pheasant. "Vertitur in volucrem, cui stant in vertice cristae Prominet immodicum pro longa cuspide rostrum; Nomen epops volucri. " OVID, _Metam_. Lib. Vi. _His crest and patent of nobility_. --Once upon a time, King Solomon, whilemaking a royal progress, was much, incommoded by the powerful rays of thesun, and as he had ascendency over the birds, and knew their language, hecalled upon the vultures to come and fly betwixt the sun and his nobility, but the vultures refused. Then the kindly Hoopoes assembled, and flew inclose mass above his head, thus forming a shade under which he proceededon his journey in ease and comfort. At sundown the monarch sent for the King of the Hoopoes, and desired himto name a reward for the service which he and his followers had rendered. Then the King of the Hoopoes answered that nothing could be more gloriousthan the golden crown of King Solomon; and so Solomon decreed that theHoopoes should thenceforward wear golden crowns as a mark of his favour. But alas! when men found the Hoopoes all adorned with golden crowns, theypursued and slew them in great multitudes for greed of the precious metal, until the King of the Hoopoes, in heavy sorrow, hied hastily to KingSolomon, and begged that the gift of the golden crowns might be rescinded, ere every Hoopoe was slain. Then Solomon, seeing the misery they had brought upon themselves by theirpresumption, transformed their crowns of gold to crowns of feathers, whichno man coveted (for the Eastern ladies didn't wear hats), and the Hoopoeswear them to this day as a mark of royal favour, but all the feathers felloff the necks of the disobliging vultures. _His amazing talent_. --In those dark ages . .. The Hoopoe was considered asprodigiously skilful in defeating the machinations of witches, wizards, and hobgoblins. The female, in consequence of this art, could preserve heroffspring from these dreaded injuries. She knew all the plants which defeat fascinations, those which give sightto the blind; and, more wondrous still, those which open gates or doors, locked, bolted, or barred. Aelian relates that a man having three times successively closed the nestof a Hoopoe, and having remarked the herb with which the bird, as often, opened it, applied the same herb, and _with the same success_, to charmthe locks off the strongest coffer. --_Naturalists' Magazine_ (about 1805). _His personal appearance_. --The beak is bent, convex and sub-compressed, and in some degree obtuse; the tongue is obtuse, triangular and very short, and the feet are ambulatory. As this bird has a great abundance offeathers, it appears considerably thicker than it is. It is, in fact, about the size of a mistletoe thrush, but looks, while in its feathers, tobe as large as a common pigeon. --_Naturalists' Magazine_. I had got _no_ further in my _magnum opus_, when I unfortunately showed mynotes to Colonel--well, I will not mention his name, but he is thegreatest authority on the birds and beasts of Kashmir. He besought me tospare him, pathetically remarking that I should cut the ground from underhis feet, and take the bread out of his mouth, and the wind out of hissails, if I went any further with my monograph on the Hoopoe. He saw at aglance that I was conversant with authorities whom he had never consulted, and possessed a knowledge of my subject to which he could hardly aspire, so I gracefully agreed to leave the field to him, and relinquished my_magnum opus_ in its very inception. One of the chiefest charms of Kashmir, and one which is apt to beoverlooked, is the entirely unspoilt freshness of its scenery. No locusthorde of personally-conducted "trippers" pollutes its ways and byways, norhas the khansamah of the dâk bungalow as yet felt constrained to addsauerkraut and German sausage to his bill of fare--for which Allah bepraised! The world is growing very small, and the globe-trotter rushes round it ineighty days. The trail of the cheap excursionist is all over Europe, fromthe North Cape to Tarifa, from the highest Alpine summit (which he attainsin comfort by a funicular railway) to the deepest mines of Cornwall. Egypthas become his footstool, and the shores of the Mediterranean his wash-pot. Niagara is mapped and labelled for his benefit, and the Yosemite is hishappy hunting-ground. He "does" the West Indies in "sixty days for sixtypounds, " and he is now arranging a special cheap excursion from the Capeto Cairo. "But, " it may be remarked, "what were Jane and I butglobe-trotters'? and am I not trying to sing the praises of Kashmir withthe avowed object of inducing people to go out and see it for themselves?" By all manner of means let us travel. Far be it from me to wish folks tostay dully at home, while the wonders and beauties of the wide world lieopen for the admiration and education of its inhabitants. But there are globe-trotters and globe-trotters. My objection is only tothose--alas! too numerous--vagrants who cannot go abroad without castingshame on the country which bred them; whose vulgarity causes offence inchurch and picture-gallery; who cannot see a monument or a statue withoutdesiring to chip off a fragment, or at least scrawl their insignificantnames upon it. From these, and such as these, Kashmir is as yet free; but some day, Isuppose, it will be "opened up, " when the railway, which is alreadycontemplated, is in going order between Pindi and Srinagar, and cheapexcursion tickets are issued from Berlin and Birmingham. Here is a specimen page of the Guide Book (bound in red) for 19--(?): "Ascend Apharwat by the funicular railway. The neat little station, with its red corrugated-iron roof, makes a picturesque spot of colour nearthe Dobie's Ghât. Fares, 4 an. 6 pi. , all the way. " "A local guide should on no account be omitted (several are always to befound near the station leaning on their khudsticks, and discussingcontroversial theology in the sweet low tones so noticeable in theKashmiri). See that he be provided with a horn, to the hooting of whichthe Echo Lake will be found responsive. " "From the balcony of the * Hôtel Baloo an unrivalled view of Nanga Parbatshould be obtained. Glasses can be procured from the anna-in-the-slotmachines which are dotted about. " "This veritable king of the Himal--" (here follows a pageful of regulationguide-book gush). "Good sport is to be obtained from the obliging and enterprising managerof the hotel, Herr Baer. A few rupees will purchase the privilege ofshooting at that monarch of the mountains, the markhor. Start not, fairtourist, for no danger lurks in the sport. No icy precipices need bescaled, no giddy gulfs explored, and the only danger which menaces thebold hunter in the mimic stalk, is that which menaces his shins in thebroken soda-water bottles and sharp-edged sardine tins with which thesummit of Apharwat is strewn. " "As a matter of fact, the consumption of mutton is considerable in theHôtel Baloo in the tourist season, and the worthy Baer conceived thebrilliant and financially sound scheme of attaching some old ibex andmarkhor horns (bought cheap when the old library at Srinagar was sweptaway in the last flood) to his live stock, and turning his decorated flockloose on the mountain's brow, where the sportsman saves him the trouble ofslaughter while enjoying all the excitement and none of the difficulty ofa veritable stalk. " "Another brilliant invention of the good Baer is his 'sunset spectacles. 'These are made with the glasses in two halves--the upper part orange andthe lower one purple. These are simply invaluable to those who have only abrief half-hour in which to 'do' Apharwat before darting down to catch the3. 15 express for Leh (_viâ_ the newly opened Zoji La tunnel), since forthe modest sum of 8 a. A superb sunset can be enjoyed at any time of theday. " "Should, however, the leisured globe-trotter have unlimited time at hisdisposal, he would do well to lunch at the Hôtel Baloo, in order to tastethe celebrated Kashmir sauerkraut (made of wild rhubarb) and Gujar pie(composed of the most tempting tit-bits of the water buffalo), beforereturning to the 'Savoy' at Srinagar by the turbine tram from Tangmarg, orby the pneumatic launch which leaves Palhallan Pier every ten minutes, weather permitting. " "Should the tourist be a naturalist he can hardly fail to observe, and beinterested in, the mosquitoes of this charming and picturesque locality. He will note that they rival the song-thrush in magnitude and the Bengaltiger in ferocity. A coating of tar laid with a trowel over the exposedparts of the body will be found the best protection, especially as the newArmour Company's patent hermetically sealed bear-proof visor will be foundtoo hot for comfort in summer. " "The environs of Srinagar are charming. Notice the picturesque 'furnishedapartments' for paying guests all along the water-side, and the mixedbathing establishments, crowded daily by the Smart Set, whose jewelledpyjamas flash in rivalry of the heliographic oil-tins which deck theneighbouring temples. " "By a visit to the Museum, and an inspection by eye and nose of the quaintspecimens of antique clothing exhibited there, the intelligent andimaginative traveller may conjure up a mental picture of the unpolishedappearance of the old-time Mangi and his lady before he adopted the tallhat and frock coat of civilisation, or she had discovered the 'swanbill'!" [1] It is by Courthope, not Collins. [2] See Appendix II. CHAPTER XIII THE FLOOD Tuesday, _September_ 12. --A second edition of the Noachian deluge is uponus! It began to rain on Saturday, at the close of a hot and stuffy week, and, having succeeded in thoroughly soaking the unfortunate ladies whowere engaged in a golf competition that day, it proceeded to rainabundantly all through Sunday and Monday. The outlook from our hut is dispiriting; through a thick grey veil ofvapour the gleam of water shines over the swamp that was the polo-ground. The little muddy stream in which so many erring golf-balls lie low is upand out for a ramble over its banks. The lower golf-greens resemblepaddy-fields, and round the marg the spires of dull grey pines standdripping in a steadfast shower-bath. Sometimes the heavy cloud folds everything in its leaden wing, blottingout even the streaming village at our feet, and reducing our view to theimmediate slope below us where the wilted ragwort and rank weeds bendbefore the tiny torrents which trickle everywhere. Then comes a break, falsely suggestive of an improvement, and lo! soaring above the cloudyboil, the lofty shoulders of Apharwat sheeted in new-fallen snow! After the somewhat oppressive heat of last week, the sudden raw coldstrikes home, and Jane and I take a great interest in the fire, the "OldSnake"[1] is an accomplished fire-master, and it is pleasant to watch himsquatting like an ungainly frog in front of the hearth, and sagaciouslyfeeding the flame with damp and spitting logs. It is amazing what lavish expenditure of fuel one will indulge in when itcosts nothing a ton! We are just beginning to find out the exact spots where chairs may beplanted so as to avoid the searching draughts which go far to make ourhappy home like a very airy sort of bird-cage. Well! we might have been worrying through all this in a sodden tent, whereeven a boarded floor would barely have kept out rheumatism, and where onewould have been liable to alarms and excursions at all sorts of untowardtimes when drains wanted deepening and guys slackening. The mere thoughtof such things sent us into a truly thankful state of mind, and wediscussed from our cosy chairs the probable condition of the party fromthe Residency which set forth, full of high hope, on Saturday morning toattack the markhor of Poonch. Here it has rained with vehemence ever since they left; up in the highground it has doubtless snowed; and although they were well armed withcards and whisky, yet it would appear but a poor business to play bridgeall day in a snow-bound tent on the top of the Pir Panjal! Nothing shortof a hundred aces every few minutes could make the game worth the candle! This spell of bad weather has greatly interfered with the movements of alarge number of the folks who were to leave Gulmarg early this week. Manygot away betimes on Saturday, and a few faced the elements on Sunday, anda painful experience they must have had. We had intended to leave next Thursday, and had ordered boats to meet usat Parana Chauni, but the road will be so bad that I wired this morning toput off our transport till further orders. The end of the season at Gulmarg sees the bazaar stock at low water. Eggs, fowls, cherry brandy, and spirits of wine are "off, " also butter, but thelatter scarcity does not affect us, as we make our own in a pickle jar. The bazaar butter became very bad, probably because the large numbers ofvisitors to Gulmarg caused an additional supply to be got from uncleanlyGujars, so we, by the kindness of the Assistant Resident, had a specialcow detailed to supply us daily with milk at our own door. That cow was very friendly; I first made its acquaintance one forenoon. While I was sitting below the verandah sketching, with a dozen lovelypeaches spread by me on the hoards to obtain their final touch ofperfection in the sun before lunch, the cow strolled up. I was muchinterested in the sketch, and believed that the cow was too; but when Ilooked up at last, expecting to see its eye fixed upon the work in silentapprobation, "The 'cow' was still there, but the 'peaches' were gone. " In the afternoon the weather showed signs of a desire to amend its ways. The clouds broke here and there, and, though it still rained heavily, itbecame apparent that the clerk of the weather had done his worst, and thesupply of rain was running short. Clad in aquascutic garments, andsurmounted by an ungainly two-rupee bazaar umbrella (my dapper British onehaving been annexed by a covetous Mangi)-- "Ombrifuge, Lord love you, case o' rain, I flopped forth 'sbuddikins on my own ten toes. " The whole slope in front of the hut was a trickle of water, threading thedying stalks of dock and ragwort, and hurrying down to add its dirtypittance to the small yellow torrent rushing along the greasy strip ofclay that in happier days was the path. The whole marg was become lake or stream--lake over the polo-ground andhalf the golf-links--fed by the weeping slopes on every side, whenceinnumerable rills rioted over the grass, emulating in ferocity and haste, if not in size, the tawny torrents which drained the sides of Apharwat. The road from the bazaar to the club was all but impassable, but as it hadstill a few inches of freeboard, I followed it to the foot of the churchslope, and, skirting the hill, inspected the desolation which had beenwrought at the Kotal hole, where the stream had torn through its banks andwrecked the green. During a visit of condolence to Mrs. Smithson, whose unfortunate husbandis pursuing markhor in Poonch, the sky cleared--a splendid effort in theway of a "clearing shower" being followed by a decided break-up of thepall of wet cloud in which we have been too long immersed. Not without asevere struggle did Jupiter Pluvius consent to turn off the tap, but atlength the sun broke through the hanging clouds and sent their sodden greyfragments swirling up the Ferozepore Nullah to break in foamy wreathsround the ragged cliffs of Kulan. Finding the road across to the post-office altogether under water for somedistance--a lake extending from the twelfth hole for nearly a quarter of amile to the main road--I wandered back towards the higher ground, joininga waterproof figure, a member of the Green Committee, who was sadlyregarding the water-logged links with the disconsolate air of the raven letloose from the ark! We agreed that this was a remarkably good opportunityfor observing the drainage system, and taking notes for future guidance, and in company we went over as much of the links as possible, finishingbelow the second hole, where the cross stream which comes down from thehigher ground had torn away the bridge and cut off the huts beyond fromcivilisation. The homeward stroll at sunset was perfectly beautiful, and showed Gulmargin an absolutely new guise. The lower part of the marg, being all lake, reflected the lustrous golden sky and rich dark pine-woods in a faithfulmirror. Flying fragments of cloud, fleeces of gold and crimson, clung tothe mountain-sides or sailed above the forests, while beyond Apharwat, coldly clad in a pure white mantle of snow, new fallen, rose silhouettedagainst the darkening sky. _Saturday, September_ 16. --After the Deluge came the Exodus, everybodytrying to leave Gulmarg at once. We had always intended to go down toSrinagar about the 15th, but, finding that the Residency party meant tomove on that day, we arranged to migrate a day earlier in order to avoidthe pony and coolie famine which a Residential progress entails on theordinary traveller. On Wednesday afternoon the ten ponies, carefully ordered a week beforefrom the outlying villages, were congregated on the weedy slope whichfalls away from our verandah, picking up a scanty sustenance from decayingragwort and such like. Secure in the possession of the necessary transport, Jane and I strolledforth for a last look at Nanga Parbat, should he haply deign to be on view. He did not deign, however, preferring to remain, like Achilles, whenbereft of Briseis, sulking in his cloudy tent. So we consoled ourselveswith an exceedingly fine view of the snow-crowned heights at the head ofthe Ferozepore Nullah. Upon returning to our beloved log cabin we were metby Sabz Ali--almost speechless with wrath--who broke to us the distressingnews that six of our ten weight-carriers had departed from the compound. The entire staff, with the exception of our factotum, were away in pursuit, and there was nothing for it but to possess our souls in what patience wemight until they returned. As we had arranged for a four o'clock start next morning, it was mostdisconcerting to have all our transport desert so late in the evening. Anurgent note to the Assistant Resident, and some pressure on the Tehsildhar, produced promise of assistance. Early on Thursday morning came an indignant chit from an irate General, complaining that my servants were trying to seize his ponies, for which hehad paid an advance of two rupees, and would I be good enough toinvestigate the affair. Here was the murder out. His chuprassie hadobviously bribed my pony wallahs, and a letter, stating my case prettyclearly, produced the ponies and an apology. This delay kept us till after midday, when, stowing our invalid snugly ina dandy, we left Gulmarg and began the descent to Srinagar. I remainedbehind to see the hut clear and make a sketch, and then hurried down thedirect path, which drops some 2000 feet to Tangmarg. Here I found Jane andthe invalid comfortably disposed in a landau, but the baggage spread aboutanywhere, and the usual clamour of coolies uprising in the heated anddust-laden air. No ekka--the one which had been ordered with the landau having apparentlygot another job and departed. Presently a stray ekka, drawn by a sorelyweary-looking mule, appeared on the scene, and we seized upon it instantly, loaded it up with most of the baggage, and despatched coolies with therest. After the storm came a holy calm, and we settled down to a light butwelcome lunch before starting down the long slope into the valley. We had heard most disquieting tales of floods; the water had burst thebund at Srinagar, and there was said to be ten feet over the polo-ground. The occupants of Nedou's Hotel were going in and out by boat, and Srinagaritself was said to be quite cut off from all access by road. The Residency party have countermanded their intended move to-morrow. At the post-office I was told that only a small part of the mail had beenbrought into Srinagar, the road being "bund" between Baramula and thatplace, while an unusual number of landslips and bridges have come down inthe Jhelum Valley. Nevertheless, we had made a push to get on; things in Kashmir are oftenless gloomy than their reports would make one believe, and so we bowledquite cheerfully down the road from Tangmarg, basking in the hot and sunnyair, which seemed to us really delicious after the raw cheerlessness ofthe last few days at Gulmarg. From Tangmarg to the dâk bungalow at Margam, a steady descent ismaintained by an excellent road over the sloping Karewa, for about tenmiles, of which we had just about travelled half when a series of yellsfrom the syce behind, a wild swerve, and a heavy plump brought us up juston the edge of the steep and rocky bank, which fell sharply from theroadside. Alas! the axle of the off hind wheel had snapped, and the wheel itself washopelessly lying in the thick white dust, and our landau looked like anancient three-decker in a squall. The horses being unharnessed, we sent the drivers with one of them forwardto look for help, and Hesketh and Jane proceeded to make tea while I satby the roadside and sketched. Presently an empty dandy came "dribbling by" on its return journey toGulmarg, and it was immediately impressed for the benefit of the lame. Hardly had we packed him in, when a wandering tonga hove in sight, and, being promptly requisitioned, we rattled off the five miles which laybetween us and Margam in no time. Here we found a large party assembled in the little rest-house. Coloneland Mrs. Maxwell (who had kindly sent us back the tonga on hearing of thebreakdown); Mr. And Mrs. Allen Baines, whose dandy had been the means ofbringing Hesketh along; and Sadleir-Jackson, and Edwards of the 9thLancers. The bungalow was full, but I found out that one room was appropriated by acoming event, who had cast his shadow before him in the guise of a bearer. This being contrary to the etiquette as observed in dâk bungalows, Igently but firmly cleared out the neatly arranged toilet things andready-made bed; while Hesketh was taken over, somewhat shattered by histedious though exciting day, by his fellow Lancers. The resources of the little place were severely strained; dinner was ascanty meal, and soda-water gave out almost immediately: nevertheless, acheroot and a rubber of bridge sent us contented to bed. Yesterday (Friday) the question of how to proceed arose. The road wasreported to be impassable after about five miles, the remaining ten beingunder water. We set out after breakfast, Jane perched on a pony which Sabz Ali hadraised or stolen, Hesketh in the dandy, and I on foot. After a warm fivemiles' march we came upon signs of a block. Vehicles of many and strangesorts were drawn up in the shade of a chenar, under whose wide branchesthe Baines family was faring sumptuously on biscuits and brandy and water. Horses, goats, and cattle strayed around, and a chattering mob of natives, busily engaged, as usual, in doing nothing, completed the picture. Hesketh was reduced to despair; after two months in bed, this could