small place, and the only object of interest I noticed, was a very old
bridge built of rough stones, standing now upon dry land, for the Scind
has left its former channel and runs one hundred yards to to the south
of it, three of the arches remain entire and connected, and at least
twelve others are either decayed or destroyed. This bridge is evidently
of very ancient date. On emerging from the Scind valley, I got a better
view of the vale than I have before had. It was a clear but cloudy
morning--one of those grey days when rays abound, and photographic
efforts are most successful--and every distant object was seen with
great distinctness. The snowy Pin Punjaul range, in its southern
boundary looked magnificent, rising abruptly from the level and
beautiful plain. On board the boat again, I continued the journey
towards Srenuggur. We had not been long afloat before a sudden squall
came down from the hills and blew the roof of the boat off; it took a
long time to repair the mischief, but fortunately all the matting was
blown on to the bank, it was eventually replaced and we proceeded
onwards in a tolerably direct line to the capital, ten miles distant.
But near sunset the wind increased again, and compelled us to take
refuge in a sheltered nook within a mile or two of Srenuggur, the fort
standing above us on the summit of a hill--imposing from its apparently
impregnable position--and there we remained all night.
AUGUST 5th.--Starting early, I soon arrived at the outskirts of the
town, and the boat entered a canal with houses on both sides. There was
some delay at a lock and great excitement in pushing over the fall
caused by the rash of the water. Passed through the city which is a
large one, and encamped under chenars on the banks of the canal on the
other side. The Baboo-Mohu Chundee, an officer appointed by the
Maharajah to attend to the many and varying wants of European
visitors--called upon me and afterwards sent "russud" or a present from
the Maharajah consisting of tea, sugar, flour, butter, rice, salt,
spice, vegetables, a chicken, and a live sheep. Some cloth merchants
also came and I was led into extravagance in purchasing some of their
goods. In the afternoon I got a small boat, a miniature of the larger
one, propelled by six men with paddles. They took me along very quickly,
and I went down the canal which opens into the Jhelum--the main
thoroughfare of Suenaggur opposite to the palace and the adjoining
temple, whose dome is covered with plates of pure gold. It is a very
strange sight, the broad river covered with boats, and lined by houses
built in the curious Kashmirian style. Seven fine bridges cross it, and
on two of them stand rows of shops like our Old London Bridge. I first
went to the Post-office and got a satisfactory communication from our
Paymaster, and also a letter from Bill, giving me the sad tidings of
poor Tyrwhitt's death, which took place at Murree a fortnight after my
departure. It is a selfish consideration, but I cannot help feeling
grateful that he was prevented by an attack of ague from accompanying
me, as he intended. I then went to Sumnad Sha's, the great shawl
merchant, and turned some of the Paymaster's paper into silver currency.
He showed me his stock, and I wished that I possessed the means of
purchasing his goods. But even here a good shawl costs thirty or forty
pounds, very magnificent they are, but I need not describe that which
every English lady knows and longs for, if she has not it. Hewson, the
Paymaster at Chinsurah, is encamped within one hundred yards of me.
Passing in his boat he recognised me, and we went and had a swim and
talked over old times at the Depôt.
AUGUST 6th.--Bought some tackle and went fishing, but the hooks were
rotten and the fish broke several. I only succeeded in landing one trout
of nearly two pounds weight. The spoon bait is a favourite one here.
Bought a variety of stones and pebbles. Ladûk, Yarkund, Opals, Garnets,
&c., for making brooches, bracelets, and studs. I was a long while
making the selection and a long while bargaining, but I seem to have got
them cheap; at all events for less money than Hewson has paid for his.
This, and fishing, occupied the whole day--which was consequently an
uneventful one. In the evening I borrowed writing materials from Hewson,
and wrote a letter to Bell.
AUGUST 7th.--Went out spearing fish, but found it difficult in
consequence of the allowance necessary for the refraction of the water
and the movement of the fish. There is a great temptation to strike in
an apparently direct line with the fish, which I need hardly say, even
if the fish be stationary does not go near it. I only succeeded in
piercing two. But I afterwards went out with a spoon and very soon
landed a couple of trout of two and four pounds weight. I have found out
who was at Baramula ---- travelling quietly like a private gentleman,
still, notwithstanding the paucity of his retinue, the unmistakeable
stamp of nobility about him made it plain that he was more than he
appeared to be, obtaining for him the attention which he had wished to
ignore. As a contrast to him we have here X----, Y----, and Z----,
noticeable like many other Englishmen, when travelling in foreign
countries for the prodigality of their expenditure, one of whom got a
thrashing the other day from ----. Rather a disreputable affair for him,
if all I hear be true. I dare say many a poor native wishes that a small
portion of the money these three men waste was given to them instead.