notbut be a trying journey under the most favourable circumstances, and theprospect as held out by his pessimistic bearer was pretty gloomy--no boatsavailable, and no signs of our doungas. I pushed on to the break in search of my shikari, whom I had sent on bypony early in the morning, and soon found that estimable person, who isnot really the blithering idiot he looks! In the first place, he had appropriated the only two shikaras he couldfind, and our baggage was already being stowed in them; secondly, he haddiscovered both Juma and Ismala, our Mangis, who reported the doungasmoored below Parana Chaum, about four miles away over the flooded fields. This was good news, and we ate a cheerful lunch under a tree denselypopulated by jackdaws. The Maxwells got away somehow in search of their house-boat, which wassupposed to have left Baramula some days ago. They started cheerfully, butvaguely, down the Spill Canal, and we trust they found their ark somewhere! Promising to send back a boat for the Baines, we paid and dismissedcoolies and ponies, and paddled away over the flood water. The country wassimply a vast lake, the main road merely marked by a dense row of poplars. Trees rose promiscuously out of the calm and sunlit water, wisps of maizeand wreckage clinging to their lower boughs. Presently the road showed inpatches, a broad waterfall breaking it every here and there as theimprisoned waters from above sought the slightly lower channel of theJhelum. We passed a party of natives bivouacking near the roof and upper storey oftheir wooden hut, which, floating from above, was held up by the Baramularoad. Sounding now and then with our khudsticks, we found no bottom overthe submerged rice crops, though we could see plainly the laden earswaving dismally down below. This is nothing less than a great calamity forthe owners, as the rice was just ready for gathering. Towards dusk we arrived at our ships, calmly lying moored to poplar treesby the roadside, and right gladly did we clamber on board, for our invalidwas pretty well fagged out. This morning we cast loose from our poplars, and brought the fleet up towithin half a mile of the seventh bridge, or, rather, of the spot wherethe seventh bridge used to be, for all but a fragment has been washed away!The strong current prevented us from getting any higher up the river inour doungas. Jane and I, however, were anxious to see what appearanceSrinagar presented, so we manned the shikara with five able-bodiedpaddlers and pushed our way upwards. Turning into a side canal we passed ademolished bridge, and tried to force our way up a small but swift stream. Failing to make anything of it, we landed and had the boat carried overinto a wider channel. Three times we were obliged to get out and leave ourstalwart crew to force the boat on somehow, and they did it well--hauling, paddling, and shouting invocations to various saints, particularly the onewhose name sounds like "jam paws!" The water had already fallen some four or five feet, but there was plentyleft. A great break in the bund between Nusserwanjee's shop and the PunjabBank allowed us to paddle into the flooded European quarter, past thetelegraph office, standing knee-deep in muddy water, up over the main roadto Nedou's Hotel, where boats lay moored outside the dining-room windows, then across the lagoon, lightly rippled by a tiny breeze, beneath whichlay the polo-ground, to the Residency, where we landed to inspect damages. The water had been all over the lower storey, but a muddy deposit on thewooden floor, and a brown slimy high-water mark on the door jambs, aloneremained to show what had happened. The piano had been hoisted upon atable, carpets and curtains bundled upstairs, and everything, apparently, saved. The poor garden, with its slime-daubed shrubs, broken palings andtorn creepers, trailing wisps of draggled foliage in the oozy brown pools, was a sad and pitiful sight, especially when mentally contrasted with theglowing glory of asters and zinneas which it should have been. The flood has been nearly as bad as the great one of 1903. Fortunately theSpill Canal, cut above Srinagar to carry off the flood water, took offsome of the pressure; the bund, also, is three feet higher than it wasthen, but it gave way in two places--one somewhere near the top, and theother just below the Bank, letting in the river to a depth of ten feetover the low-lying quarter. The stream is now falling fast, and, afterdoing a little shopping and visiting the post-office, which is temporarilyestablished on the bund in the midst of an amazing litter of desks, boxes, and queer pigeon-holes admirably adapted to lose letters by the score, wespun swiftly down the rushing stream to tea and our cosy dounga. _Monday, September_ 18. --It was impossible to get our boats up the riveryesterday, so I spent the day sketching amidst the most picturesque, buthorribly smelly, part of the town; much quinine in the evening seemeddesirable as a counterblast to possible malaria. The sunsets lately have been really magnificent; the poplars and chenars, darkly olive, reflected in the flooded fields against a red gold sky, inthe foreground the black silhouettes of the armada. The days are almost too hot, but the nights are cool and delicious, andthe mosquitoes are only noticeable for a brief period of sinful activityabout sundown, after which the wicked cease from troubling and the wearyare at rest. At half-past ten this morning we set sail; that is to say, we hired nineextra coolies and a second shikara to tow, and advanced on Srinagar. Hesketh's boat, being the lighter, kept well ahead (here let me note that"bow" in that boat is quite the prettiest girl we have seen in Kashmir, and the minx knows it!), but we had good men, and worked along slowly andsteadily up the main river, the side canals being all choked by brokenbridges and such like. We crept past the Amira Kadal, or first bridge, about two o'clock, and tied up for lunch, revelling in the most perfectpears, peaches, and walnuts. As a rule the Kashmir fruit is disappointing;abundant and cheap certainly, but not by any means of first-rate quality. Strawberries, cherries, apricots, melons, and grapes might all be farbetter if properly cultivated, and scientifically improved from Europeanstock. The pears alone defy criticism, and the apples, I am told, are excellentalso. Vegetables are in great plenty, but, like the fruit, would be muchimproved by good cultivation. _Wednesday, September_ 25. --The abomination of desolation wrought by theflood is borne in upon one more and more as an inspection of the townreveals the damage done more fully--the houses standing empty, their lowerstoreys dank and slimy, the ruined gardens, and muddy, slippery roads. Thewrecked garden of the Punjab Bank is one of the saddest sights, and mustbe a painful spectacle to Mr. Harrison, whose joy it was to spend time andmoney on importing exotic and improving indigenous plants. One cannot help reflecting how desperately depressed Noah, and theprobably more impressionable Mrs. Noah, must have been when, discardingtheir aquascutums for the first time, they sallied forth, a primeval party, to observe the emerging country. Mrs. Noah, tucking up the curious straight garment that is a memory of ourchildhood, went ahead with feminine curiosity; Noah, bare-legged, slithering along in the rear and beseeching the ladies to note theslipperiness of the alluvial deposit, and for goodness' sake not to make aglissade down the side of Ararat. I feel confident they must have taken great precautions, for Sabz Alislipped up on the shelving bank of the Jhelum, and, had he not caught thegunwale of our dounga in his descent, would most certainly have had toswim for his life--which I doubt if he can do! Now, Shem and Co. Were as valuable to Noah as Sabz Ali is to us, and Ishould not be surprised if he made them travel on all-fours in the riskyplaces. Fathers were very dictatorial in those days, and there was nobodyabout to make them consider their dignity. One can imagine the scene. Ararat, a muddy pyramid dotted here and therewith olive trees--curious, by the way, to find olives so high!--in thereceding waters the vagrant raven cheerfully picking out the eye of adefunct pterodactyl. The heavy clouds rolling off the sodden world--theymust have indeed been heavy clouds, nimbus of the first water--as they hadraised the world's water-level 250 feet per day during "the flood" . .. Surely a record output! The primeval family party, sadly poking about along the expanding marginof the world, noting how Abel Brown's tall chimney was beginning to show, and how Cain Jones' wigwam was clean gone. Mrs. Shem said she knew itwould, the mortar work had been so terribly scamped. And Naboth Robinson's vineyard--well, _it_ was in a pretty mess, to besure, and serve him right, for Mrs. Noah had frequently offered him two ofher (second) best milch mammoths for it; yet he had held on to his nastysour grapes, like the mean old curmudgeon that he was. And now Hammy must set to work and tidy it up; and oh! what lots of nicemanure was floating about, all for nothing the cartload . .. And so theprimeval family felt better, and went back to the ark to tea, feelingalmost cheerful, but rather lonesome. Fortunately this great flood did little injury to life or limb. A certainamount of destruction of crops and other property was inevitable, but onthe whole the loss was not so great as was at one time feared, and muchwas saved that at first seemed irreparable. A well-known lady artist came near to giving the note of tragedy to theBritish community, and losing the number of her mess (to use a nautical, and therefore appropriate expression) by reason of a big willow tree, beneath whose shady boughs she had moored her floating studio. Thishapless tree, having all its sustenance swept from beneath by the greedywater, came down with a crash in the night upon the confiding house-boat, and all but swamped it. The cook-boat, occupied as usual by a pair of prolific Mangis and theirlarge small family, was saved by the proverbial "acid drop"--the childrencrawling out somehow or anyhow from among the branches of the fallen tree. The fair artist, having with shrieks invoked the aid of a neighbour, hepromptly descended from his roof or other temporary camp, and helped herwith basins and chatties to bale out the half-swamped boat. The lady isnow safely moored to the mudbank on the other side of the river wherewillow trees do not grow. The whole bund is in a very unsafe state: it was raised three feet afterthe last flood, but its width was not increased correspondingly. Now thatthe water has fallen, great fissures and subsidences have appeared, and inmany places large portions of the bank have fallen away, carrying bigtrees with them. [1] Our pet name for Shikari Mark II. , who reigns in the stead of Ahmed Bot, sacked for expensive inefficiency. CHAPTER XIV THE MACHIPURA Wednesday, _September_ 27. --We left Srinagar yesterday, very sorry indeedto part from the many good friends we have made and left there. TrulyKashmir is a hospitable country, and we have met with more kindfriendliness in the last six months than we could have believed possible, coming as we did, strangers and pilgrims into a strange land. Ourconsolation is that every one comes "Home" sooner or later, so that we canlook forward to meeting most of our friends again ere very long, andrecalling with them memories of this happy summer with those who have doneso much to make it so. Farewell, Srinagar! Your foulness and inward evilness were lost in thebackground behind your picturesque and tumble-down houses as we floated forthe last time down Jhelum's olive waters, where the sharp-nosed boats laymoored along the margin or, poled by their sturdy Mangis and guided by thechappars of their wives and daughters, shot athwart the eddying flood, breaking the long reflections of the storeyed banks. Past the Palace of the Maharajah, its fantastic mixture of ancientfairness and modern ugliness blending into a homogeneous beauty asdistance lent it enchantment. Past the temples, their tin-coated roofs refulgent in the brilliantsunlight; under the queer wooden bridges, their solid stone piers partingthe suave flow of water into noisy swirl and gurgle. Past the familiar groups of grave, white-robed men solemnly washingthemselves, then scooping up and drinking the noisome fluid; past theirladies squatting like frogs by the river-side, washing away at clotheswhich never seem a whit the cleanlier for all their talk and trouble. Past the children and fowls, and cows and crows, all hob-nobbing togetheras usual. Past all these sights--so strange to us at first and now so strangelyfamiliar--we floated, till the broken remnant of the seventh bridge laybehind us, and the lofty poplars that hem in the Baramula road stood starkand solemn in their endless perspective. Here a jangling note, out of tune and harsh, was struck by the dobie, withwhom we had a grave difference of opinion regarding the washing. That gentleman having "lost by neglect" certain articles of my kit--to witsundry shirts and other garments--and having rendered others completely_hors de combat_ by reason of his sinful method of washing, I decided to"cut" three rupees off his remuneration. This decision seemed to have taken from him all that life held of worth, and he implored me to spare his wife, children, and home, all of whomwould be broken up and ruined if I were cruel enough, to enforce my awfulthreat. Seeing that I was obdurate, being well backed by the infuriatedJane, whose underwear showed far more lace and open work than natureintended, the wretched dobie melted into loud and tearful lamentation, andperched himself howling in the prow. This soon became so boresome that Ideported him to Hesketh's boat, where he underwent another defeat at thehands of that irate Lancer, whose shirts and temper had suffered together;finally the woeful washerman, still howling lugubriously, was landed onthe river bank, and we saw and heard him no more! Down the gentle river we swiftly glided all day, while the Takht and HariParbat grew smaller and bluer, and Srinagar lay below them invisible inits swathing greenery. Reaching Sumbal at sunset, we turned to the left down a narrow canal, andsoon the Wular lay--a sheet of molten gold--upon our right; and by thetime we had moored alongside a low strip of reedy bank, the glorious rosylights had faded from the snows of the Pir Panjal, and their royal purpleand gold had turned to soft ebony against the primrose of the sky. A few hungry mosquitoes worried us somewhat before sunset, promising worseto follow; but the sharp little breeze that came flickering over the Wularafter dark seemed to upset their plans, and send them shivering and hungryto shelter among the reeds and rushes. This morning we crossed the Wular, starting as the first pale dawn showedover the eastern hills. Before the sun rose over Apharwat, his shafts struck the higher snows andturned them rosy; while the lower slopes, their distant pines suffusedwith strong purple, stood reflected in the placid mirror of the lake. "Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovran eye, " but seldom a more lovely one than this--our last on the Wular Lake. The active figures of the propellent Mangis, and the quiet ones of theirladies at the helm, completed a picture to be recalled with a sigh when weare parted by thousands of miles from this entrancing valley. Sopor we had understood to be but an uninteresting place, but we were, perhaps, inclined to regard things Kashmirian through somewhat rosyspectacles. Anyhow, we rather liked Sopor. Mooring close alongside aremarkably picturesque building standing in the midst of a smooth greenlawn, which was once, I believe, a dâk bungalow, we halted to makearrangements for the hire of coolies and ponies to take us inland, and Iwent off to the post-office for letters and to make inquiries as to theprobable depth of water in the river Pohru. Our skipper, Juma, affirmed that there was no water to speak of; but Jumaprobably--nay, certainly--prefers the _otium_ of a sojourn at Sopor to thetoil of punting up the Pohru. The postmaster declared that there was lots of water, but qualified hisoptimism by saying that it was falling fast. So we arranged for our landtransport of ponies for ourselves, and a dandy for Hesketh, to meet us onemarch up the river at Nopura, while we ourselves set forward in our boatsto Dubgam, three or four miles down the Jhelum, where the Pohru joins it. At the entrance are large stores of timber, principally deodar, which isfloated down from the Lolab, stored at Dubgam, and sent thence downcountry and otherwhere for sale. The great boom across the river to catchthe floating logs had been carried away in the flood, and merely showed afew melancholy and ineffectual spikes of wood sticking up above the nowcalm and sluggish river. We towed up easily enough, through a quiet and peaceful country, whichonly became gorgeous under the alchemy of sunset, reaching Nopura in goodtime to tie up before dinner. _Friday, September 29_. --On Thursday morning we started, as usual, at dawn, and proceeded to pole and haul our way up the devious channel of the Pohru. Some four or five miles we accomplished successfully, although there wereominous signs of a gradual lack of water, until we came upon a hopelessshallow, where the river, instead of concentrating its energies on onedeep and narrow channel, had run to waste over a wide bed, where thewrinkling wavelets showed the golden brown of the gravel just below thesurface. Our big dounga stuck hard and fast at once, and Captain Jurnapromptly gave up all hope of getting farther. He was, in fact, greatlygratified to find his prophesies come true, and an insufferable air of "Itold you so" overspread his face as he wagged his head with mock sorrow, and gently poked the bottom with his pole to show how firmly fixed we were. Having an invalid with us, however, it was important to gain every easymile we could, and it was not until all the fleet in turn had attempted tocross the shallow, and failed, that we made up our minds to take to ourland transport. It was uncommonly hot in the full glare of the sun asHesketh in his dandy, Jane on her "tattoo, " and I on foot set forward forthe forest house at Harwan, which lay some five miles away across thefields, where the rice is now being busily cut. At the foot of a very brown and parched-looking hill stood the littlewooden hut, facing the valley of the Pohru and the Kaj-nag range. Hot andthirsty, we blessed the good Mr. Blunt, the kindly forest officer, who hadso courteously given us permission to use the forest huts of the Lolab andthe Machipura. Our blessings of Blunt turned swiftly to curses directedtowards the chowkidar, who was not to be seen, and who had left the hutfirmly fastened from within. An attempt to force the door brought upon usthe resentment of a highly irritable swarm of big red wasps, who plainlyregarded us as objectionable intruders; and Jane was really getting quitecross (she says--she always does--that it was I who lost mytemper)--before the bold sweeper, prying round the back premises, found anunbarred window, and the joy bells rang once more. The Colonel turned up from the Malingam direction, and pitched his tent inthe rest-house compound; and, as the afternoon grew cooler, he and Isallied forth to select a few chikor for the pot. The chikor is extremely like the ordinary European redleg or Barbarypartridge, not only in colouring, but in habit, loving the same dry, scrub-covered country, and preferring, like him, to run rather than flywhen pursued. The chikor, however, is certainly far superior in thecapacity of what fowl fanciers call "a table bird, " being, in fact, trulyexcellent eating. He is not an altogether easy bird to shoot, owing to his annoyingpredilection for the steepest and rockiest hillsides, and those mostdensely clothed in spiny jungle, wherein lurking, he chooses theinopportune moment when the sportsman is hopelessly entangled, likeIsaac's ram, to rise chuckling and flee away to another hiding-place. Without dogs, he would be often extremely hard to find; but unluckily forhimself, being a true Kashmiri bird, he cannot help making a noise, andthereby betraying his presence. His corpse, when dead, is hard to find inthe jungle, and a runner is, of course, hopeless without canine help. Itis well, therefore, to kill him as dead as possible, and to that end Iused No. 4 shot, with, I think, a certain advantage over Walter, who shotwith No. 6, and who, in consequence, lost several birds. The friendliness and sociability of the beasts and birds of Kashmir hasbeen a great joy to us. The thing can be overdone, though, and both thewasps and the rats of Harwan were inclined to overstep the bounds ofdecorum. The latter were obviously overjoyed to see visitors, and visions ofunlimited plunder from our festive board would, of course, put themsomewhat above themselves. Still, they should have refrained from riotingso openly around our beds as soon as the lights were out, and Jane wasnaturally indignant when a large one ran over her feet! On Friday morning we left Harwan, pretty early, as usual, for it is stillsomewhat too warm to travel comfortably in the middle of the day. TheColonel (always an early bird) got away first, followed by our invalid inhis dandy, while Jane and I remained to hunt the loiterers out of camp. Aglorious morning, and the cheering knowledge that breakfast was in frontof us, sent us merrily along for a mile or two, until branching paths ledus to inquire of an intelligent Kashmiri, who appeared to be busilyengaged in reaping rice with a penknife, as to the road taken by ourprecursors, especially the tiffin coolie! The industrious one had seen no sahibs at all pass by. This was a blow, and Jane and I sat down to review the situation. We finally decided thatthe son of the soil was indulging in what the great and good WinstonChurchill has called a "terminological inexactitude, " as the others musthave gone by one of the two roads; so, putting our fortunes to the touch, we took the left-hand path, and were in due time rewarded by reachingSogul, and there finding our pioneers peacefully seated under a tree, andbreakfast ready. Leaving Sogul, we skirted for some miles a bare ridge which rose on theright, and which looked an ideal ground for chikor, and then turned into abeautiful valley drained by the Pohru, now quite a small and insignificantstream. Drogmulla, our objective, lies about fourteen miles from Harwan, and theforest house is a full mile beyond the village, at the end of a somewhatsteep and winding path. A welcome sight was the snug rest-house, perched upon a hillock above afussy little stream and surrounded by a fine clump of deodars. A tiny lawn in front was decorated with an artificial tank full ofwater-plants, and through the opening, among the trees, we saw the snowycrest of Shambrywa and the Kaj-nag rising over the deeply-wooded foothills. Drogmulla was so fascinating a spot, and the weather was so remarkablyfine, that we made up our minds to remain here for a few days. That oldred-bearded snake, the shikari, has sent the Colonel into a seventh heavenof anticipation by pointing to the encircling forest with promise of"pul-lenty baloo, sahib, this pul-lace. " We straightway ordained a honk. Our sick soldier is so much better since leaving Gulmarg that he is ableto hop "around" with considerable activity on his crutches. _Saturday, September_ 30, 4 P. M. --Walter and I have been bear-honking allday in a district reputed to be simply crawling with bears. I lovebear-honking; it is such a peaceful occupation. After a stiff and very hot scramble up a rugged hillside covered with theinfuriating scrub through which nothing but a reptile could crawl easily, the spot is reached within short range of which (in the opinion of the"oldest inhabitant, " backed up by the "Snake") the bear _must_ pass. Here the battery of rifles and guns is carefully arranged, and I proceedto wipe my heated brow and settle down to the calm enjoyment of the honk. Drawing forth my cigar-case, I am soon wreathed in the fragrant cloudsengendered by the incineration of a halfpenny cheroot, and, with a sigh ofsatisfaction, I spread out my writing or sketching materials and proceedto scribble or paint, calm in the knowledge that nothing on earth is inthe least likely to disturb the flow of ideas, or interrupt the laying onof a broad flat wash. Now and again, lazily, I lean back to watch thewitless hoverings of a big butterfly, or sleepily listen to the increasingsound of the tom-toms and the yells of the beaters, whose voices, as thoseof demons of the pit, rend the peaceful air and add to my sense ofOlympian aloofness! A feeling of drowsiness steals over me; that succulent cold chikor, followed by a generous slice of cake upon which I so nobly lunched, cloudssomewhat my active faculties, and the article--"A Bear Battue in theHimalayas"--which I am engaged in writing for the _Field_--seems to flag alittle. Come, come! Begone dull sloth--let me continue-- "As the sound of the beaters swells upon the ear, and the thunder of thetom-toms grows more insistent, the keen-eyed sportsman grasps more firmlythe lever of his four-barrelled Nordenfeldt and prepares to play upon thebears his hail of stinging missiles. Hark! The plot is thickening, behindyon dense screen at the end of the cover the ph---- bears are beginning tocrowd, the pattering of their feet upon the dead leaves sends a thrillthrough the beating heart of the expectant sportsman. A few bears breakback amid wild yells from the coolies. One or two odd ones dart out hereand there at angles of the covert. Steady! Steady! Here they are, following the lead of yon fine old cock; with a whirr and a rush thebouquet is upon us. The shikari, mad with excitement, presses the secondGatling and the light Howitzer into our hands as he screams: 'Bear toright, sahib!