AUGUST 8th.--I have done nothing to-day except go to Sumnad Shas for
some more money, as I intend to leave Sreenugger to-morrow for the
eastern part of Kashmir. There are two reasons for my idleness; in the
first place Hewson gave me some books he had done with, and I got
interested in James' "Heidelberg" and was reading it all this morning;
and secondly, Hewson left this afternoon and sat a long time with me
before his departure. To lengthen my notes for the day I ought to write
a sermon, or secular discourse, (as I have done before) but I don't feel
inclined to do so. This diary only gets my thoughts when they arise
spontaneously and require no further labour than the mere putting of
them into words. To-day my mind is a blank, and I am not going to search
in hidden recesses for thoughts that may possibly be secreted there.
Perhaps after dinner something may occur to me worth writing about.
AUGUST 9th, Sunday.--On again by the big boat up the Jhelum stopping at
Pampur for two hours fishing under the bridge (the reputed haunt of
large fish) but without success, so continued the journey gliding slowly
along the beautiful river until dark, when the boat was run ashore and
secured. So it has been an uneventful day with no new scenery to
describe and no musings to record.
AUGUST 10th.--Another day passed on the river. From early dawn till dusk
we continued towing against the stream, and then halted for the night at
Kitheryteen (I spell the word from my boatman's pronunciation of it) a
small village on the right bank.
AUGUST 11th.--Started again at daybreak but soon stopped at Bigbikara,
where there is another bridge. All these bridges are alike and similar
to the one described at Baramula, but this one is particularly pretty
from the fact of large trees having grown from the lower part of every
pier. These trees green and flourishing are high above the footway,
between which and the water there is a distant vista of fine mountains.
Fished here, but only hooked one, which I judged from its run to be
large, and lost it. Above the bridge the river narrowed to about half
its former width. We are approaching a very grand range of mountains
which seems to be the boundary of the valley. Before mid-day we reached
Kunbul and completed the trip of forty miles by water. At Kunbul is the
first bridge over the Jhelum, the river here diminishes to a breadth of
only thirty or forty yards, and soon breaks up into a number of small
streams which mostly rise from the water, then along the foot of the
hills.
AUGUST 12th.--Marched to Buroen, six miles, on arriving found the
camping ground occupied by numerous "Fakirs" who had lately returned
from Ummernath. These men are horrible looking objects, most of them
being painted white and nearly naked. Ummernath is a mountain 1,600
feet high, and at the top of it is a cave sacred to the Hindoo Deity.
In July pilgrims assemble there for a great religious festival, and
these are some of them on their way back. I intended to visit this cave,
but I have not time now, and I have thought that it may be a trifle too
cold up there. At Burven is a very holy spring. Two tanks are formed
where the water escapes from the ground, and these tanks swarm with tame
fish, some of them of large size. It was a great sight feeding them.
They all rushed to the place struggling and fighting for the food. The
bright green water was black with them, and a space yards wide and long,
and several feet thick, was occupied by a block of fish packed as
closely as if they were pickled herrings. These fish are also very
sacred, and to catch them is prohibited. Soon after leaving Kunbul I
passed through Islamabad, a large town of which I may have more to say
hereafter. There are two other men encamped here with me, but they don't
seem very sociable, and I don't care much for the society of strangers;
we have exchanged "good mornings" and that is all, and now sit staring
at each other at a distance of twenty yards. How different it would have
been if we were Frenchmen instead of cold-blooded Englishmen. After dark
the fakirs had a "tomasha." Singing, bell ringing, tambourine-beating,
and the blowing of discordant horns all at the same time, constituted a
delightful music--to them at least--and was continued for hours,
interrupted by shouting and yelling, and with this din going on I now
hope to sleep.
AUGUST 13th.--Marched back to Islamabad, seven miles, by another road,
as I first visited the ruins of Martund, a temple built (so the legend
goes) ages ago by "gin men" or demons of gigantic stature. These are
really grand ruins, whether position, site, or architecture be
considered. They stand on an open plain, on the summit of a ridge, from
which is a fine view of the surrounding mountains, which are much higher
than in the western part of Kashmir. In the centre is a large block,
containing several rooms, the huge stones of which it is built being
elaborately carved. There are many niches containing figures, but the
defacing hand of time has sadly marred them. On two sides of this
building and only a few feet distant from it rise a couple of wings, and
the whole is enclosed by a stone screen, perforated by trefoil arches,
and having on its inner side a row of fluted columns. In the middle of
the south side of the screens is the main entrance, the pillars of which
are very tall. Vigne, classes these ruins among the finest in the world,
and perhaps he is right. At Islamabad there are several bungalows
provided for visitors, and I went into one of them, having first
cleared it of the "fakirs"--who are here too. These bungalows stand by
tanks in which are tame fish, as at Burven. A spring issues from the
hill side, just above them. Two men of the 7th Hussars, Walker and
Verschoyle, occupied another, and I breakfasted with them. Adjoining the
tanks is a small pleasure garden, with some buildings which are
inhabited by the Maharajah when he visits Islamabad. The place reminds
me more of a tea garden in the New Road, than the resort of Royalty. The
water from the tanks escapes under the front bungalow forming a pretty
cascade. Dined and passed the evening with the other fellows.
AUGUST 14th.--To Atchebul, six miles. This is a charming spot. It is a
pavilion and garden built--if my memory serves me--by the Emperor Shah
Jehan, for his wife; at its upper end rises a hill covered with small
deodars and other trees, and from the foot of this hill four springs
gush forth from crevices in the rock. The volume of water is very large,
and it is conveyed into three tanks at different levels. These tanks are
connected by broad canals lined with stone, and at the extremity of each
canal is a fine waterfall. There are also two lateral canals which run
through the whole length of the gardens, from the boundary of which the
water escapes in three cascades, the centre one from the tanks being
the largest. In the middle tank are twenty-five fountains, which were
turned on for my benefit; only seventeen of them play, and the best jets
are not more than six feet high. In the centre of this tank stands a
pavilion which I now inhabit. Its walls are of wooden trellis work, and
the ceiling is divided into panels on which are painted in many colours
the everlasting shawl pattern; it looks as though the floor-cloth had
been placed on the ceiling by mistake. Along the foot of the hill is a
ruined terrace built of bricks, with arches and alcoves crumbling to
pieces. There is also an arch over the canal, between the second and
third tanks. The whole garden was originally laid out in several
terraces faced with masonry, and having wide flights of stone steps from
one to the other; but all is now much decayed, and the garden itself is
quite uncultivated, except a small portion, and is but a wilderness of
fruit trees and fine chenars. On the left of it is the old Human or
bath, a series of domed and arched rooms containing baths and marble
seats. The interior is in a fair state of preservation, and the various
pipes which conveyed the water to it still exist. The whole ground is
enclosed by a wall, and if it was properly looked after, might be
converted into a very pleasant retreat. In the afternoon Walker and
Verschoyle, rode over from Islamabad and sat some time with me, after a
few hours five other pipes began to squirt--rendered patulous I suppose
by the pressure of the water--so that three only now remain occluded. I
had a great loss last night; the dogs broke open the basket containing
my provisions, and carried away half a large sized cake, and a hump of
beef that had been cooked but was uncut.
AUGUST 15th.--Marched to Nowboog, fifteen miles, this long march was
quite unexpected as Ince in his book puts it down eight miles. It was up
hill nearly all the way--this combined with the sun's heat--for I did
not start so early as I would have done if I had known the distance--and
the vexation of having to go on, long after I considered the march
ought to have been finished, made it very fatiguing. Nowboog is situated
in a small and pretty valley separated by hills from the rest of
Kashmir. I intend to halt here to-morrow, so will reserve further
description until I feel fresh again. It was one or two o'clock before I
arrived, and I have worn a hole in my left heel which will, I fear,
render the next marches painful. Umjoo--the boatman--is now shampooing
my legs and feet. This process consists of violent squeezes and pinches
which make me inclined to cry out, but I am bearing it bravely without
flinching and endeavouring to look happy, and to persuade myself that it
is pleasant--now my toes are being pulled with a strength fit to tear
them off. Oh! ----. There's a cry on paper. He does not hear that, and
it is some sort of relief.
AUGUST 16th, Sunday.--The valley of Nowboog is small but very
picturesque. The surrounding hills are comparatively low, and are
covered with pasture on the open places, while the deodar and many other
trees occupy the ravines and gullies. The large amount of grass and the
grouping of the trees give it a park-like appearance, and the gentle
slopes of the verdant mountains remove all wildness from the scene. It
is a pleasant spot to halt at. A little nook which while it charms the
eye, only suggests peaceful laziness. My coolies sit at a short
distance, singing through their noses Kashmirian songs. There is much
more melody in their music than in that of their brethren of Hindoostan.