--Bear over!!--Bear behind!!! Bang--bang!'" "Eh? What? Oh, all right, shikari. Honk finished? Is it? Saw nothing? Dearme! how very odd. Very well, then gather up my guns and things, and we'llgo on to the next beat. " _Sunday, October 1_. --To-day being Sunday, we have been idle andhappy--sketching, loafing, and enjoying the scenery and the gloriousweather. Our bear-honk yesterday was only productive of annas to thebeaters, but we picked up some chikor on the way home, and we have foundmushrooms growing close to the hut, so that our lower natures are alsosatisfied. After lunch I mustered up energy sufficient to take me down tothe village to sketch a native hut which, surrounded by a patch of flamingmillet, had struck me on Friday as an extraordinary bit of colour. Janeand Walter, after many "prave 'orts" about climbing the ridge behindDrogmulla, contented themselves with a minor ascent of a knoll about fiftyfeet high, while the Lancer, reckless in his increasing activity, managedto trip over his crutches and give himself an extremely unfortunate fall. _Monday, October 2_. --There was a man who, during our bear-honk onSaturday, rendered himself conspicuous, partly by reason of his likenessto my shikari, and also because of his complete knowledge of thewhereabouts of all bears for many miles around. He was quite glad toimpart much information to us, and so won upon the sporting but tootrustful heart of the brave Colonel, that he was retained by that officerin order that he might show sport to the Philistines, and annas and evenrupees were bestowed upon him; and he and the old original "Snake" weresent forward on Saturday evening, as Joshua and Caleb, to spy out thepromised land in the neighbourhood of Tregam. Lured by rumours of many bears, Walter and I set forth at daylight forTregam, leaving Jane and the youthful Lancer (once more, alas! reduced tostiff bandages and a painful relapse) in possession of the hut. We "hadnagane a mile--a mile but barely twa, " when the old shikari met us with thepainful intelligence that two sahibs were already at Tregam, and hadkilled many bears there, grievously wounding the rest; so we alteredcourse eight points to port, crossed the Pohru, and made for Rainawari. A sharp climb over a wooded ridge (on the top of which we halted forbreakfast), followed by a steep descent, brought us into a flat andwell-cultivated plain, which sloped gently from the foothills of theKaj-nag to the bed of the Pohru. Everywhere, in the glowing sunlight, thevillagers were busily engaged in reaping the rice, which lay in ripe brownswathes along the little fields. The walnuts, of which there are a greatplenty in this district, have been lately gathered, some few trees onlystill remaining, loaded with a heavy crop, but the main produce lay dryingin heaps in the villages as we rode through. The road to Rainawari seemed curiously devious. A Kashmiri track seldomshies at a hill, but pursues its way, heedless of gradient, for itsobjective; but this path imitated a corkscrew in its windings, and reducedus to the utmost limit of our patience before, passing through a smallvillage whose dull-coloured houses were enlivened with gorgeous festoonsof scarlet chilies, we climbed a steep little hill and found ourselvesupon a park-like lawn or clearing, and facing the cluster of rough woodenshanties which compose the Rainawari forest bungalow and its outhouses. Behind the huts the densely-wooded hill drops sharply to where a stream ofgood and pure water riots among the maidenhair and mosses. A large and inquisitive company of apes came up from the wood to takestock of us, and I sat for a long time watching them as they played aboutquite close to me, feeding, chattering, and quarrelling, entirelyunconcerned by the presence of their human spectator. _Friday, October 6_. --All Tuesday was spent in honking bear in the lowerwoods which stretch far towards the Pohru. The high hills which rise above, covered with jungle, are said to be too large to work, and I can wellbelieve it! For the first drive I was posted on a steep bank overlooking amost lovely little hollow, where the shafts of sunlight fell athwart thegrey trunks and heavy green masses of the pines, lighting up the yellowleaves of the sumachs till they glowed like gold, and casting a flickeringnetwork of strong lights and shadows among the tangled mazes ofundergrowth. A happy family of magpies, grey-blue above, with barred tailsand yellow beaks, flitted about in restless quest, their constant criesbeing the only sound which broke the peaceful stillness, until the faintand distant sound of shouts and tom-toms showed that the first act of thefarce had begun. Towards the end of the third beat, while I was drowsily digesting tiffin, and, truly, not far from napping, I was electrified by the report of arifle, followed by yells and a second shot! The beaters redoubled theirshouts, and the tom-tommers seemed like to burst their drums. My shikari, writhing with extreme excitement, hissed, "Baloo, sahib, baloo!" and began aimlessly running to and fro, apparently hoping to meetthe bear somewhere. It was truly gay for a few minutes, but as nothingfurther occurred, and the beaters grew very hoarse with their prodigiousefforts, I hurried on to Walter's post to learn what had happened. A bear had suddenly come out of the cover some 40 yards off, and stood tolook. The Colonel missed it, whereupon it dashed forward, passing within afew yards of him, and he missed it again. It departed at top speed acrosssome open ground behind him, and gained the great woods which stretch awayto the Kaj-nag, and never shall we see that bear again! The Colonel wasmuch disgusted, and if language--hot, strong, and plenty of it--couldhave slain that bear, he would have dropped dead in his tracks. The beaters brought up a wonderful tale of how another bear, badly woundedin the leg, had charged through their lines and gone back. They stuck totheir story, and either a second bear actually existed or they arecolossal liars. I incline to the latter theory. We had wasted all our luck. No more bears came to look at us, and so, latein the afternoon, we sought the rest-house and consolation from Jane andHesketh, who had arrived from Drogmulla. I had occasion to deplore the bad manners of the rats at Harwan, but theirconduct was exemplary compared with that of the rats of Rainawari! I hadbeen writing my journal, according to my custom, before going to sleep, and hardly had "lights out" been sounded than a rat went off with mycandle, literally from below my very nose. Then, from the inadequatelypartitioned chamber where the invalid vainly sought repose, came sounds ofstrife--boots and curses flying--followed by an extraordinary scraping andscuffling. A large rat, having fallen into the big tin bath, was makingbids for freedom by ineffectually leaping up the slippery sides. At lasthe contrived to get out, and peace reigned until we managed to get tosleep. Wednesday was spent honking in the forlorn hope of a bear, I have nowspent more than fourteen days in pursuit of black bear, and I have onlyseen one. Every one said to me in spring, "Oh, go to the Lolab, it's fullof bear, " I went, and was informed that it was a late season and I was tooearly--the bears were not yet awake. I was consoled by learning that lateron, when the mulberries were ripe, the berry-loving beasts jostled oneanother in the pursuit of the delicacy so much, that they were no sport Iwent down from Gulmarg for three days, honking among the mulberries, butsaw none. Then I was told the maize season was undoubtedly the best. Nowthe maize is full ripe; the maize fields are tempting in their goldenglory, and the only thing wanting to complete the picture is a big, blackbear. Either my luck has been particularly bad (and I think it has, as theColonel got a fine bear below Gulmarg, and had another chance atRainawari), or else there are not so many bears in real life as exist inthe imaginations of those who know. My own theory is, that, unless he hasremarkable luck, a stranger, in the hands of an ignorant shikari, andknowing nothing of the language, has but a remote chance of sport. If theshikari does not happen to know the district thoroughly, he is necessarilyin the hands of the villagers, and has to trust to them to arrange thebeats and place the guns. The villagers want their four annas for a day'sshouting, but do not know or care if a bear is in the neighbourhood, so, having planted the gun (and shikari with him), they proceed to beat aftertheir own fashion, in other words to stroll, in Indian file, like geeseacross a common, along the line of least resistance, instead of spreadingout and searching all the thickest jungle. Much yelling serves both to cheer the sahib, and frighten away any bearwhich might otherwise haply frighten them. I cannot say I regret the time I have spent looking for bear. The sceneryhas always been fine--sometimes magnificent, and there has always been acertain cheering hope, which sustained me as I lay hour after hour in theMalingam Nullah, or sat expectant amid ever varying and always beautifulglades and passes, watching the bird life, and storing up scenes andmemories which I know I shall never forget. Alas! we have but a very few days yet before us in Kashmir, and it islamentable, for now the climate is simply perfect, the air clear and clean, and without the haze of summer; the first crispness of coming autumnmaking itself felt most distinctly in the early hours of morning ere "Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious sun uprist;" and each dawn saw us up and out to watch these sunrises, whose splendourcannot be expressed on paper. This morning it was more than usuallywonderful, the whole flank of Nanga Parbat and his lesser peaks, turningfrom clear lemon to softest rose, stood radiant above the purple shades ofthe great range which lies around Gurais. In the middle distance, risingabove the level yellow of the plain, still dim and shadowy below themorning light, rolled wave upon wave of the blue hills which hold in theirembrace the fruitful Lolab. At our feet the deodars, still dark with theshadow of night, crept up the dewy slope upon whose top we stood. Thensuddenly "The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, " flamed over the eastern ridges, and in a flood of glory the soft shadowsand pallid lights of the dawn became merged in the brilliance of a Kashmirautumn day. Our march yesterday from Rainawari to Kitardaji was charming. I had noidea that this Machipura country, which is not much visited by summersojourners in Kashmir, was so fine. The district lies along the lowershoulders and foothills of the Kaj-nag, and, while lacking the savagegrandeur of the Lidar or Upper Sind, yet possesses the charm of infinitevariety and, in this early autumn, a climate in which it is a pure joy tolive. On leaving Rainawari we followed up a river valley for some distance, and then wound through richly cultivated hollows and past well-woodedhills, where the dark silver firs and the deodars were lit up by splashesof scarlet and orange, and the deciduous sumach and thorn-bushes hung outtheir autumn flags. Walnuts--the trees in many places turning yellow--werebeing gathered into heaps, and the apple trees, reddening in the autumnglow, hung heavy with abundant fruit. Turning into a narrow gorge, where the trees overhung the path and shadedthe wanderer with many an interlaced bough; where ferns grew in greatgreen clumps, and the friendly magpies chattered in the luminous shade, Ihurried on, having stayed behind the others to sketch. Up and up, tillonly pines waved over me, and the track, leading along the edge of a deepkhud, opened out at last upon a plateau, hot and sunlit; here anentrancing panorama of Nanga Parbat and the whole range of mountains roundHaramok caused me to stop "at gaze" until a mundane desire for breakfastsent me scurrying down the dusty and slippery descent to Larch, where Ifound, as I had hoped, the rest of the party assembled expectant aroundthe tiffin basket, while the necromancer, Sabz Ali, had just succeeded inproducing the most delightful stew, omelette, and coffee from the usualnative toy kitchen, made, apparently, in a few minutes with a couple ofstones and a dab of mud! It has been an unfailing marvel to us how, in storm or calm, rain or fine, the native cook seems always able to produce a hot meal with suchapparently inadequate materials as he has at his command. Give him a firein the open, screened by stones and a mud wall, a _batterie de cuisine_limited to one or two war-worn "degchies, " and let him have a village fowland half-a-dozen tiny eggs, and he will in due time serve up, with modestpride, a most excellent repast. The remaining half of our twelve-mile march lay along a continually risingtrack, which finally brought us to Kitardaji, a cosy pine-built hut, perched upon a hill clothed with deodars, at the foot of which ran theinevitable stream. This, alas! is our last Kashmir camping-ground, and it is one of the mostcharming of all. At 8. 15 this morning we bade farewell to Kitardaji. We had got up beforedawn to see the sunrise, but afterwards took things leisurely, as themarch is short to Baramula, and our boats were to be in waiting there, andwe had made all arrangements for a landau and ekkas to be in readiness totake us down to Rawal Pindi, while the Colonel returned up the Jhelum formore shooting before rejoining his wife at Bandipur. The march of about thirteen miles from Kitardaji to Baramula is fine--theviews of Nanga Parbat in the early hours, before the sun's full strengthcast a golden glow over the distance, were magnificent, and long welingered upon the last ridge, gazing over the great valley, ringed withits guardian mountains, ere we sadly turned our backs for the last time onthe scene, and wended our way downward to Baramula and our boats. Kashmir seems to be as difficult to get out of as to get into! What wasour amazement and disgust to find neither landau nor ekkas, nor, apparently, any chance of getting them! Baramula was in a ferment, and wild confusion reigned because the Viceroy, having somewhat suddenly determined to come to Jammu, the Maharajah andall his suite, together with the Resident and his belongings, were tostart down the road at once, and all transport was commandeered by theState. Here was a coil! Officers innumerable, who had stayed in Kashmiruntil the limit of their leave, were struggling vainly to get on, and hadgot to Baramula only to find all transport in the hands of the Stateofficials. Some few had, by fair means or foul, got hold of an ekka or twoand hidden them; others had seized ponies, but nothing to harness them to. A few of the younger men set forth on foot, and others had their servantsout in ambush on the roads to try and collect transport. It was most important that we should get on, as Hesketh had to be in Pindito go before a medical board on the 14th, in order to be invalided home toEngland; and as he was most anxious to catch a steamer sailing on the 25th, he had no time to spare. I telegraphed to Sir Amar Singh for authority to engage ekkas, and I sentfor the Tehsildhar of Baramulla to complain of my ekkas being taken. Heappeared in due course--a somewhat pert little person--who promised to dowhat he could, which I knew would be nothing. A farewell dinner on boardWalter's ship concluded a fairly busy day. _Saturday, October 7_. --A strenuous day, to say the least of it. Sir AmarSingh most courteously met my wishes, and himself directed the localauthorities to assist me. Armed with this power, I again sent for theTehsildhar, who promised many ekkas, but appeared to have some difficultyin fulfilling his promises. I spent the forenoon in hunting transport, sending out my servants also in pursuit. The Tehsildhar produced one ekkawith great pomp, as earnest of what he could and would do later on. During the afternoon the landau turned up from Srinagar, and at 6 P. M. Oneof my myrmidons rushed in to say that two ekkas had arrived at the dâkbungalow. It was but a few yards away, and in a couple of minutes I was on the spot. The ekkas had come up from Pindi, and the sahib who had lured them toBaramula seemed astonished at my method of taking them over. In anuncommonly short while the ekkas were parked, with the landau, close tothe boats and under strict watch, while all harness was brought on boardmy dounga, just in time, as native officials of some sort romped up andclaimed the ekkas, and threatened to beat my servants. It was explained tothem gently, but firmly, that if they touched my ekkas or landau theywould taste the waters of the Jhelum. We were then left in peacefulpossession. _Tuesday, October 10_. --On Sunday morning we really saw our way to makinga start. We had three ekkas collected, and the Tehsildhar produced afourth with a great flourish, as though in expectation of a heavy tip. Thelandau was being piled with odds and ends while the last bits of businesswere being got through. Juma and his crew were paid and tipped (grumbling, of course, for the Kashmiri is a lineal descendant of the horse-leech). The shikari went to Smithson, and the sweeper and permanent coolie weretransferred to the assistant forest officer, while Ayata (in charge ofFreddie, the blackbird) scrambled into the leading ekka. By noon all was ready, and amid the rattle and jingle of many harnessbells and the salaams of the domestics, we bowled out of Baramula, and setforward down the valley of the Jhelum. CHAPTER XV DELHI AND AGRA The journey down was uneventful, and quite unlike the journey up, when wehad been briskly occupied in dodging landslips for days. A good road, white and dry, and sloping steadily downward; a good pair of ponies, strong and willing; a roomy landau, wherein Hesketh--still suffering fromhis fall at Drogmulla--could stretch himself in comparative comfort, combined to bring us to Kohala this afternoon in a state of excellentpreservation. Here we crossed the bridge, which brought us to the rightbank of the river--from Kashmir to British territory. Kohala is the proud possessor of one of the very worst dâk bungalows yetdiscovered. This seems disappointing when stepping under the folds of theUnion Jack full of high hope and confidence. Climbing up through a particularly noisome bazaar to the bungalow, I wasmet with the information that it was already full. I said that was a pity, but that room must be found for my party. Room was got somehow, a dâk bungalow being an extraordinarily elasticdwelling. Hesketh was stored in a little tent. I lodged in the dining-room, and Jane took up her quarters in a sort of dressing-room kindly given upby a lady, who bravely sought asylum with a sister-in-law and a remarkablystrong-lunged baby. I believe more travellers arrived later, for--although, thanks to Sir Amax Singh and good luck, we gained a goodstart at Baramula--now the tongas are beginning to roll in and the plot tothicken. I cannot think where the last arrivals bestowed themselves--not on theroof, I trust, for a thunderstorm, accompanied by the usual vigoroussquall of wind, fell upon us during the night, and raged so furiously thatI was greatly relieved to see the Lancer's little tent still braving thebattle and the breeze in the morning. We had a long day before us, so started in good time to make the tediousascent to Murree. It rained steadily, and a cold wind swept down the rivervalley as we began to make our slow way up the long, long hill. I never knew milestones so extraordinarily far apart as those which markthe distance between Kohala and Murree. There are twenty-five of them, distributed along a weary winding road which extends without an apparentvariation of gradient from Kohala to the Murree cemetery. The rise fromthe river level to Murree is 5000 feet, and this, in a heavy landau over aroad often deep in red mud, is a heavy strain on equine endurance andhuman patience. We had a fresh pair of horses waiting for us half-way up the hill, but theyproved absolutely useless, being obviously already dead tired and quiteunable to drag the carriage through any of the muddier places even withevery one but the invalid on foot. So we apologetically put the gallantgreys in again, poor beasties, and they took us up well. From the cemetery the road runs fairly level to where, upon rounding asharp corner, the hill station of Murree comes into sight, clinging to itshill-tops and overlooking the far flat plains beyond Pindi. I cannot imagine how anybody would willingly abide in Murree who could goanywhere else for the hot weather. There being no level ground, there isno polo, no cricket, and no golf. There is no river to fish in, and I donot think that there is anything at all to shoot. Doubtless, however, ithas its compensations. Probably it abounds in pretty mem-sahibs, who withbridge and Badminton combine to oil the wheels of life, and make it merryon the Murree hills. Leaving the station high on the left, we dipped in a most puzzling mannerdown a slope through a fine wood giving magnificent views towards thehills of our beloved Kashmir, and presently came to "Sunny Bank, " whence asteep road seemed to run sharply hack and up to Murree itself. It was late, and both we and our unfortunate horses were tired, but a hasty peep intothe little inn showed it to be quite impossible as a lodging, and a bitingwind sent us shivering down the hill as fast as might be to seek rest andwarmth at Tret. The good greys took us down the eleven miles in a very short time, and wepulled up at the dâk bungalow at 7. 30, having been just twelve hours doingthe forty miles from Kohala. The dâk bungalow and all the compound in front was crowded, detachments_en route_, from Murree to Pindi having halted here for the night. Heskethwas lucky enough to share a room with a brother Lancer, and a mixed bag ofGunners and Hussars made up a cheery dinner-table. The only member of the party showing signs of collapse was the unfortunateFreddie, who, shaken up in his small cage for three days in an ekka, seemed in piteous plight, feathers (what there were of them) ruffled andunkempt, and eyes dim and half closed. Poor dear, it was only sleep hewanted, for next morning he showed up, as his fond owner remarked, "brightas a button!" _12th_. --The road from Tret to Pindi seemed tame to us, but probablycharming to the horses, first down a few gently sloping hills, and thenfor the remainder of its six-and-twenty miles it wound its dull and dustylength along the level. We halted for our last picnic lunch in a roadside garden full of loquattrees and big purple hibiscus. The only curious thing here was a pi-dogwhich refused to eat cold duck! Certainly it was a _very_ tough duck, butstill, I do not think a pi-dog should he so fastidious. A few more level dusty miles, and we rattled into Rawal Pindi, where, after depositing our sick man safely in his own mess precincts, weproceeded to ensconce ourselves in Flashman's Hotel, which is certainlyfar better than the Lime Tree, where we stayed before. Indian hotels areabout the worst in the world. We have sampled rough dens in Spain, inTetuan, and in Corsica--especially in Corsica, but then they areunpretentious inns in unfrequented villages, whereas in India you find inworld-famous cities such as Agra or Delhi the most comfortless denscalling themselves hotels--hotels where you hardly dare eat half the foodfor fear of typhoid, and will not eat the rest because it is so unsavoury! It may be argued that the hotels, if bad, are cheap, and that one cannotreasonably expect much in return for five or six rupees per day; it seems, however, that in a country where food and labour cost next to nothing, agood landlord should be able to "do" his customers well upon five rupees, and make a substantial profit into the bargain. Probably, as the facilities for travel are rapidly increasing, and Indiais now as easy to reach as Italy was in days not so long by, the hotelswill soon improve. Hospitality, which is still to-day greater in the Eastthan in our more selfish Western regions, and which has, until quiterecently, obviated for strangers and pilgrims the necessity for hotels, isnow unable to cope with the increasing flood of visitors and wanderers; asthe need becomes more pressing, so will the supply, consequent upon thedemand, improve both in quality and quantity; and we have already heard ofthe new Taj Mahal Hotel at Bombay, the fame of which has been trumpetedthrough India, and which is said to rival in luxury the palaces of Ritz! The real and serious difficulty, and one which at present seemsinsurmountable, is to secure cleanliness and safety in that Augeanstable--the cook-house. Until the native can be brought to understand theinadvisability of using tainted water and unclean utensils, and ofpermitting the ubiquitous fly to pervade the larder--until, I say, thatmillennium can be attained, the danger of enteric and other ills willalways be very great in Indian hotels. _Friday, October_ 13. --Lunch with Dr. Munro, who surprised us somewhat byhaving married a wife since we played golf and bridge together at Gulmargonly a few weeks ago. Tea, a farewell repast with our invalid--who goesbefore a medical board in a few days, and who will then be doubtless senthome on long sick leave--and the despatch of our heavy luggage direct toBombay, occupied us pretty fully for the day; and in the evening, afterdinner, we took up our residence in a carriage drawn up in a siding to beattached to the 6. 30 mail in the morning. Our last recollection of Pindiwas a vision of the faithful Ayata, paid, tipped, and provided with aflaming "chit, " flapping along the road in the bright moonlight, with allhis worldly possessions, _en route_ for Abbotabad and home. _Saturday, October_ 14. --A prodigious amount of banging, whistling, andyelling seemed to be necessary before we could be coupled up to the earlytrain, and sent flying towards Lahore. It was impossible to sleep, and Iwas peacefully watching the landscape as it slid past, first in the pinkflush of early dawn, and gradually losing colour as the sun, gaining instrength, reduced everything to a white hot glow, when, scraping andbumping into a wayside station, we were suddenly informed that, owing tohot bearings or heated axles or something, we must quit our carriage atonce, and so, half dressed and wholly wrathful, we were shot out on a hotand exceedingly gritty platform, with our hand luggage and bedding all ofa heap, and with the whole length of the train to traverse to attain ournew carriage. Sabz Ali being curled up asleep in an "intermediate, " wasall unwitting of this upheaval. The officials were impatient, and so Janeand I were in a thoroughly unchristian frame of mind by the time we werestowed, hot and greatly fussed, into a stifling compartment, whosedust-begrimed windows long withstood all endeavours to open them. We reached Lahore about noon, and, having some six hours to dispose ofthere, we spent them in calm contemplation, sitting on the verandah ofNedou's Hotel. It was really too hot to think of sight-seeing. _Thursday, October 19_. --Another night in the train brought us to Delhi atdawn, and we drove up to the execrable caravansary of Mr. Maiden. I do notpropose to write much about Delhi. Every one who has been in India hasvisited the capital of the Moguls, whose wealth of splendid buildingswould alone have rendered it a supreme attraction for the sight-seer, evenhad it not played the part it did in the Mutiny, and been memorable as thescene of the storming of the Kashmir Gate and the death of John Nicholson. We, personally, carried away from Delhi an uncomfortable sense ofdisappointment. It was very hot, and Jane fell a victim to the heat orsomething, and took to her bed in the comfortless hotel, while I prowledsadly about the baking streets, and tried to work up an enthusiasm which Idid not feel. As soon as Jane was fit, we joined forces with a young fellow-countrymanand his sister, who were the only other English people in the hotel, anddrove out to see the Kutab Minar. On arrival we found a comfortable dâkbungalow, and, having made an excellent breakfast, sallied forth to viewthe Kutab. May I confess that I was again a little disappointed? I do notreally know exactly why, but the great tower, whose fluted shaft, dark redin the sunglow, shoots up some 270 feet into the air, did not appeal to me. It is like no other column--it is unique, marvellous, --but it leaves mecold. The splendid arch of the screen of the old temple, and the lovely columnsof the Jain temple opposite, attracted me far more than the Kutab Minar. Jane and young Buxton went off to see a native jump down a well fifty feetdeep for four annas. The performance sounded curious, but unpleasant. Thesightseers were much impressed! Meanwhile, Miss Buxton and I discovered avery modern and exceedingly hideous little Hindu temple, painted in themost appalling manner--altogether a gem of grotesqueness, and trulydelightful and refreshing. Tea in front of the dâk bungalow, in a corner blazing with "gold mohurs"and rosy oleanders, while the driver and the syce harnessed the lean pairof horses, a final visit to the Kutab and the great arch, and we faredback over the eleven bumpy miles that lay between us and Delhi. A good deal of my spare time, while Jane was _hors de combat_, was spentin the jewellers' shops of the Chandni chowk, the principal merchants'quarter of Delhi. I do not think that anything very special in the way ofa "bargain" is to be obtained by the amateur, although stones areundoubtedly cheaper than in London. I saw little really fine jewellery, probably because I was obviously unlikely to be a big buyer, but many goodspinels, dark topaz, and rough emeralds. The stones I wanted I failed toget. Alexandrites were not, and pink topaz scarce and dear. The dealersgenerally tried to sell pale spinels as pink topaz. Peridot are cheaper, Ithink, at home, and certainly in Cairo, and the only amethysts worthlooking at are sent out from Germany. The pale ones of the country comefrom Jaipur. By-the-bye, the best-coloured amethysts I ever rememberseeing were in Clermont Ferrand. Delhi has always been connected with gems in my mind. I am not certain why. Partly, perhaps, because the famous Peacock Throne of Shah Jehan stood inthe Palace here. I cannot resist giving the description of it in the wordsof Tavernier, who saw it about 1655, and who describes it as follows:-- "This is the largest throne; it is in form like one of our field-beds, sixfoot long and four broad. The cushion at the back is round like a bolster;the cushions on the sides are flat. I counted about a hundred and eightpale rubies in collets about this throne, the least whereof weighed ahundred carats. Emeralds I counted about a hundred and forty. " "The under part of the canopy is all embroidered with pearls and diamonds, with a fringe of pearls round about. Upon the top of the canopy, which ismade like an arch with four paws, stands a peacock with his tail spread, consisting entirely of sapphires and other proper-coloured stones;[1] thebody is of beaten gold enchased with several jewels; and a great RUBY uponhis breast, to which hangs a pearl that weighs fifty carats. On each aideof the peacock stand two nosegays as high as the bird, consisting ofvarious sorts of flowers, all of beaten gold enamelled. " "When the king seats himself upon the throne there is a transparent jewel, with a diamond appendant of eighty or ninety carats weight, encompassedwith rubies and emeralds, so hung that it is always in his eye. The twelvepillars also, that uphold the canopy, are set with rows of fair pearl, round, and of an excellent water, that weigh from six to ten caratsapiece. " "At the distance of four feet, upon each side of the throne, are placedtwo umbrellas, the handles of which are about eight feet high, coveredwith diamonds, the umbrellas themselves being of crimson velvet, embroidered and fringed with pearl. " "This is the famous throne which Tamerlane began and Shah Jehan finished;and is really reported to have cost a hundred and sixty millions and fivehundred thousand livres of our money. " One can picture the enraptured diamond merchant examining this masterpieceof Oriental luxury with awe-struck eye, appraising the size and lustre ofeach gem, and taking the fullest notes with which to dazzle his countrymenon returning to the more prosaic Europe from what was then indeed the"Gorgeous East!" This world-famous throne was seized by Nadir Shah, whenhe sacked Delhi in 1739, and carried away (together with our Koh-i-noordiamond) into Persia. Dow, who saw the famous throne some twenty yearsbefore Tavernier, describes _two_ peacocks standing behind it with theirtails expanded, which were studded with jewels. Between the peacocks stooda parrot, life size, cut out of a single emerald! _Friday, October_ 20. --Yesterday at 6 A. M. We spurned the dust of Delhi, hot and blinding, from our feet and clambered into the train, whichwhirled us across the sun-baked plain to Agra. There has been a woeful shortage of rain in the Punjab and Rajputana, anda famine seems imminent--not a great and universal famine, as, the monsoonhaving been irregular, only some districts have suffered to a seriousextent, and they can be supplied from elsewhere, whereas in the greatfamine of 1901 the drought parched the whole land, and no help could begiven by one State to another, all lying equally under the sun's curse. Not a great famine, perhaps; yet, to one accustomed to the genialjuiciness of the West, the miles and miles of waterless hot plains, stretching away to where the horizon flickered in the glare, the brown andparched vegetation, the lean and hungry-looking cattle, tended by equallylean and famished herds, caused the monotonous view from the carriagewindows to be strangely depressing. This is the very battle-ground of Nature and the British Raj. We havegiven peace and, to a certain extent, prosperity to the teeming millionsof India, and they have increased and multiplied until the land isoverburthened, and Nature, with relentless will, bids Famine andPestilence lay waste the cities and the plains. Then Science, withirrigation works and improved hygiene, strives hard to gain a victory, butstill the struggle rages doubtfully. Agra we liked as much as we disliked Delhi. To begin with creaturecomforts (and the well-being of the body produces a pair of _couleur derose_ spectacles for the mental eye), Laurie's Hotel at Agra is very muchmore comfortable than the den we abode in at Delhi, and after a goodtiffin we set forth with light hearts to see the Fort. This, the accumulated achievement of the greatest of the Mogul Emperors, is a magnificent monument of their power and pride. The earliest part, built by Akbar, is all of rich red sandstone. The great hall of audienceand other portions show his broad-minded tolerance and catholicity oftaste in being almost pure Hindu in style and decoration. Later, withJehangir and Shah Jehan, the high-water mark of sumptuousness was attainedin the use of pure white marble, lavishly inlaid with coloured stones. As we wandered through halls and corridors of marble most richly wrought, while the sun-glare outside did but emphasise the cool shade within, orfilter softly through the lace-like tracery of pierced white-marblescreens, one longed to reclothe these glorious skeletons with all the pompof their dead magnificence--for one magic moment replace the Great Mogulupon his peacock throne, surround him with a glittering crowd of courtiersand attendants, clothe the wide marble floors upon which they stand withrichest carpets from the looms of Persia and the North, and drape the tallwhite columns with rustling canopies of silk. Before the great audience hall let the bare garden-court again glow with amillion blooms; there let the peacocks sun themselves, their living jewelsputting to shame the gems that burn back from aigrette and from sword-hilt;see and hear the cool waters sparkling once again from their long-driedfounts, flashing in the white sunlight, and flowing over ducts cunninglyinlaid with zigzag bands to imitate the ripple of the mountain stream. The dead frame alone is left of all this gorgeous picture. Theimperishable marble glows white in the sunlight as it did in the days ofShah Jehan. The great red bastions of the Fort frown over the same placidJumna, and watch each morning the pearly dome of the Taj Mahal rise like amoon in the dawn-glow, shimmer through the parching glare of an Indian day, and at eve sink, rosy, into the purple shadows of swiftly-falling night, as they did when Shah Jehan sat "in the sunset-lighted balcony with hiseyes fixed on the snow-white pile at the bend of the river, and his heartfull of consolation of having wrought for her he loved, through the spanof twenty years, a work that she had surely accepted at the last. "[2] We spent a long afternoon in the Fort, and drove out finally through themonstrous gateway in a little Victoria, feeling all the time that none butelephants in all their glory of barbaric caparison could pass through sucha portal worthily. The moon was full almost a week ago, unfortunately, so we determined that, failing moonlight, our first visit to the Taj should be at sunset. The two miles' drive along an excellent road was delightful, and theapproach to the Taj has been laid out with much skill as a beautiful bitof landscape garden. This care is due to Lord Curzon, who has taken Agraand its monuments into his especial keeping. A very small golf-course has been laid out, and the familiar form of theenthusiast could be seen, blind to everything but the flight of time andhis Haskell, hurrying round to save the last of the daylight. Beneath a tree was laid out a tea equipage, and a few ladies indolentlyputting showed that, after all, the game was not taken too seriously. I have no intention of trying to describe the Taj Mahal. The attempt hasalready been made a thousand times. I may merely remark that thedetestable Indian miniatures, and little ivory or marble models that are, alas! so common, are incapable of giving an idea, otherwise thanmisleading, of this wonderful building, which is not--as they would vainlyshow it--glaring, staring, and hard, nor does its formality seem otherthan just what it should be. As we saw it first--opalescent in the soft, clear light of sunset--thechief impression it made upon us was that of size; for this we were quiteunprepared. As we approached it from the great red entrance arch, along a smooth pathbordering the central stretch of still, translucent water, the lovely domerose fairy-like from the masses of trees that, in their turn, formed abackground of solemn green for gorgeous patches of colour, in bloom andleaf, which glowed on either side as we advanced. Ascending a flight of steps to the wide terrace, all of whitest marble, upon which the Taj is raised, we realised that the detail of carving andof inlay was as perfect as the general effect of the whole. High as my expectations had been raised, I was not disappointed in the Taj, and that is saying much, for one's pre-formed ideas are apt to soar beyondbounds and to suffer the fate of Icarus. At the same time, I cannot agreewith Fergusson that the Taj Mahal is the most beautiful building in theworld. I do not admit that it is possible to compare structures of suchwidely divergent types as the Parthenon, the Cathedral of Chartres, theCampanile of Giotto, and the Taj Mahal, and pronounce in favour of any oneof them. It is as vain as to contend that the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner"is a finer poem than Keats' "Eve of St. Agnes, " or that the "Erl Konig" isbetter music than "The Moonlight Sonata. " Perhaps it is not too much to say that it is the loveliest tomb in theworld, and the finest specimen of Mohammedan architecture in existence. IfI dared to criticise what would appear to be faultless, I should humblysuggest that the four corner minarets are not worthy of the centrebuilding, reminding one rather of lighthouses. We spent a second day in Agra, revisiting the Fort and the Taj rather thanseeing anything new. We could have hired a motor and rushed out for ahurried visit to Fatehpur-Sighri, and there was temptation in the idea;but we decided to content ourselves with the abundant food for eye andmind which we had in these two wonderful buildings, and in the evening wetook the train for Jaipur. _Saturday, October 21. _--One is apt to be cross and fussed and generallyupset on being landed on a strange platform in the dark at 5. 30 A. M. , aswe were at Jaipur, but much solace lay in the fact that a comfortablecarriage stood waiting us and a most kind and genial host received us onthe broad verandah of his bungalow, and the cheering fact was borne inupon us that we shall have henceforward but little to do with Indianhotels. How one appreciates a large, cool room, good servants, good food, and last, but not least, the society of one's kind, after two or three weeks ofracket and discomfort by road and rail. A restful morning enlivened us sufficiently to enjoy a garden party at theResidency in the afternoon, where not only the English society, but alarge number of native gentlemen, were playing lawn-tennis with laudableenergy. After Kashmir, where Sir Amar Singh is the only native who mixes at allwith the English, it was interesting to see and meet on terms ofgood-fellowship these Rajput aristocrats. _Sunday, October_ 22. --The city of Jaipur is, I think, principallyinteresting as being modern and enlightened among those of the nativestates. When the ancient city of Ambér was abandoned, principally on account ofits scanty water-supply, Jaipur was built upon a regular and prearrangedplan, having a great wide street down the centre, crossed by two largethoroughfares at right angles, thus dividing the town into six rectangularblocks. We drove into the city in the afternoon, and were much impressed by itsairiness and cleanliness. The houses are all coated with pink stucco, picked out with white, which, in the bright atmosphere, has, at a littledistance, a charming effect. On closer inspection the real tawdriness andwant of solidity of the work become painfully apparent, and the designs inwhite upon the pink, in which the wayward fancy of each householder runsriot, generally leave much to be desired, both in design and execution. The broad, clean main streets were a perfect kaleidoscope of colour andmovement. Men in pink pugarees--in lemon-coloured--in emerald green; womenin blood-red saris, bearing shining brass pots upon their heads, alltalking, shouting, jostling--a large family of monkeys on a neighbouringroof added their quota of conversation--calm oxen, often with red-paintedhorns and pink-streaked bodies, camels, asses, horses, strolled about orpushed their way through the throng. No Hindu cow would ever dream ofmaking way for anybody. Yes, though! Here comes an elephant rolling along, and the holy ones with humps discreetly retire aside, covering theirretreat before a _force majeure_ by stepping up to the nearestgreengrocer's stall and abstracting a generous mouthful of the mostsucculent of his wares. Rising in the midst of a lovely garden, just outside the city, is theAlbert Hall, a remarkably fine structure, built in accordance with thebest traditions of Mohammedan architecture adapted to modern requirementsby our host, the designer. It contains both a museum of the products ofRajputana, and also an instructive collection of objects of art andscience, gathered together for the edification of the intelligent native. We would willingly have spent hours examining the pottery and brass workfor which Jaipur is famous, or in making friends with the denizens of thegreat aviary in the garden, but time is short, and even the baby panthercould only claim a few minutes of our devotion. The Palace of the Maharajah is neither particularly interesting norbeautiful, and we did not visit it further than to inspect the ancientobservatory built by Jey Singh, with its huge sundial, whose gnomon stands80 feet above the ground! What we are pleased to call a superstitiousattention to times lucky or unlucky has given to astronomical observationsin the East an unscientific importance which they have not had forcenturies in Europe. [3] A slight attack of fever prevented me from goingto Ambér; so I stayed at home, peacefully absorbing quinine, subsequentlyextracting the following from Jane's diary:-- "'Tea ready, mem-sahib. ' The familiar and somewhat plaintive sound of Sabz Ali's voice roused me, as it so often has in tent, forest hut, or matted dounga;" but this time I was really puzzled for a moment, on awaking, to findmyself in a real comfortable spring bed, white-enamelled andmosquito-netted, while for roof I only saw the clear, pale, Indian sky. Then it was I remembered that, at my host's suggestion, my bed had beencarried out into the shrubbery, and that I had fallen asleep, lulled bythe howling of the jackals and the rustle of the flying squirrels in thegold mohur-tree overhead. "Springing on to the cool, grassy carpet, and dressing quickly, to gain asmuch time as possible before the rising of the hot October sun, I was soonready for breakfast, which Miss Macgregor and I had in the garden amongthe parrots and the pigeons, and the dear little squirrels. We were readyfor the road before seven, and were soon trotting along between dustyhedges of gaunt-fingered cactus, shaded here and there by neem trees andpeepuls. " "Our smart victoria was lent by a Rajput friend of Sir Swinton's, and hehad also sent us his private secretary as guide and escort--a very thinyoung man in a black sateen coat and gay-flowered waistcoat. " "Through the pink-stuccoed streets of Jaipur we threaded our way--slowly, on account of the holy pigeons breakfasting in thousands on the road, andthe sacred bulls, who barely deigned to move aside to let us pass. " "It appears to be the custom, when a man dies, for his relatives to letloose a bull _in memoriam_, and the happy beast forthwith sets out to livea life of sloth and luxury. The city is his, and every green-grocer in itis only too much honoured if the fastidious animal will condescend to makefree with his cabbages. " "Once clear of the crowded streets, we got on quicker, and about six milesout we found the elephant which had been sent out from the royal stable tocarry us to Ambér. We climbed upon her (it was a lady elephant) in a greathurry, by means of a rickety sort of ladder, as we were told that anelephant, if 'fresh, ' was apt to rise up suddenly, to the great detrimentof the passenger who had 'not arrived. ' She was a very friendly-lookingcreature though, and her little eyes twinkled most affably; her face wasdecorated in a scheme of red and green, and her saddle was a sort of bigmattress surrounded by a railing. " "I am no judge of the paces of elephants, but this one seemed uncommonlyrough; and we held on vigorously to the railing until we reached a ridgeand saw the dead city of Ambér before us, dominated by the white marblepalace, standing on a steep cliff, and reflected in the water of the lakewhich laps its base. " "Up a steep and narrow path we mounted until we reached the courtyard ofthe ancient palace of the ruler of Ambér, and there we alighted from oursteed, and set out to explore the ruins. First we came to a small temple, ugly enough, but interesting, for here a goat is sacrificed every morningto Kali--a particularly hideous goddess, if the frescoes on the walls andthe golden image in the sanctuary are in any way truthful! Formerly ahuman sacrifice was customary, but the unfortunate goat is found to fulfilmodern requirements, since goddesses are more easily pleased or lesspampered than of yore. " "The Palace, which dates from the seventeenth century, is chieflyremarkable for its magnificent situation, and for its court and hall ofaudience of marble and red sandstone. " "This work was so fine as to excite the jealousy of the Mogul Emperor, sothe Prince of Ambér had it promptly whitewashed--and whitewashed itremains to this day. Some of the brazen doors are remarkably fine, as alsothose of sandal-wood, inlaid with ivory, in the women's quarters. " "We climbed to the marble court on the roof, where, canopied only by thesky and lighted by the moon, nocturnal durbars were held. Now, in theglare of the noonday sun, we fully appreciated the value of an eveningsitting, for it was impossible to remain grilling there, even though theview of the silent city below, falling in tier after tier to the lake--theglare only broken here and there by patches of green garden--was superb. On either side rose the bare, rocky ridges, fort-crowned and lookingformidable even in decay, while in front the dusty road stretched awayinto the haze of the dusty plains below. Of course, we should have visitedthe great Jain temples and other things worthy of note; but, alas! a greengarden, whose palms overhung the lake, proved more attractive than evenJain temples, and a charming picnic on fruits and cool drinks strengthenedus sufficiently to enable us to face the hot road home, buoyed up eachmile by the nearer prospect of a tub. " * * * * * Jaipur is celebrated for its enamelling on gold, so our host kindly sentfor an eminent jeweller to come and show us some trifles. Expectant of ahumble native carrying the usual bundle, we were much impressed when, indue time, a dignitary drove up in a remarkably well turned out carriageand pair. His servants were clad in a smart livery, and he himself wasresplendent, with uncut emerald earrings, and the general appearance of acertain Savoy favourite as the "Rajah of Bong"! Our spirits sank as he spread himself and his goods out upon thedrawing-room floor, which speedily became a glittering chaos of gold andjewelled cups, umbrella handles, boxes, scent-bottles, and necklaces. Janedivided her admiration between a rope of fat pearls and a necklace ofuncut emeralds, either of which might have been hers at the trifling priceof some 7000 rupees, but we finally restricted our acquisitions to verymodest proportions, and the stout jeweller departed, apparently no whitless cheerful than when he came. The modern brass-work of Jaipur is somewhat attractive, and we boughtvarious articles--a tall lamp-stand, an elephant bell, and a few ordinarybowls of excellent shape. I have remarked before on the extreme tameness of, and the confidenceshown by, wild creatures out here. A titmouse came and perched on the armof my chair while sitting reading on the verandah at Gulmarg. The rats and mice, who own the forest houses in the Machipura, have to bekicked off the beds at night. But the little grey squirrels in Sir SwintonJacob's garden are--_facile princeps_--the boldest wild-fowl we have yetencountered. Every afternoon about three, when tea was toward, the squirrels gatheredon the gravel path, and prepared to receive bread and butter. After a few nervous darts and tail whiskings, a bold squirrel would skipup close, and, after eating a little ground bait, would boldly come up andnibble out of a motionless hand. In two minutes half-a-dozen pretty littlecreatures would be fidgeting round, eating bread and butter daintily, neatly holding the morsel in their little forepaws and nuzzling into one'sfingers for more. A handsome magpie, and, of course, a contingent of crows, made up thefascinating party; while in the background, among the neem trees and theflaming "gold mohurs, " the minahs and green parrots sustained an incessantand riotous conversation. _Wednesday, October 25_. --Gladly would we have accepted the Jacobs'invitation to stay longer at Jaipur. We would have liked nothing better, but time was flying, and the 5th November--our day of departure fromBombay--was drawing rapidly near. So yesterday evening we took the 6. 30train for Ajmere, and, reaching there at 10. 30, changed into thenarrow-gauge railway for Chitor. We are becoming well accustomed tosleeping in an Indian train, and Sabz Ali had our beds unrolled and ourinnumerable hand luggage stowed away in no time, including four bottles ofsoda-water, which he has carefully garnered in the washstand, and which nohints, however broad, will induce him to relinquish. [1] "Au dessus du ciel qui est faite en voûte à quatre pans on voit un Paon, qui a la queue relevée fait de Saphirs bleus et autres pierres de couleur. "--TAVERNIER, livre ii. Chap. Viii. [2] _The Web of Indian Life_ [3] I fear this is somewhat misleading. Jey Singh was, _par excellence_, an astronomer, not an astrologer, --T. R. S. CHAPTER XVI UDAIPUR We arrived, very sleepy and gritty, at Chitor at 5. 30 A. M. , to find anunprecedented mob of first-class passengers _en route_ for Udaipur, andonly one very minute compartment in which to stow them. The station-master--a solemn Baboo, full of his own importance, becominglyclad in a waving white petticoat, with bare legs and elastic-sided boots, surmounted by a long cutaway frock-coat, topped by a black skull-cap, andfinally decorated by a pen behind his ear--seemed totally unable to copewith the terrible problem he was set to solve. I suggested that another carriage should be put on, but he had none, norany solution to offer; so we cleared a second-class compartment anddivided the party out, and then, with five people in our tiny compartment, we set out on the fifty-mile run to Udaipur. Five people in a carriage in Europe is nowise unusual, but five people inan Indian one (and that a narrow, very narrow gauge), accompanied by rollsof bedding, tiffin-baskets, and all the quantity of personal luggage whichis absolutely necessary, not to speak of a large-sized bird-cage (whichcannot, strictly speaking, be classed as a necessary), requires theingenuity of a professional packer of herrings or figs to adjust nicely! By cramming the toilet place with bedding, khudsticks, a five-foot brasslamp-stand, and the four soda-water bottles, we made shift to stowportmanteaux, bags, tiffin-baskets, &c. , under the seats and ourselvesupon them, and then arranged a sort of centre-piece of Jane's big tinbonnet-box, surmounted by Freddy in his cage. The other passengers werevery amiably disposed, and not fat, and they even went so far as topretend to admire Freddy--a feat of some difficulty, as he is still verybald and of an altogether forbidding aspect. This admiration so won uponthe heart of Jane, that in the fulness thereof she served out biscuits anda little tinned butter all round, while Freddy cheerfully spattered foodand water upon all indiscriminately. About eighteen miles from Udaipur we passed the ruins of Ontala. Here, inthe stormy time when Jehangir had seized Chitor, there happened adesperate deed. The Rana of Mewar, expelled from his capital, determined to attack andretake Ontala. Now, the Rajputs were divided into clans as fiery as any ofthose whose fatal pride went far to ruin Bonnie Prince Charlie at Culloden. The Chondawats and the Saktawats both claimed the right of forming thevanguard, and the Rana, unable to pronounce in favour of either, subtlydecided that the van should be given to the clan which should first enterOntala. The Saktawats then made straight for the one and only gateway to thefortress, and, reaching it as day broke, almost surprised the place, butthe walls were quickly manned and defended. Foiled for a moment, theleader of the Saktawats threw himself from his elephant, and, placinghimself before the great spikes with which the gate was protected againstthe assault of the beast, ordered the mahout to charge; and so a crushedand mangled corpse was forced into the city on the brow of the livingbattering-ram, in whose wake the assailants rushed to battle. Alas! his sacrifice was in vain. The Chondawat chief was already in Ontala. First of the stormers with scaling-ladders, he was shot dead by thedefenders ere reaching the top of the rampart, and his corpse fell backamong his dismayed followers. Then the chief of Deogurh, rolling the bodyin his scarf, tied it upon his back, fought his way to the crest of thebattlements, and hurled the gory body of his chieftain into the city, shouting, "The vanguard to the Chondawat!" It is further told how, when the attack began, two Mogul chiefs of notewere engaged within upon a game of chess. Confident of the strength of thedefence, they continued their game, unheeding the din of battle. Suddenlythe foe broke in upon them, upon which they calmly asked for leave tofinish their interesting match. The request was granted by the courtlyRajputs, but upon its termination they were both put to death. Udaipur lies in a well-cultivated basin, shut in by a ring of arid hills. After skirting the flanks of some of the outlying spurs, we bustledthrough a tunnel and drew up at a bright little station, draped with greatblue and pink convolvulus. And this was Udaipur. We were picked out of the usual jabbering, jostling, gibbering crowd ofnatives by our host, who, looking most enviably cool and clean, took hisheated, dishevelled, and unbarbered guests off to a comfortable carriage, and we were quickly sped towards tiffin and a bath. The station is a long way from the town, as the Maharana, a most staunchconservative of the old school, having the railway more or less forcedupon him, drew the line at three miles from his capital, and fixed theterminus there. One cannot help being glad that the prosaic steam-engine, crowned with foul smoke and heralded by ear-piercing whistles, has notbeen allowed to trespass in Udaipur, wherein no discordant note is struckby train line or factory chimney, and where everything and every one is aswhen the city was newly built on the final abandonment of Chitor, theancient capital of Mewar. Here in the heart of the most conservative of native States, whose ruler, the Maharana, Sir Fateh Singh, claims descent from that ancient luminarythe Sun, we found novelty and interest in every yard of the three milesthat stretch between the station and the capital. The scrub-covered deserthas given place to a wooded and cultivated valley, ringed by a chain ofhills, sterile and steep. The white ribbon of the road, through whose dustplough stolid buffaloes and strings of creaking bullock-carts, is borderedby tall cactus and yellow-flowered mimosa on either side. Among the treesrise countless half-ruined temples and chatries; on whose whitewashedwalls are frequent frescoes of tigers or elephants rampant, and ofwonderful Rajput heroes wearing the curious bell-shaped skirt, which wastheir distinctive dress. The people too, their descendants, who crowd the road to-day, areremarkable--the men fine-looking, with beards brushed ferociously upwards, and all but the mere peasants carrying swords; the women, dark-eyed, andsingularly graceful in their red or orange saris, and very fullbell-shaped petticoats. Upright as darts, they walk with slightly swayinggesture, a slender brown arm upraised to support the big brass chatties ontheir heads, revealing an incredible collection of bangles on arms andankles. These women are the descendants of those who, in the stormy daysof the sixteenth century, while the Rajput princes still struggledheroically with the all-powerful Mogul emperors, preferred death to shame, and, led by Kurnavati (mother of Oodi Singh, the founder of Udaipur), accepted the "Johur, " or death by fire and suffocation, to the number of13, 000, while their husbands and brothers threw open the city gates andwent forth to fight and fall. As we drew near our destination the towers of the Maharana's Palace roseup above the trees, gleaming snowy in the cloudless blue. The browncrenellated walls of the city appeared on our left, and, suddenly sweepinground a curve, we found ourselves by the border of a lovely lake, whoseblue-rippled waters lapped the very walls of the town. In the foreground aglorious note of colour was struck by a group of "scarlet women" washingthemselves and their clothes by the margin. Up a steep incline, and we found ourselves before a verandah, blazingoverhead with bougainvillea, and our hostess waiting to receive us beneathits cool shade. In the afternoon, refreshed and rested, we went down to the shore, whereour host had arranged for a state-owned boat and four rowers to be inwaiting. Armed with rods and fishing tackle, we proceeded to see Udaipurfrom the lake which washes its northern side. First crossing a smalllandlocked bay bordered on the left by a long and picturesque crenellatedwall, and passing through a narrow opening, we found ourselves in a seconddivision of the water; on the left, still the wall, with adelightful-looking summer-house perched at a salient angle; on the right, small wooded islands, the haunt of innumerable cormorants, who, with snakynecks outstretched, watched us suspiciously from their eyrie. A curious white bridge, very high in the centre, barred the view of themain lake till, passing through the central arch, we found ourselves in ascene of perfect enchantment. Before us the level sheet of molten silverlay spread, reflecting the snowy palaces and summer-houses that stood amidthe palms and greenery of many tiny islands. On the left the city rosefrom the water in a succession of temples and wide-terraced buildings, culminating in the lofty pile of the Palace of the Maharana. Here, on thisenchanted lake, we rowed to and fro until the sun sank swiftly in the westand the red gold glowed on temple and turret. Then, with our catch, about 15 lbs. Weight of most excellent fish, werowed back past the white city to the landing-place, and, in the gatheringdark, climbed the hillock upon which stood our host's bungalow. We spent a week at Udaipur--a happy week, whose short days flew by far tooquickly. The weather was splendid; hot in the middle of the day--for theseason is late, and the monsoon has greatly failed in its coolingduty--but delightful in morning and evening. Rising one morning at early dawn, before the sun leaped above the easternhills, we took boat and rowed to one of the island palaces, where, afterfishing for mahseer, we breakfasted on a marble balcony overlooking theripples of the Pichola Lake, which lapped the feet of a group of greatmarble elephants. Not the least interesting expedition was to the south end of the lake oneafternoon to see the wild pigs fed. Traversing the whole length of thePichola, past the marble ghâts where the crimson-clad women washed andchattered, while above them rose the roofs and temple domes of the fairycity culminating in the walls and pinnacles of the palace--past the fleetof queer green barges wherein the Maharana disports himself whenaquatically inclined, we left the many islands marble-crowned on our right;and finally landed at a little jutting ledge of rock, whence a jungletrack led us in a few minutes to a terrace overlooking a rocky and steepslope which fell away from the building near which we stood. The scene wassurprising! Hundreds of swine of all sorts and sizes, from grim slab-sided, gaunt-headed old boars, whose ancient tusks showed menacing, to theliveliest and sprightliest of little pigs playing hide-and-seek amongtheir staid relatives, were collected from the neighbouring jungle toscramble for the daily dole of grain spread for them by the Maharana. A cloud of dust rose thick in the air, stirred up by the busy feet andsnouts of the multitude, and grunts and squeals were loud and frequent asa frisky party of younglings in their play would heedlessly bump upagainst some short-tempered old boar, who in his turn would angrily butt atoo venturesome rival in the wind and send him, expostulating noisily, down the hill! Beyond the crowd of swine on the edge of the clearing, a few peacocks, attracted by the prospect of a meal, held themselves strictly aloof fromthe vulgar herd. The whole city of Udaipur is a paradise for the artist--not a corner, nota creature which does not seem to cry aloud to be painted. The onlydifficulty in such _embarras de richesses_ of subject and such scantinessof time, is to decide what not to do. Hardly has the enthusiastic amateur sat down to delineate the stately pileof the palace, soaring aloft amid its enveloping greenery, than he isattracted by a fascinating glimpse of the lake, where, perhaps, a royalelephant comes down to drink, or a crimson-clad bevy of Rajputni lassesstoop to fill their brazen chatties with much chatter and laughter. Bewildered by such wealth of subject, one is but too apt to sit at gaze, and finally go home with merely a dozen pages of scribbles added to thelittle canvas jotting-book! The Palace of the Maharana is a very splendid pile of buildings, as seenfrom some little distance crowning the ridge which rises to the south ofthe lake, but it loses much of its beauty when closely viewed. It is, ofcourse, not to be compared architecturally with the master-works of Agraand Delhi, and the internal decorations are usually tawdry anduninteresting. The entrance is fine; the visitor ascends the steep streetto the principal gate, a massive portal, strengthened against thebattering of elephants by huge spikes, and decorated by a pair of theseanimals in fresco-rampant. Beyond the first gate rises a second or innergate. On the right are huge stables where the royal elephants are kept, and on the left stand a row of curious arches, beneath one of which theMaharanas of old were wont to be weighed against bullion after a victory, the equivalent to the royal avoirdupois being distributed as largesse tohis people! Within the gates, a long and wide terrace stretches along the entire frontof the Palace, on the face of which is emblazoned the Sun of Mewar, theemblem of the Sesodias. This terrace was evidently the happy home of agreat number of cows, peacocks, geese, and pigeons, which stalked calmlyenough, among the motley crowd of natives, and gave one the impression ofa glorified farmyard. The building itself, like most Indian palaces, iscomposed of a heterogeneous agglomeration in all sorts of sizes and styles. Each successive Maharana having apparently added a bit here and a bitthere as his capricious fancy prompted. Jane visited the armoury to-day with the Resident, who went to choose ashield to be presented by the Maharana to the Victoria Museum at Calcutta. I chose to go sketching, and was derided by Jane for missing such a chanceof seeing what is not shown to visitors as a rule. She whisked away ingreat pomp in the Residential chariot, preceded by two prancing sowars onhorseback, and subsequently thus related her experiences:-- * * * * * "We really drove up far too fast to the Palace, I was so much interestedin the delightful streets; and we just whizzed past the innumerableshrines and queer shops, and frescoed walls, where extraordinary lions andtigers, and Rajput warriors, riding in wide petticoats on prancing steeds, were depicted in flaming colours. I wanted, too, to gaze at the nativewomen, in their accordion-pleated, dancing frocks of crimson or dark blue;but it seemed to be the correct thing for a 'Personage' to drive as fastas possible, and try to run over a few people just to show them whatunconsidered trifles they were. Well, we were received at the entrance tothe Palace by one of the Prime Ministers. There are two PrimeMinisters--one to criticise and frustrate the schemes of the other; theresult being, as the Resident remarked, that it is not easy to get anybusiness done. Our Prime Minister was dressed in a coat of royal purplevelvet, on his head was wound a big green turban, and round his neck hunga lovely necklet of pearls and emeralds, with a pendant of the same, hehad also earrings to match. It was truly pitiful to see such ornamentswasted on a fat old man. " "Going up a narrow and rather steep staircase, we came to a small hallfull of retainers of his Highness, waiting until it should please him toappear and breakfast with them, for it is the custom of the Maharana tomake that meal a sort of public function. In the middle of the hallreposed a big bull, evidently very much at ease and quite at home!" "A few more steps brought us to the door of the armoury. This is small andbadly arranged, which seems a pity, as there were some lovely things. Chain armour and inlaid suits lay about the floor in heaps; and we wereshown the saddle used by Akbar during the last siege of Chitor. The mostremarkable things, however, were the Rajput shields, of which there weresome beautiful specimens. They are circular, not large, and made, some oftortoiseshell, some of polished hippo hide, &c. One was inlaid with greatemeralds, a second had bosses of turquoise, and a really lovely one wasinlaid with fine Jaipur enamel in blue and green. There were swords simplyencrusted with jewels--one with a hilt of carved crystal; another was acuriously-modelled dog's head in smooth silver, and I noticed a beauty inpale jade. Altogether it was a most fascinating collection, different from, but in its way quite as interesting, as the fine armoury at Madrid. " Thus did Jane triumph over me with her description of what she had seenand what I had missed; and I had been trying to delineate the Temple ofJagganath, and had been disastrously defeated, for it is indeed acomplicated piece of drawing, and the children, both large and small, crowded round me to my great hindrance. Therefore, it was not until I hadbeen soothed with an excellent lunch, and the contents of a very longtumbler, that I felt strong enough to take an intelligent interest in thecontents of the Maharana's curiosity-shop! _Monday, October_ 30. --The more we see of Udaipur the more we are charmedwith it. The whole place is so absolutely unspoilt by modernism, is sopurely Eastern--and ancient Eastern at that--that we feel as though wewere in a little world far apart from the great one where steam andelectricity shatter the nerves, and drive their victims through life athigh pressure. Ringed in by a rampart of arid hills, beyond which the scrub-covereddesert stretches for miles, the peaceful city of Udaipur lies secluded inan oasis, whose centre is a turquoise lake. High in his palace theMaharana rules in feudal state, and, like Aytoun's Scottish Cavalier, "A thousand vassals dwelt around--all of his kindred they, And not a man of all that clan has ever ceased to pray For the royal race he loves so well. " For to his subjects the Maharana is little less than a divinity, for is henot a direct descendant of the Sun? Likewise is he not the chief of theonly royal house of Rajputana, who disdained to purchase Mogul friendshipat the price of giving a daughter in marriage to the Mohammedan? There are greater personages among the ruling Princes of India, accordingto British ruling--Hyderabad, for instance. And in the matter ofprecedence and the number of guns for ceremonial salutation, the Chief ofMewar--like other poor but proud nobles--is treated rather according tohis actual power than the cloudless blue of his blood. Hence he isextremely unwilling to put himself in a position where he might fail toobtain the honour which he considers due to him. He was most averse fromattending the Delhi Durbar, but such pressure was put upon him that he wasinduced to proceed thither in his special train running, as far asChitorgarh, upon his own special railway. He reached Delhi, and hissponsors rejoiced that they had indeed got him to the water, although theyhad not exactly induced him to drink. As a matter of fact, the Maharana, having gone to Delhi to please the British authorities, promptly returnedto Udaipur to please himself, alleging a terrific headache as reason forinstant departure from the capital, without his having left his very ownspecially reserved first-class compartment! He may not be a willing guest, but he is evidently disposed to be anexcellent host, for great preparations are toward for the reception of thePrince of Wales, who is expected in the course of a fortnight or so. The Residency, too, is being swept and garnished, the garden alreadylooking like a miniature camp, with tents for the suite all among theflower-beds. _Tuesday, October_ 31. --A day or two ago we arose betimes, and beforesunrise embarked in the State gig (which was always, apparently, placed atour host's disposal on demand), and set forth to catch fish for ourbreakfast, and then proceed to eat the same on one of the island palaceson the lake. We did not catch many fish--the mahseer were shy thatmorning--but fortunately we did not entirely depend on the caprices of themahseer for our sustenance, and a remarkably well-fed and contentedquartette we were when we got into the gig while the day was yet young, and rowed home as quickly as might be in order to escape the heat which atnoonday is still great. This afternoon we went for a (to us) novel tea picnic. A State elephantappeared by request, and we climbed upon him with ladders, and heproceeded to roll leisurely along at the rate of about two and a halfmiles an hour towards the foot of a hill, on the top of which stood asmall summer palace. The afternoon was warm, and the rhythmic pace drowsy, but our steed wasdetermined to amuse us and benefit himself. So he blew great blasts ofspray at his own forelegs and chest to cool himself, and now and then madeshocking bad shots at so large a target, and, getting a trifle too muchelevation, nearly swept us from our lofty perch. Fortunately his stock of spray gave out ere long, or he found that theincreasing gradient of the hill took all his breath, for we were left atleisure to admire the widening view until we reached the top. Here we had tea in one of the cool halls, and then sat watching the sunsink towards the hills that stretch to Mount Aboo. To the south-east lay Udaipur, milk-white along the margin of its "marléd"waters. On our way home we met with an adventure. While prattling to my hostess, Iobserved that our toes were rising unduly, the saddle or howdah beingseated somewhat after the fashion of an outside car. Glancing over myshoulder I descried Jane and her partner far below their proper level. Thehowdah was coming round, and our steed was eleven feet high! Agonisedyells to the gentleman who guided the deliberate steps of the pachydermfrom a coign of vantage on the back of his neck, awoke him to anappreciation of the situation. The elephant was "hove to" with allpossible despatch, and we crawled off his back with the greatest celerity. We then sat down by the roadside and superintended the righting of thesaddle and the tautening of the girths by several natives, who "took inthe slack" with an energy that must have made the poor elephant very"uncomfy" about the waist! I secretly hoped it was hurting him horribly, as I had not forgiven him for his practical jokes on the way up. We had no more thrills. Resuming our motor 'bus, in due course, we werelanded opposite the top of our host's verandah, whereupon the beast shuthimself up like a three-foot rule, and we got to ground. The inexorable flight of time brought us all too soon to the limit of ourstay at Udaipur. Early on Wednesday the 1st November, therefore, we badeadieu to the capital of the State of Mewar, and, accompanied by our kindhost and hostess, set out to spend a day in exploring the ruined city ofChitor before taking train for Bombay. As we drove to the station, we passed the group of ancient "chatries" ortombs of dead and gone Ranas of Mewar, and halted for a short inspection, as, the train by which we were to travel to Chitorgarh being a "special, "we were not bound to a precise moment for our appearance on the platform. Jane, who is perfectly Athenian in her passion for novelty, decided totravel on the engine, and proceeded to do so; until, at the firsthalting-place, a grimy and somewhat dishevelled female climbed into ourcarriage, and the next half-hour was fully occupied in scooping smuts outof her eyes with teaspoons. It had been arranged that an elephant should await our arrival atChitorgarh to take us up to the ancient city, but a careful search intoevery nook and cranny failed to reveal the missing animal. So my host and I set out on foot to cross a mile or so of plain whichspread in deceptive smoothness between us and the ascent to the city. Whatseemed a serene and level track became quickly entangled in a maze ofrough little knobs and nullahs, and we took a vast amount of exercisebefore arriving at the old bridge which spans the Gamberi River. Meanwhile, towering over the scrubby bushes and surrounded by a dusty halo, the dilatory pachyderm bore down upon us, and, after the mahout had beeninterviewed in unmeasured terms by my host, went rolling slowly to thestation to pick up the ladies. The ancient city of Chitor lies crumbling and desolate on the back of along, level-topped hill, which rises solitary to the height of some fivehundred feet above the far-stretching plain. Kipling likens it to a greatship, up the sides of which the steep road slopes like a gangway. At thefoot lies the modern village, squalid but picturesque. As we toil, perspiring, up the long ramp which for a weary mile slopessidelong up the scarped flank of the mountain, and pass through the sevengates which guarded the way, and every one of which was the scene of manya grim and bloody struggle, I will try to sketch the outline of thehistory of the famous fort, for many centuries the headquarters of theroyal race of Mewar. The Gehlotes, or (as they were afterwards styled) the Sesodias, claimdescent from the Sun through Manu, Icshwaca, and Rama Chandra, as indeeddo the other Rajput potentates of Jaipur, Marwar, and Bikanir, the Rana ofMewar, however, taking precedence owing to his descent from Lava, theeldest son of Rama. The ancient dynasty of Mewar has fallen from its high estate, but thehistory of its rise is lost in the mists of grey antiquity. "We can trace the losses of Mewar, but with difficulty her acquisitions. .. . She was an old-established dynasty when all the other States were inembryo. " Long before Richard of the Lion-heart fared to Palestine to wrestthe Holy City from the infidel, "a hundred kings, its (Mewar's) allies anddependants, had their thrones raised in Chitor, " to defend it against thesword of the Mohammedan; while overhead floated the banner displaying thegolden sun of Mewar on a crimson field. Some centuries later the Crusaders brought to Europe from the plains ofPalestine the novel device of armorial bearings. Chitor itself appears to have been in possession of the Mori princes until, in A. D. 728, it was taken by Bappa, who, though of royal race, was broughtup in obscurity by the Bhils as an attendant on the sacred kine. Thisshepherd prince, ancestor of the present Rana of Mewar, became a nationalhero, and many legends are still current concerning him and his romanticdeeds. The story of his "amazing marriage, " by which he succeeded inwedding six hundred damsels all at once, is one of the most curious. Bappa, while still a youth, was appealed to, one holiday, by the frolicsomemaidens of a neighbouring village, who, led by the daughter of theSolankini chief of Nagda, in accordance with the custom upon thisparticular saint's day, had come out to indulge in swinging, but who hadforgotten to supply themselves with a swinging-rope. Bappa agreed to getthem one if they would play his game first. This the young ladies readilyagreed to do; whereupon, all joining hands, he danced with them a certainmystic number of times round a sacred tree. "Regardless of their doom, the little victims played, " and finally dispersed to their homes, entirely unconscious that they wereall as securely married to Bappa as though they had visited Gretna Greenwith him. Some time afterwards, upon the engagement of the Solankini maiden to aneligible young man, the soothsayer, to whom application had been made withregard to fixing a favourable and auspicious wedding-day, discovered fromcertain lines in her hand that the girl was already married! Thus thewhole story came out, and no less than six hundred brides assumed thetitle of Mrs. Bappa. He seems to have had a passion for matrimony, for when an old man he lefthis children and his country, and carried his arms west to Khorassan, where he wedded new wives and had a numerous offspring. He died at the ageof a hundred! From the days of the very much married Bappa, until the time of Samarsi, who was Prince of Chitor in the thirteenth century, the city continued toflourish and increase in power and importance. Samarsi, having marriedPirtha, sister of Prithi Raj, the lord of Delhi, joined his brother-in-lawagainst Shabudin. For three days the battle raged, until the scale fellfinally in favour of Shabudin, and the combined forces of Delhi and Chitorwere almost annihilated. "Pirtha, on hearing of the loss of the battle, her husband slain, her brother captive, and all the heroes of Delhi andCheetore 'asleep on the banks of the Caggar in a wave of the steel, 'joined her lord through the flames. " From that time forward the history of Chitor is but a tale of sack andslaughter, relieved in its murkiest days by flashes of brilliant heroismand self-sacrificing devotion while the chivalrous Rajputs struggledvainly against the successive waves of the Mohammedan invasions, which ina fierce flood for centuries swept over India, and deluged it with blood. In the year 1275 Lakumsi became Rana of Chitor. His uncle Bheemsi hadmarried Padmani, a fair daughter of Ceylon, and her beauty was such thatthe fame of it came to the ears of Alla-o-din, the Pathan Emperor. He promptly attacked the fortress, but without success for a long period, until he agreed to a compromise, declaring that if he could merely see theLady Padmani in a mirror he would be contented and raise the siege. His request was granted, and, trusting to the honour of a Rajput, heentered the city unattended, and was rewarded by a sight of this EasternHelen reflected in a mirror. Desirous of showing equal faith in a nobleenemy, Bheemsi accompanied Alla back to his lines, but there he wascaptured and held to ransom, Padmani being the price. Word was now sent to the Emperor that Padmani would be delivered to him, and seven hundred covered litters were prepared to convey her and herladies to Delhi, but each litter was borne by six armed bearers, andcontained no "silver-bodied damsels with musky tresses, " but onlysteel-clad warriors, who, upon arrival in the Moslem camp, sprang fromtheir concealment as surprisingly as Pallas from the head of Zeus. Alla-o-din was, however, not to be caught napping, and, being prepared forall contingencies, a fierce combat took place, and the warriors of Chitorwere hard put to it to stand their ground until Bheemsi had escaped to thestronghold on a fleet horse. Then the devoted remnant retreated, pursuedto the very gates by their foes. The flower of Chitor had perished, butthey had achieved their object. This was called the "half sack" ofChitor. [1] Fifteen years later, Alla-o-din once more attacked Chitor, and this timethe assaults were so deadly that the garrison was decimated and utterannihilation stared the survivors in the face. Then to the Rana appearedthe guardian goddess of the city, who warned him that "if twelve who wearthe diadem bleed not for Chitor, the land will pass from the line. " Nowthe prince had twelve sons, and, in obedience to the goddess and in hopeof eventually saving their dynasty, eleven of them cheerfully headedsorties on eleven following days, and were slain, until only Ajeysi, theyoungest, was left alive. Then the Kana prepared for the end. He sent theboy Ajeysi with a small band by a secret way, and he escaped to Kailwarra, so that the royal race of Chitor should not become extinct. Then the womenof the city, with the noble Padmani at their head, accepted the Johur;"the funeral pyre being lighted within the great subterranean retreat, "they steadfastly marched into the living grave rather than yieldthemselves to the will of the conqueror. All being now ready for the lastact of the hideous drama, the Rana caused the gates to be opened, and withhis valiant remnant of an army fell upon the foe only to perish to a man, and then, and not till then, did the victorious Alla set foot of aconqueror within Chitor, where now no living thing remained to stay himfrom razing her deserted temples to the ground. The palace of Padmanialone was spared in this, the first "saka" of Chitor. [2] The wrecked stronghold remained an appanage of the Mogul until Hamir, who, though not the direct heir of Ajeysi, had gained the chieftainship throughhis valour, and who, having married a ward of the Hindu governor of Chitor, by her help regained possession of the fortress. Defeating the Emperor Mahmoud, Hamir entered Chitor in triumph, and onceagain the standard of the Sun floated over its blood-stained rocks. TheEmperor Mahmoud himself was led captive into Chitor, and kept prisonerthere for three months until he regained his liberty by surrenderingAjmere, Rinthumbore, Nagore, and Sooe Sopoor, with fifty lacs of rupeesand a hundred elephants. By this victory Hamir became the sole Hinduprince of power in India; and the ancestors of the present lords of Marwarand Jaipur brought their levies and paid homage, together with the chiefsof Boondi, Abu, and Gwalior. Then ensued for Chitor a period of splendid prosperity, during which rosemany noble buildings, amongst the ruins of which the great Tower ofVictory still soars supreme. This splendid monument[3] was raised tocommemorate the victory gained by Koombho over Mahmoud, King of Malwa, andthe Prince of Guzzerat, who in A. D. 1440 had formed a league againstChitor. The Rana met them at the head of 100, 000 troops and 1400 elephants, and overthrew them, and the commemorative tower was begun in 1451 andfinished in ten years. The State of Mewar reached the zenith of her glory in 1509, when 80, 000horse, seven rajas of the highest rank, nine raos, and 104 chiefs bearingtitles of rawul or sawut, with 500 elephants, followed Rana Sanga ofChitor into the field. The Mogul Baber, who captured Delhi in 1527, was yet unwilling to face theordeal of battle with the warlike Rajputs, but in the following year Sangamarched against him at the head of the princes of Rajast'han. A terriblebattle ensued, which long inclined in favour of the Rajputs, until, through the treachery of a Tuar chief, they were defeated, and the star ofMewar began to decline, although so severe had been the struggle thatBaber dared not follow up his victory. In 1533 Chitor suffered her second "saka" at the hands of Buhadoor orBajazet, Sultan of Guzzerat, who, after a grim struggle, obtained afooting at the "Beeka" rock, and, springing a mine there, blew up 45cubits of rampart and killed the Prince of the Haras, with five hundred ofhis kin. Then the Queen-Mother, Jowahir Bae, clad in armour, headed asally, and was slain before the eyes of all. The entrance to the city being forced, the heir of the Sesodias, theinfant Oodi Singh, son of Sanga, was placed in safety, while Bagh-ji, Prince of Deola, assuming royalty, prepared to die, for Chitor could onlybe retained by the Rajput princes while guarded by royalty. The horrible Johur was decreed, and 13, 000 women, headed by Kurnavati, themother of Oodi Singh, [4] marched to death and honour through the "GauMukh, " or entrance to the subterranean tomb; while the city gates werethrown open, and the defenders sallied forth. "Every clan lost its chief, "and 32, 000 Rajputs were slain during the siege and storm. Now Kurnavati had bound Hamayoun, the son of Baber, to her cause by acurious ceremony: she having sent him the Rakhi (bracelet), and he havingbestowed on her the Katchli (corselet), he was bound, in consequence ofthis bond, to assist the lady in any time of need. Too late to save Chitor, he retook it, and restored Bikramajit to the throne; but the guardiangoddess had turned her face from the doomed city, and its final fall wasat hand. The Emperor Akbar, having laid almost all India at his feet, determined to bring the proud princes of Rajputana into subjection. Heattacked Chitor, but was foiled by the masculine courage of the Rana'sconcubine queen. Again, in 1568, the Emperor Akbar attacked, and this time he found thefated city in evil case, for Oodi Singh, [5] the Rana, for whom in infancyhis nurse had sacrificed her own child, was a degenerate son of his race. He left Chitor to be defended by his lieutenants Jeimul and Putta. In the first "saka" by Alla, twelve crowned heads defended the "crimsonbanner" to the death. In the second, when conquest, at the hand of Bahadur, came from the south, the chieftain of Deola, a noble scion of Mewar, claimed the crown of glory and of martyrdom. But on this, the third andgreatest struggle, no royal victim appeared to appease the Cybele ofChitor and win her to retain its battlements as her coronet. When Jeimul fell at the Gate of the Sun, the command devolved upon Puttaof Kailwa, a lad of sixteen. His mother commanded him to don "the saffronrobe, " then, with him and his young bride, she fell full armed upon thefoe, and the heroic trio died before the eyes of the war-worn garrison. Once more was the Johur commanded, while 8000 Rajputs ate the last "beera"together, and put on their saffron robes. The gates were thrown open, "andfew survived to stain the yellow mantle by inglorious surrender. " Thus in the blood-red cloud of battle sank for ever the Sun of Chitor; forfrom this, the third and last "saka, " the ruined city never rose. Her doomhas been as the doom of Babylon, of which Isaiah declared: "It shall neverbe inhabited, neither shall it be dwelt in from generation togeneration . .. But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and theirhouses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there. .. . And the wild beasts . .. Shall cry in their desolate houses, and . .. Intheir pleasant palaces:. .. Her days shall not be prolonged. " The top of the long ascent being reached, the last gate, the Hathi Pol, ispassed, and the wayfarer finds himself in the midst of the great dead city, which lies in ruins for three miles along the bastioned brow of themountain. Just beyond the first group of stately ruins, we came on the buildingwhich was probably the palace built by Lakha Rana in 1373. Here we sat andrested until the elephant, bearing the ladies and the lunch, stalkedsedately round the jutting angle of a decayed fort, and then we wended ourway along a road lined with many a half-fallen temple, until we reachedthe ancient palace where, six hundred years ago, dwelt the ill-starredPadmani, whose loveliness brought such woe upon Chitor. Here, in a coolchamber overlooking the tank, upon the brink of which the palace stands, we lunched; afterwards threading our way among the fallen fragments ofmany a stately shrine and palace towards the high point on which the greatJain Tower of Fame rears its deeply-sculptured shaft into the sky. For a thousand years the innumerable stone gods which encircle the towerin endless profusion have watched with sightless eyes over the city. Greyalready with age were they when they saw, raised in pristine beauty, theshattered domes and broken columns which now lie prone in the brushwoodfar beneath their feet. What ghastly scenes those stony faces havesurveyed, when, swept by the scathing steel, the city has run red withblood, and her defenders have fallen to the last man. One crowning horror, though, they have been always spared, for no maid or matron of Chitor everdeigned to bow her neck beneath the yoke of the Mogul, but rather dared toface a fiery death in the bowels of the great cavern beneath the city thanyield her honour to the conqueror. The Tower of Fame is being repaired by the present Rana, under thesuperintendence of our host and a party of native workmen. Masons and mostskilful carvers in stone were busily engaged in the restoration of partsthat had fallen into dangerous decay--an extremely flimsy-lookingscaffolding, made apparently of light bamboos, tied together in wisps, andforming a fragile-looking ramp, wound spirally up the outside of the tower. My host seemed to consider it a perfectly safe means of ascent, and as theworkmen did not appear to slip off in any appreciable numbers I feltconstrained to go up. I should like to have done it on all fours! Theclimb was well worth undertaking, as it enabled one to inspect theastonishing and finely-carved figures which encrust the whole exterior ofthe column. From the Tower of Fame we made our way to the other great landmark ofChitor--the Tower of Victory. Passing and examining _en route_ many elaborately-carved temples, whosedomes rose amid the strangling masses of desert tree and shrub, we came tothe base of the red tower, whose shaft, four-square and in perfectpreservation, has, with its more venerable brother of Fame, watched for somany centuries over the fallen fortress of Chitor. Not far away, the rocky wall on which the city stands is shattered into agloomy chasm, half-hidden in rank vegetation, which, clinging with knottedroot to ledge and crevice, hangs darkly over a stagnant pool. Here was theawful portal, "the Gau Mukh, " or "cow's mouth, " by which, when all waslost to Chitor save honour, her women entered the subterranean cavernwhile the fuel was heaped high, and an honourable death by suffocationawaited them. The burning Indian day was over, and the sun blazed red in the west, as wemounted our elephant and paced along the road towards the Hathi Pol. Darker grew the ghostly domes and shattered battlements against a goldensky, and the swift southern night fell, dark yet luminous, as we turneddown the hill and left the dead city, splendid in its loneliness andisolation, asleep within its crumbling walls. Our dinner-table was set out on the platform of the station at Chitorgarh, and our bedrooms were close by, our host and hostess sleeping in the"special" by which they were to return to Udaipur in the morning, while weslept in a siding, ready to be coupled up to the early train from Bombay. Late into the warm and balmy night we paced the platform; for there seemedto be always something still to say, and we found it hard to part from ourcharming friends; realising, too, that this was the end of our holiday, and that before us lay merely the toil and bustle of a return tocommonplace, everyday life. At last, though, the final fag-end of acheroot was thrown away, the last hand-grips given, and the parting came. There is little more to say. All Thursday we rushed through the wide landscape; saw the parched plainsstretch far into the dusty horizon; saw the lean men and leaner cattle, towhom the grim spectre of famine is already foreshadowed; flew pastpopulous villages and creaking water-wheels, noting every phase of a scenenow familiar, yet always delightful. Late in the evening we changed at Baroda, and dawn next morning saw usspeeding across the swamps and inlets, which gave place ere long to thepalm groves and clustering houses which marked the farther limits of thesuburbs of Bombay. We found the heat--damp and oppressive--very trying after the drier air ofRajputana, and the Taj Mahal Hotel below our expectations in all respectssave price. It is undoubtedly better than most Indian hotels, but yet itis not good! Bombay is chiefly connected in our minds with the inevitable fuss andworry of packing and departure. As we left the Taj Mahal Hotel, in a conveyance piled high withmiscellaneous baggage, we saw the last of our faithful and indispensableSabz Ali, as he hurriedly quitted the hostelry in our wake, fearful lestundue delay should jeopardise the possession of the spoils he was carryingoff, wrapped in bulging bundles of goodly size. Jane and I were sorrier, I think, to part with him than he with us. Afterall, we were but troublesome charges, for whose well-being he had toanswer to "General 'Oon Sahib, "--charges who had not been quite so lavishwith their incalculable riches as they should have been, and who doled outrupees, and even annas, with a sorely grudging hand; still I think SabzAli, as he made his way to the station, with many rupees lining his inmostgarments, and a flaming "chit" carefully stowed away, felt a certainregret at parting from the "sahibs, " who had really shown a very fineappreciation of his merit, and were sending him back with much honour tohis own country. Late in the afternoon, as the spires and roofs of the city stood darkagainst the sky, and the many steamers and native dhows showed black upona flood of liquid gold, the _Persia_ got under way, and we slowly left theanchorage, steaming out into the fading light. We stood long, leaning over the bulwarks and watching the lights of Bombay, at first so distinct, melt gradually into a line of tiny stars as the gulfwidened that separated us from the land where we had spent so many happydays. I wonder if we shall ever revisit it? I trust so . .. And yet---- "As a rule it is better to revisit only in imagination the places whichhave greatly charmed us . .. For it was not merely the sights that onebeheld which were the cause of joy and peace. However lovely the spot, however gracious the sky, these things external would not have availed butfor contributory movements of mind and heart and blood--the essentials ofthe man as then he was. "[6] [1] These notes on the history of Chitor are taken, it need hardly be said, from Tod's _Rajast'han_, he being _the_ authority on Rajputana. An account of the above incident is given somewhat differently by Maurice in his _Modern History of Hindostan_ (1803), who also relates that Akbar used the same trick to enter Rhotas in Behar, after being long baffled by the apparent impregnability of that fortress. [2] The Jain Tower of Fame was also left standing, it dates from about A. D. 900. [3] It is also attributed to Lakha Rana, A. D. 1373. [4] And sister of the Rahtore queen, Jowahir Bae. [5] The infant Oodi Singh being threatened with death by conspirators, his Rajputni nurse hid him in a fruit-basket, and, covering it with leaves, had it conveyed out of the fort, substituting her own child just as Bimbir, the usurper, entered the room and asked for the prince. Her pallid lips refused to utter sound, but she pointed to the cradle and saw the swift steel plunged into the heart of her child. [6] "Henry Ryecroft" APPENDIX I BIG GAME LICENSE No. I, Price Rs. 60 (sixty only). This license will remain in force from the 15th of March 190 to the 15thNovember 190, and is subject to the Kashmir Stata Game Laws; it permitsthe Licensee to shoot the undermentioned game in the Districts and Nullahsopen to sportsmen, and, subject to Rules 8 and 9 of these Laws, small gamebetween the above dates. ----------------------+---------------+--------------+---------+--------- | No. Permitted | No. Actually | Size of |District. Name of Animal. | to be | shot. | heads. | | shot. | | |----------------------+---------------+--------------+---------+---------Markhor of any variety| 2 | | |Ibex | 4 | | |Ovis Hodgsoni (Ammon) | 1 | | |Ovis Vignei (Sharpu) | 4 | | |Ovis Nahura (Burhal) | 6 | | |Thibetan Antelope | 6 | | | Do. Gazelle | 1 | | |Kashmir Stag | 2 | | |Serow | 1 | | |Brown Bears | 2 | | |Tehr | 6 | | |Goral | 6 | | |Pigs, Black Bears and | No limit. | | | Leopards | | | |----------------------+---------------+--------------+---------+--------- _Name of Licensee_____________________________________________Address______________________________________________________Signature of Licensee on returning License__________________ N. B. --This portion of the License to be returned to the Secretary, Game Preservation Department. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- NAME OF SHIKARIES, &c. , EMPLOYED------+-------+--------+-------+----------------------------------------- |Name of| |Nature | _Place of Residence_. |Serial|Shikari|Father's| of +---------+--------+----------+ REMARKS. No. | or | Name. |employ-| Village | Tehail | District | |Coolie. | | ment. | | | |------+-------+--------+-------+---------+--------+----------+----------- | | | | | | | | | | | | | |------+-------+--------+-------+---------+--------+----------+----------- This License does not permit the Licensee to shoot in any of the closedtracts or preserves mentioned in Rules 2 and 10, Kashmir State Game Laws, nor in the Gilgit district, nor in the Astor or Kaj-nag districts, without the special permit laid down under Rule 2. _Dated_ ____ (Sd. ) AMAR SINGH, GENERAL, RAJA, _The_ ______ _Vice-President of Council, Jammu and Kashmir State_. I certify that a copy of Kashmir State Game Laws, 190, has been issuedherewith, _Signature of Official granting License_ ___________________ NOTE--This License will be shown on demand and is not transferable. A fee of Re. 1 will be charged for a duplicate copy. APPENDIX II From the earliest times the Kashmiris have been objects of contempt andderision, whilst the women have been--perhaps unduly--lauded for theirlooks and general excellence. The Kashmiris themselves are of opinion that "once upon a time" they werean honourable and valiant folk, brought gradually to their presentcondition by foreign oppression. To a certain extent this is probably true, but, according to the_Rajatarangini Kulan_, they were noted for dishonesty and cunning longbefore the evil days of conquest and adversity. Bernier speaks well of themen, calling them witty and industrious. Doubtless the Kashmiri character, originally none too good, was ruined during the long years of cruelty andinjustice to which he was subjected by the Tartars, Afghans, and Sikhs, who, from the day when Akbar put him into women's clothes, treated him assomething lower than a brute. Forster, writing in 1783, abuses the Kashmiri, whom he stigmatises as"endowed with unwearied patience in the pursuit of gain. " He speaks of thevile treatment to which he was subjected by his then rulers the Pathans, observing that Afghans usually addressed Kashmiris by striking them with ahatchet, but, he concludes, "I even judged them worthy of their adversefortune. " Elphinstone (1839) is of opinion that "the men are excessively addicted topleasure, and are notorious all over the East for falsehood and cunning;"and again, "The Cashmerians are of no account as soldiers. " "Many fowls in a yard defile it, and many Kashmiri in a country ruin it, "says the proverb. Lawrence goes very fully into the Kashmiri character, and dwells upon its few good points, giving him credit for great artisticfeeling, quick wit, ready repartee, and freedom from crime against theperson. He considers the last merit, though, to be due to cowardice andthe state of espionage which exists in every village! I was told (but perhaps by a prejudiced person) of a Kashmiri who, duringthe great flood of 1903, he being safely on the shore, saw his brotherbeing swept down the boiling river, clinging to his rapidly disintegratingroof. The following painful conversation ensued:-- "Whither sailest thou, oh brother, perched upon the birch bark of thineancestral roof?" "Ah! brother dear. Save me quick! I drown!" "Truly that can I; but say, what recompense wilt thou give me?" "All I have in the world, brother--two lovely rupees. " "Tut, tut, little one; thou takest me for a fool. Two rupees, forsooth, for five perchance I will deign to save thy worthless life. " "Three, then, three, carissimo--'tis all I have--and make haste, for Ifeel my timbers parting, and I know not how to swim. " "Farewell, oh, dearest brother! I could not possibly think of taking somuch trouble for three rupees, especially as, now I come to think of it, Ican borrow a singhara pole, and, in due time, will prod for thy corpse inthe Wular! Mind thou wrappest the lucre snugly in thy cummerbund, that itbe not lost--farewell, little brother!" While the gentlemen of the Happy Valley have been lashed by the tongue andpen of every traveller, the ladies, on the contrary, have been ratheroverrated. In all communities where the men are invertebrate the women become thereal heads of the family, doing not only most of the actual work, but alsotaking the dominant position in affairs generally. This I have observedstrikingly in the case of the three "slackest" male races I know--theFantis of the Gold Coast, the Kashmiri, and the crofters of the WestHighlands. Opinion is divided on the question of female loveliness in Kashmir. Marco Polo (who probably only got his ideas of "Kesmur" from hearsay)echoed the prevalent opinion by saying, "The women although dark are verycomely" (ch. Xxvii. ). Bernier is enthusiastic: "Les femmes surtout y sonttrès-belles, " and hints at their popularity among the Moguls. Moorcroft, Vigne, and others swelled the laudatory chorus until Forster, "having been prepossessed with an opinion of their charms, suffered asensible disappointment, " and even was so rude as to criticise the ladies'legs, which he considered thick! Lawrence saw "thousands of women in the villages, and could not remember, save one or two exceptions, ever seeing a really beautiful face;" but theheaviest blow was dealt them by Jacquemont, who, as a gay Frenchman, should have been an excellent judge: "Je n'avais jamais vu auparavantd'aussi affreuses sorcières!" APPENDIX III I had hoped to have given, through the kindness of Colonel Ward, a fulllist of the birds of Kashmir. Up to the time of going to press, however, the complete list has not been made out. A very large proportion, however, has been published in the _Journal of the Bombay Nat. Hist. Society_. Iwould refer those desirous of a knowledge of the birds of Kashmir to theabove Journal for 23rd April and 20th Sept. 1906, and 15th Feb. 1907. Alsoto Hume and Henderson's _Lahore to Yarkand_, and to Le Mesurier's _Game, Shore, and Water Birds of India_, to which I am indebted for thefollowing:-- "In Kashmir, out of 116 genera of land birds, 34 have a wide range, 32 arecharacteristic of the Palar Arctic, 29 of the Indian, and 21 of theHimalo-Chinese sub-region. Only one species is peculiar to Kashmir, a verynormal bullfinch (pyrula). " The flora, which is most interesting, has yet (as far as I know) to betreated independently of the neighbouring regions. Royle is scientific butantiquated, and I know of no better list than that given by Lawrence inhis _Valley of Kashmir_. APPENDIX IV It may interest any one intending a trip to Kashmir to see a note ofreasonable expenses as incurred by two people during a nine-month absencefrom England. Therefore I append a précis of ours. It is to be remembered that a saving might be effected in many particularsby any one knowing something of the country. We had to buy our experience. Fully £10 or £12 could be saved in wages, as at first we had a fightingtail like "Ta Phairson" of "four-and-twenty men and five-and-thirtypipers"--and pipers have to be paid! We also hired tents when we did notreally require them. Against these outgoings, however, it should be bornein mind that, thanks to the kindness of friends, we paid a merely nominalrent for a "State" hut at Gulmarg. At Abbotabad, Jaipur, and Udaipur, also, we had no hotel bills to meet. PRÉCIS OF EXPENSES--TWO PERSONS LONDON TO KARACHI (25 Days) £ s. D. £ s. D. Half-Return fares, 1st class, London to Trieste, and thence by Austrian Lloyd (unaccelerated) 60 0 0Hotels, sleeping-car, gratuities, wine bills, &c. 16 15 0Baggage expenses 8 15 7 ---------- 85 10 7 BOMBAY TO LONDON (25 Days)Share of fares 60 0 0Hotel expenses and sundries, as before 10 6 8Baggage expenses, dock dues, &c. 17 11 4 ---------- 87 18 0 KARACHI TO SRINAGAR (16 Days)Rail and baggage expenses to Pindi 12 6 8Landau and two ekkas to Srinagar, inclusive of gratuities, tolls, &c. 10 10 8Hotels, Dàk bungalows, &c. 13 18 9Duty on firearms (repayable on leaving) 1 16 8Resais, waterproof for luggage, kettles, &c. 1 19 3Servant's fare to Karachi, wages, &c. 2 12 8 ---------- 43 4 8 ------------- _Carry forward_ 216 13 3 EXPENSES IN KASHMIR (6 Months) £ s. D. £ s. D. _Brought forward_ 216 13 3 Food, wine, washing, cigars, &c. 72 7 3Wages, inclusive of various clothes 42 9 9Amusements, golf and tennis subscriptions, &c. 11 7 2Hire of boats, tents and equipment 17 6 5Transport coolies and ponies 33 14 11Hire of hut at Gulmarg 5 6 8Sundry furniture, cooking gear, yakdans, &c. 9 0 8 ----------- 191 12 10 BARAMULA TO BOMBAY (1 Month) Landau and four ekkas, with gratuities and tolls. 13 14 0Dâk bungalows, hotels, &c. 18 5 8Wages, inclusive of gratuities 6 14 0Rail, Pindi to Bombay (_viâ_ Udaipur) 16 17 0Baggage 5 2 8Hire of carriages, &c. 1 4 11 ---------- 61 18 3Loss by exchange on cheques. 5 19 7 ------------ Total 476 3 11 ============ INDEX AND NOTES ABBOTABAD, A frontier station garrisoned by a mobile force of Gurkhas and Royal Artillery, whence any descent from the Black Mountain or Chilas country can be checked. Named after Lieutenant Abbot, who reduced the neighbourhood to order in 1845-48. Aden, Occupying a warm corner just outside the straits of Babol-Mandeb; was the first addition made to the British dominions in the reign of Queen Victoria, having been taken from the Arabs in 1839. Agates, Agra, Rose to importance under the Moguls, becoming their seat of government after Akbar quitted the city he had built, Fatehpur-Sighri, until Aurungzeb removed the seat of government to Delhi. Akbar, The third, and in many ways the greatest, of the six "Great Mogul" Emperors of India. A warrior first, he consolidated his conquests with the genius of an enlightened statesman. Alsu, A small village on the north-west shore of the Wular Lake. Amar Singh (General Raja Sir Amar Singh, K. C. S. I. ), Brother of His Highness Sir Pratab Singh, G. C. S. I. , Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir; is Vice-President of the States Council and owner of much land in Kashmir, the prosperity of which he has done much to promote. Ambér, The ancient capital of Jaipur; was built in the eleventh century, its Rajput rulers being the powerful allies of Chitor during her struggles against the Mohammedan invasion. The Palace was built by Raja Maun, _circa_ 1600, in the days of Akbar, whose cousin he was by marriage ( _comp_. ). Ambér was deserted in 1728 by Jey Singh for his new city of Jaipur. Amethyst, This stone should be much worn in Scotland, particularly on New Year's Day, it having been (according to the Greek derivation of the name) an antidote to drunkenness!Amira Kadal, The highest of the seven bridges at Srinagar; a fine modern structure, replacing that built by Amir Khan Jawan Sher, the Pathan, who also built Sher Garhi. Anda, Egg. Anna, the sixteenth part of a rupee, value one penny. Apharwat, One of the Pir Panjal range, which rises above Gulmarg, height 14, 500 feet. Aru, A small village, beautifully situated about seven miles above Pahlgam. Asti, "Go slow. "Astor, A district on the main route from Kashmir to Gilgit, the village is about ninety-two miles from Bandipur. Two passes (the Rajdiangan, or Tragbal, 11, 800 feet, and the Boorzil, 13, 500 feet) have to be crossed. About ten passes are issued each season to sportsmen, markhor and ibex being the game. Atchibal, A village seven miles from Islamabad, where many springs burst out from the rocks. Atchibal was a favourite pleasure-garden of the Mogul Emperors, the remains of which still exist. Aurungzeb, The last of the six "Great Moguls"; deposed and imprisoned his predecessor Shah Jehan in 1658, and reigned until 1707. Bigoted and intolerant, he shares with Sikander the odium of having destroyed many of the ancient Hindu temples of Kashmir. Avantipura, The modern village is near the extensive ruins named after King Avanti Verma, which formed once the capital of Kashmir. Bahamarishi, (_Baba-pam-Rishi=_Father Smoothbeard. ) A village some three miles below Gulmarg; the ziarat is named after a rishi, or ascetic, of the sixteenth century. Baloo, (Kashmiri, _Harpat_) "Rara avis in terras, nigroque similima cignis. " _Anglicè_, a bear. Bandipur, An important village on the north shore of the Wular Lake, the starting-point for Gilgit, &c. Oddly enough, Bandipur is not marked on the Ordnance Map. Bandobast, A bargain or arrangement. Bappa, An eighth-century Rajput hero, and ancestor of the present chiefs of Mewar; appears to have had strong Mormon proclivities. Baramula, The third town in Kashmir, having some 900 houses, is built on the Jhelum at its outflow from the Kashmir Valley: it is also built on the west focus of seismic disturbance in Kashmir, and was destroyed by an earthquake in 1885, when 3000 Baramulans were killed. We were unaware of these interesting facts on the morning of April 4! The "Palms of Baramoule, " which Moore sang of, are like snakes in Iceland--they do not exist. Bara singh, The Kashmir stag. Bawan, Beera, Bejbehara, The ancient Vijayasvara, a picturesque village and bridge about four miles below Islamabad. Bernier, F. , a Frenchman attached to the court of Aurungzeb as medical adviser; wrote _Voyage à Kachemire_. Bhanyar, Bheostie, The Indian Aquarius--the water-bearer. Bhils, Birch, (Kashmiri, _Burza_) The bark used in making the paper for which Kashmir was noted, also for roofing, it being strong and impervious to water. Blue pine, _Pinus Excelsa_, (Kashmiri, _Yar_. )Bombay, Books on Kashmir:(1) Bernier, _Voyage à Kachemire_ (Utrecht, 1724); (2) Forster's (G) _Journey from Bengal to England_ (London, 1798); (3) Moorcroft, _Travels in Kashmir, &c. _ edited by Wilson, 1841; (4) Jacquomont (V), _Voyage dans l'Inde_ (Paris, 1841); (5) Vigne (G. T. ), _Travels in Kashmir, &c. _, 1844; (6) Hugel's _Travels_, 1845; (7) Drew, _Jummoo and, Ktishmir Territories_; and (8) Lawrence's _Valley of Kashmir_ 1895. Budmash, A scoundrel. Bund, An embankment or dyke to bank a river. Burra, Big, or great. Carnelian, "Flesh-stone"--for origin read Marryat's _Pacha of Many Tales_Chakhoti, Chandni Chowk, Chaplies, Chappar, Paddle with heart-shaped blade. Chatris, The cenotaphs of the Maharanas of Mewar; they stand in a walled enclosure between Udaipur and the railway station. Chonar, _Plaianus Orientals_ or Oriental plane. This magnificent tree is supposed to have been introduced into Kashmir by the Mogul Emperors. It grows to a great size, one measured by Lawrence being sixty-three feet five inches in circumference at five feet above the ground! There is a very fair specimen in Kew Gardens, between the pond and the "herbaceous border. "Chilas, Chit, A note or letter, and also a character or recommendation, Every man collects something, from pictures to tram tickets--the native collects "chits. " Like other collectors he will beg, borrow, or steal to improve his store, and life is made a burden by the perpetual writing and reading of these mendacious documents. Chitor, Chittagul Nullah, The next nullah to the south-west of the Wangat. The village of Wangat is wrongly placed in it, according to the Ordnance Map. Chondawats, A Rajput clan. Chota, Little, _Chota Hazm = petit dejeúner_ or early breakfast. Chowkidar, A functionary whose principal duty seems to be to snore in the verandah at night and scare other robbers away. Chupatty, A flabby sort of scone. Chuprassie, Cockburn's Agency, The nearest approach to "Whiteley's" in Kashmir. Dâk, Post. _Dâk Bungalow_=posting station. Dal Lake, _Dal_ means lake (in a plain), while _nag_ is a mountain tarn. Dandy, A sort of enclosed chair with four projecting arms, wherein pretty ladies are carried when it doesn't suit them to walk. Degchies, Cooking utensils--best made of aluminium, owing to the unclean ways of native scullions. Dekho, See, look!Delhi, The capital of the Mogul Emperors, dating from 1638, when Shah Jehan commenced to build the great fort. The ancient city lies some miles to the south. Delhi was taken by General Lake in 1803. Deodar, (Kashmiri, _Diár. ) Cedrus Lebani_, var. _Deodara_. The most valuable tree in Kashmir, where it was formerly abundant. It is now chiefly found in the north-west districts, and it is carefully cherished by the "Jungly Sahib" and his myrmidons. Dobie, The thing that ruins all your shirts and causes you to shatter the Third Commandment. Domel, Village with Dâk Bungalow, at the confluence of the Jhelum and the Kishenganga. Doolie, Doras, Dounga, "The boats of Kashmir are very long and narrow, and are rowed with paddles from the stern, which is a little elevated, to the centre; a tilt of mats is extended for the shelter of passengers or merchandize" (Forster); the mats are made of "pits" (reed mace), a swamp plant. Drogmulla, Dubgam, A village at junction of the Pohru with the Jhelum, about seven miles above Baramula. EARTHQUAKE, An upsetting event of too frequent occurrence in Kashmir. Particularly severe visitations occurred in 1827 and 1885 (_see_ Baramula). Echo Lake, A small tarn on the top of Apharwat. Ek, One. (_Ek dam_=immediately. )Ekka, Embroidery, Erin Nullah, Eshmakam, =_Eysh Makám_("the delightful halting-place") Above the village stands the shrine of Zyn-u-din, one of the four disciples of the Kashmir patron saint, Shah Nur-u-din. FATERPUR-SIGHRI, Ferozepore Nullah, Floating Gardens, GANESBAL, The boulder, red-stained and extremely sacred, which lies in the middle of the Lidar; bears some fancied likeness to Ganésh (the elephant-headed god). Gangabal, A sacred lake, lying under the north glaciers of Haramok at the elevation of 12, 000 feet. It is said to be a source of the Ganges(!) and is an object of pilgrimageGhari, Ghari Habibullah, Ghari Wallah, The Jehu of these parts. Ghât, Gold mohur, Golf, Gram, Grass shoes, Gujar, Is not a Kashmiri, being a member of the semi-nomad tribes which graze buffaloes and goats upon the hills. He speaks Parímu or Hindki. Gulmarg, (The Rose Marg. ) The most frequented resort of the English in Kashmir during July and August; stands some 8500 feet above the sea, wherefore some people find the air too rarefied. Gulmarg was first mentioned by Yusaf Khan in 1580. Gunderbal, A village placed where the Sind River debouches into the plain. The starting-point for Leh and Thibet. Gupkar, Town of Gopaditya(?). A wine-manufacturing suburb of Srinagar, overlooking the Dal. Gurais, A large village on the Bandipur-Gilgit route, lying on the right bank of the Kishenganga, about forty-two miles from Bandipur. HARAMOK, The predominating mountain (16, 903 feet) of the valley, from almost every part of which his square-headed bulk is visible; hence the name, which means "all faces" or "all mouths. " A legend holds that a vein of emerald lies near the summit, and that within view of this gem no snake can liveHarbagwan, Hari Parbat, ("The Green Hill") So named on account of the gardens and vineyards which clothed its sides. Became the residence of Akbar, who built the wall round foot of hill in 1597. The fort on top was the work of the Pathan, Atta Mohamad Khan. Haripur, Harwan, Hasrat Bal Mosque, (The Prophet's Hair. ) Various fairs and festivals are held here, the principal one being held upon the day that the Prophet rode up to Heaven on his mule Al Barak (the Thunderer). This mule, by-the-bye, is one of the five favoured beasts which the Mohammedans believe destined to immortality; the others are (1) Abraham's Ram, (2) Balaam's Ass, (3) the one upon which Christ rode on Palm Sunday, and (4) the dog which guarded the seven sleepers. Hassanabad Mosque, Built by Nur Jehan Begum (Nourmahal), and destroyed by the Sikhs. Hassan Abdal, (_Abdal=_fanatic). Hoopoe, Un-natural history of. INSECTS, Of benign insects such as butterflies there are singularly few. Both mosquitoes and flies are very troublesome during the hot weather in the valley. Visits to native huts will probably lead to an introduction to other insects. In India ants become a nuisance: I met with a foraging party of extremely large and well-nourished ones as I entered my bath place one morning. I recognised them for the descendants--decadent somewhat--of the famous fellows who played Alberich to the Gold of Hindostan and regarding which Herodotus (commonly known as the Father of History, or of Lies, I forget which) asserted that they were of the bigness of foxes and ran with incredible swiftness. He evidently got this yarn from Pliny-- "Indicae Formicae. Aurum ex cavernus egerunt terrae Ipsis autem color Fehum magnitudo Aegypti Luporum" (Lib. Xi. Ch. 31)-- and passed it on to Sir J. Maundevil, who swallowed it greedily. "Theise pissmyres ben grete as houndes; so that no man dar come to the hilles, for the pissmyres wolde assaylen hem and devouren hem" (ch. Xxx) For the wily method of catching the ants napping, together with other _contes drolatiques_, read Maundevil's _Travels_. Iris, (Kashmiri, _Krishm_) Succeeds the tulip and precedes the rose as typical of Kashmirian Flora, is used as fodder, and the fibre makes ropes, which are, however, not durable. Islamabad, (Or Anant Nag, the "Place of Countless Springs. ") Is the second city in Kashmir, having about 9000 inhabitants; stands at the head of the navigable Jhelum, fifty miles by water and thirty-two by land above Srinagar. Jade, Jagganath, Jain, A small sect founded by Mahavera, a contemporary of Gautama. The Jains were great temple-builders. Jehangir, Jeimal, With Putta, one of the national heroes of the Rajputs. They fell, while mere boys, in the heroic defence of Chitor against Akbar. Jey Singh, (Sowar Jey Singh. ) Succeeded to the throne of Ambér in 1699, founded Jaipur in 1728. He wrote the following, which I had not read when I visited his observatory at Jaipur "Let us devote ourselves at the altar of the King of Kings, hallowed be his name! In the book of the register of whose power the lofty orbs of Heaven are but a few leaves, and the stars, and that heavenly courser the sun, small pieces of money in the treasury of the Most High. "Jheel, A small lake, or pond. Jhelum, (Kashmiri, _Veth_, Hindu, _Vetasta_, the ancient _Hydaspes_. ) Rises at Vernag, becomes navigable at Kanbal, and is so for 120 miles, when it forms rapids below Baramula. Average breadth at Srinagar in December 210 feet, average depth 9 feet. Johur, Kaj-nag, Kali, ("The Terrible. ") Wife of Shiva or Mahadeva. Kanbal, Karachi, Karewas, "Where the mountains cease to be steep, fan-like projections, with flat, arid tops, and bare of trees, run out towards the valley" (Lawrence)Kashmir=Kashuf-mir (the country of Kashuf). Was ruled by Tartar princes from about 150-100 B. C. For several centuries; conquered after a year's struggle by Mahmoud of Guznee (1014-1015 A. D. ). Invaded by Baber and Humayun, and finally conquered by latter in 1543, and formally annexed by Akbar in 1588. After the fall of Delhi (Nadir Shah) in 1739, Kashmir fell into the hands of Amirs of Cabul in 1753. It was captured by the Sikhs under Ranjit Singh in 1819, and, after the defeat of the Sikhs at the hands of the British, was handed over to Gulab Singh of Jammu for twenty-five lacs of rupees "Kailasa is the best place in the three worlds, Himalaya the best part of Kailasa, and Kashmir the best place in Himalaya" _(Rajatarangini Kulan_). Kastoora, Merula Boulboul (the grey-winged ousel). Jane bought "Freddie" one day in Srinagar, and he has been our friend and companion ever since--being at this present (August 1907) in rude health. Khansamah, A Cook. Khubbar, News--usually untrustworthy. Khud, A steep slope or precipice. Khudstick, An alpenstock made of tough wood, usually of Cotoneaster baccillaris (lun); should be well tested before purchase, as life may depend on its strength. Killanmarg, A wide sloping marg above Gulmarg, just above the pine forest on the slopes of Apharwat. Kilta, Creel made of the pliant withes of the Wych Hazel, _Parrotia_ _Jacquemontiana_ (Chob-i-poh). Kishenganga, A large affluent of the Jhelum which drains the Tilail Valley, passes Gurais, and joins the Jhelum below Muzafferabad. Kitardaji, Forest house in the Machipura. Kitmaghar, Bearer. Kobala, Kohinar, Kolahoi, or Gwash Brari, 17, 800 ft. The loftiest peak in Kashmir proper. It has not yet been ascended. Koolan, Kralpura, Kulan, A peak of the Pir Panjal, at the head of the Ferozepore Nullah. Kulgam, or Kuligam. Kunis, Kurnavati, Kutab Minar, Lacquer, Lahore, Capital of the Punjab. An ancient and interesting city, which (like Agra and Delhi) only attained its zenith of prosperity in the days of Akbar. Lakri, A stick (at Gulmarg also a golf-club). Lalpura, A charming village in the Lolab. Larch, Lidar, Liddar, or Lambodri, Drains the Kolahoi district, and forms the first substantial affluent of the Jhelum, which it joins below Islamabad. Lidarwat, A small Grujar village fifteen miles above Pahlgam, on the left bank of the river, about 10, 000 ft. Above sea-level. Logue or Log, Folk. Lumbadhar, The headman of a village. Machipura, "The Place of Fish"--why, I cannot imagine! The district lying along the east foothills of the Kaj-nag. Mahadeo, (Mahadeva or Shiva) A sacred mountain and object of pilgrimage, north of Srinagar, 13, 500 feet high. Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir, H. H. Sir Pratab Singh, G. C. S. I. , succeeded his father Ranbir Singh (who was third son of Gulah Singh) in 1885. The family is of the Rajput Dogras. "His kindness to all classes has won him the affection of his people" (Lawrence). Maharana, H. H. The Maharana Dhiraj Sir Fateh Singh, G. C. S. I. , of Udaipur, is head of the Rajput princes in point of blood, being descended from the Suryabansi, or Children of the Sun. Mahseer, Malingam, Manji or Hanji, A Kashmiri water-thief or boatman. Manserah, Mar (snake) Canal. A dirty but most picturesque waterway between the Dal and the Anchar Lakes. Marg, (Margh?) Persian for a garden abounding in plants. Margam, Martand, The principal temple in Kashmir--stands on a high karewa some few miles from Islamabad. Metal-work, Mewar, Mogul, The Moguls were a warlike people of Central Asia, who, under Timur (Tamerlane) their chief, sacked Delhi in 1398. At the great battle of Panipat, in 1524, Baber the Mogul (direct descendant of Timur) defeated the Sultans of Delhi. He was the first of the six "Great" Moguls (the others being Humayun, Akbar, Jehangir, Shah Jehan, and Aurungzeb), who ruled India with unparalleled magnificence for 150 years. Mulberry, (_Morus sp_. Kashmiri _Tul_) A very precious tree in Kashmir, on account of the silk industry. It grows to a great size, attaining a girth of 25 feet. Murghi, A fowl. Murree, A hill station and sanatorium, 37 miles from Rawal Pindi, on a hill 7500 feet above the sea. Its importance dates from 1850. Forster speaks of it as a small village in 1786. Musafferabad, ("The Place of Victory") Built by Masufer Khan, Rajah of Chikri. Mussick, Water-skin. NAG, A mountain lake or tarn. Nagas, Human-bodied, snake-tailed gods. Nagmarg, Nanga Parbat, A great mountain in the Chilas country, 26, 620 feet high (the fourth in point of height in the world), Mommery and two guides were destroyed in 1895, probably by an avalanche, while attempting the ascent. Nassim Bagh, ("The Garden of Delicious Breezes") A favourite spot in the days of the Mogul Emperors. Akbar planted 1200 chenars. Neem tree. Neve, Dr. A. He and his brother are surgeons to the Kashmir Medical Mission, where for many years they have carried on the somewhat thankless task of benefiting the natives. Nishat Bagh, ("The Garden of Drink")Nopura, A village on the Pohru. Nourmahal, ("Light of the Palace"), or, more properly, Nur Jehan Begum ("Light of the World"), was the wife of Jehaugir, celebrated in Mooree's _Lalla Rookh_. Her life story was very curious. See Forster's _Journey from Bengal to England_, London, 1798. Nullah, A valley or ravine. Numdah, ONTALA, Oodi Singh, PADMANI, "The Lotus-lovely Lady. "Pagdandy, A short cut. Pahlgam, "The Shepherd's Village, " A Kashmiri summer resort for those who like quiet. It is 27 miles from Islamabad up the Lidar Valley, and is somewhat over 7000 feet above the sea. Pampur, (Padma-pur, city of Vishnu, or Padmun-pur, "the place of beauty"), principally noted now for its Pampur roti or bread, a speciality of the place. Pandrettan, or Pandrenthan, =Puranadhisthana, "the old capital. " Was built in the time of Partha by his Prime Minister, Meru. Parana Chauni, Patan. "The City" or "Ferry, " the ancient Sankarapura, Sankaravarma having built two temples there at the end of the eighth century. Peechy, Afterwards, later, by-and-byePeri Mahal, "The Abode of the Fairies. " Built on the hill above Gupkar by Prince Dara Shikoh, probably for astronomical purposesPiasse, The onion. Pice, See Rupee. Pichola Lake, Pir Panjab, Pir=Dogri for peak Pantzal, Kashmiri for ditto Pir also meant a saint, particularly one who lived in the pass in the days of Shah Jehan and Aurungzeb and who was interviewed by Bernier. The Pir Panjal was the route followed by the Moguls when coming to Kashmir, and, rough as it is, they sent elephants along it. The highest peak of the Pir Panjal is Tatakuti, 15, 500 feet. Pohru, Poonch, A native state lying south-west of Kashmir, to which it is tributary. The Raja Buldeo Singh is cousin to the Maharajah of Kashmir. Poplar. There are two varieties of Poplar in Kashmir, the Italian or Black Poplar, and the White, the latter attains a great size, one near Gurais measuring 127 feet in height and 14-1/2 feet in girth. Porcelain, Port Saïd, Puttoo, Native cloth. RAINAWARI, Rajput, The brave and chivalrous inhabitants of Rajputana. Bernier, probably influenced by Mogul opinion, attributes much of their valour to opium, as the following curious extract shows "Ils sont grands preneurs d'opium, et je me suis quelque fois etonné de la quantité que je leur en voiois prendre; aussi ils s'y accoutûmerent dès la jeunesse; le jour d'une bataille ils ne s'oublient pas de doubler la dose; cette drogue les anime ou plutot les enyvre, et les rend insensibles an danger, de sorte quils se jettant dans le combat comma des bêtes furieuses, ne sachant ce que c'est de fuir . .. C'est un plaisir de les voir ainsi avec leur fumée d'opium dans la tête s'entre embrasser quand on est prêt de combattre et se dire adieu les uns aux autres, comme gens qui sont resolus de mourir. "--Vol. I. P. 54. Ramble-tamble egg, Scrambled eggs. Ram chikor, The great snow partridge (_Tetragallus Himalayensis_). Rampur. A small village in the Jhelum Valley, and a village on the way into the Lolab _viâ_ Kunis. Rawal Pindi, Rassad, "Field Allowance" or extra rations given to coolies when doing any mountain work or away from supplies. Resai, Roorkhee chair, An extremely comfortable and portable chair made by the R. E. At Roorkhee. Rope bridge, Rupee=one fifteenth of a sovereign, or 1s. And 4d. 12 pice (or pies)= 4 paisa = 1 anna = 1 penny 16 annas = 1 rupee. SAAF kuro, "Make clean. "Saktawats, A Rapjut clan. Sari, A woman's garment, usually brilliant in colour, blood-red and dark blue being favoured. Sekwas, Sellar, Serow, _Nemorhaidus bubalerius_. Sesodia, The ruling family of Udaipur, formerly known as Gehlote. Shadipur, "The Place of Marriage"--probably with reference to the junction of the Sind and Jhelum rivers. Shah Jehan, The greatest builder of the Mogul Emperors. Ruled from 1627 to 1658, when he was deposed and imprisoned by Aurungzeb. Shalimar, Shalimar Bagh, Shambrywa, One of the peaks of the Kaj-nag. Shiah, A Mohammedan sect, usually much at variance with those of Sunni persuasion. Shikara, A light sort of canoe. Shikari, A necessary joint in the "fighting tail" of the sportive visitor to Kashmir. Usually a fraud, but, if not too proud, makes quite a good golf caddy. Shisha Nag, "The Glassy or Leaden Lake. "Silver fir, _Abies Webbiana_ (Kashmiri, _Sungal_). Grows to a great height, being known 110 feet high and 16 feet in girth. Sind Desert, Sind Valley, Singhara, Meaning "horned nut, " the water chestnut _(Trapa bispinosa_). An article of diet much prized by the Kashmiri. Sogul, Sonamarg, "The Golden Marg. " A summer station high up the Sind Valley on the route to Leh and Ladak. Sopor, =Sonapur, or the Golden City. A somewhat unclean little town of some 600 houses on the Jhelum, about eight miles by road and twelve by water above Baramula. Spill Canal, Cut in 1904, after the Great Flood of 1903, to carry some of the river clear of Srinagar and ease the pressure on the bund. Spruce, _Picca, Morunda_. (Kashmiri, _Kachal_. )Srinagar, _Surga Nagur_, City of the Sun. Has a population of 120, 000. Became capital in 960 A. D. , when the ancient city of Pandrettan was burnt in the reign of Abimanyu. The city was called Kashmir until recently, Martand being called Sringar by Jacquemont. Sultanpur, Sumbal, Said to be the site of the ancient city Jayapura. Sunt-i-kul = "Apple-tree Canal. " TAJ MAHAL, The magnificent tomb of Mumtez Mahal, favourite wife of Shah Jehan. Takht-i-Suleiman, A steep isolated hill rising nearly 1000 feet above Srinagar, crowned by a temple which is built on the ruins of a very ancient edifice. The Takht or Throne of Solomon is, according to the legend, the place which Solomon occupied during his mythical visit to Kashmir. Tangmarg, "The Open Marg". Is the village about 1500 foot below Gulmarg, which is the nearest point to Gulmarg attainable by wheeled conveyance. Tattoo, A pony. Tehsildhar, The functionary who has jurisdiction over a tehsil. Temples, For full description read Lawrence _(Valley of Kashmir_, chap. Vi. ) Their ruined state is partly due to earthquakes, but probably still more to the iconoclastic activity of Sikandar (_d. _ 1416) and Aurungzeb. Tilail, Tonga, Topaz, Name derived from the Greek "to conjecture"--because no one knew whence they came!Tower of Fame, Tower of Victory, Tragbal, Tragam, A large village south-west of the Lolab, whence a route leads to Musafferabad. Tret, A station at the foot of the Murree hills on the road to Rawal Pindi. Trieste, Tronkol, Turquoise, UDAIPUR, The capital of the ancient and powerful Rajput State of Mewar, founded by Oodi Singh after the fall of Chitor. Uri, VERNABOUG, Vernag, WALNUT, A valuable tree in Kashmir, where its fruit and timber are both greatly esteemed; grows to a very large size, one in the Lolab having a girth of 18 feet 10 inches. Wangat, Wardwan, The mountainous district on the east of Kashmir. Water buffalo, An ungainly and "sneevish" beast beloved of Gujars and nobody else. Weights 2 lbs. (English)=1 seer. 40 seers = 1 maund. Wood carving, Wular, Means "cave". The largest lake in India, being 12-1/2 x 5 miles in average extent. In floods it covers much extra space. Wych hazel, _See_ Kilta. YAKDAN, ZIARAT, A Mohammedan shrine. Zoji La, The pass at the head of the Sind Valley which is crossed on going to Leh, height 11, 300 feet.