Indeed some of the tunes admit of being written, and I have copied a few
of the more rythmical, as they sang them. The principal objection to
them is that they are rather too short to bear repetition for half an
hour as is the custom, there is another music going on--a music that
cannot be written and will be difficult to describe--I mean the song of
the "Cicada Stridulantia" in walnut trees above me. This insect--the
balm cricket--is in appearance a burlesque, just such a house fly as you
might imagine would be introduced in a pantomime; and its cry is as
loud and incessant as it is peculiar. To describe it, fancy to begin
with a number of strange chirps, and that every few seconds, one of
those cogged wheels and spring toys that you buy at fairs to delude
people into the belief that their coats are being torn--is passed
rapidly down the back, with occasionally momentary interruption in the
middle of its course, while between each scratch you hear a mew of a
distant cat--another cat purring loudly all the time, and any number of
grasshoppers chirping to conclude with a running down of the most
impetuous and noisy alarum, and then silence--a silence almost painful
by contrast--until it begins again. Such is the song of the Cicada in
the Himalayan forests. I wonder every Sunday if they miss me at
Peshawur; for I was organist to the church before I left, and I doubt if
there is anybody to take my place. I wish I had the instrument here now
to peal forth to the hills and the wondering Kashmirians Handel's
sublime "Hallelujah Chorus" or "The Marvellous Works" of Haydn. What can
be more inspiring than the grand old church music we possess, bequeathed
to us by composers of immortal memory. Though much opposed to the
present Ritualistic tendencies I do delight in a musical service. It
seems to elevate the mind and give a greater depth to our devotion. Go
into any of our cathedrals and hear the solemn tones of the Liturgy
echoing through the vaulted roof, and your heart must needs join in the
supplication, "And when the glorious burst of music calls to praise and
rejoicing, will not your own soul fly heavenward with the sound and find
unaccustomed fervency in its thanksgivings." There is perhaps one thing
necessary, and that is, that you should know the music you hear,
otherwise the first admiration of its beauty may eclipse all other
considerations. But if you have studied it, if it is as familiar to you
as it ought to be, and is intimately connected in your mind with the
words to which it is set, you will understand its spirit, and see that
however beautiful it may be it is only the means whereby higher thoughts
and nobler feelings are sought to be expressed. I bought here a very
fine pair of Antlers of the "Bara sing"--a large deer found on these
hills.
AUGUST 17th.--To Kookur Nag, twelve miles. I am now convinced I came the
wrong road from Atchibul to Nowboog, as I had to march back over a great
portion of it this morning; however, with the exception of a mile or
two, it was all down hill, and as I knew when I started that I had
twelve miles to go, I was not tired. Stopped at the village on the way
where there are iron works, and saw them smelting the ore which is
obtained from the neighbouring mountains, this ore is a yellow powder,
and appears to be almost pure oxide. Their method of working is very
rude; a small furnace, such as a blacksmith uses at home, supplied with
a pair of leather bellows constitutes the whole of the foundry, and is
of course, only capable of smelting a very small quantity of ore at a
time. Kookur Nag is the name of some springs about two miles from the
village I have encamped at, and I walked over this afternoon to see
them. It was scarcely worth the trouble. There are a great number of
them close together and they issue from the ground, as usual, at the
foot of a prettily wooded hill. The water is very pure and cold, and of
sufficient quantity to form immediately a large and rapid stream. This
place lies near the mouth of a wide gorge or valley which leads right up
to the snows, and down which there must have been at one time, either a
mighty rush of water or a vast glacier, as the ground is thickly strewn
with huge boulders. The stratification of one mountain against which it
is evident the flood impinged--is very clearly and beautifully shown.
AUGUST 18th.--To Vernag, ten miles, crossing a range of hills, the
descent being the steepest I have experienced. From the top of the range
there was a fine view of the two valleys of Kookur Nag and Vernag. They
are very similar and down the middle of each is a layer of loose rounded
stones. The springs of Vernag occupy the same position in the valley as
those of Kookur Nag do in the other, but around them is a good sized
village, and their point of exit has been converted into a large and
very deep octagonal tank, which is perfectly crowded with sacred fish.
Surrounding the tank is a series of arches, and on the side from which
the stream escapes is a bungalow for the use of visitors. Six days ago a
Hindoo was drowned here, and his body has not been recovered--so deep is
the water, it is probable that ere this the fish have removed all but
his bones, one hundred yards below the tank is another spring, which is
the finest I believe in Kashmir. It comes straight up on level ground,
and forms a mound of water eighteen inches high, and more than a foot in
diameter. The morning cloudy and very gloomy on account of the eclipse
of the sun of which I saw nothing. This is my birthday and my thoughts
have been running over my past life and speculating upon the future
before me. "But fear not dear reader!" I will not bore you with all my
musings over those twenty-nine unfruitful, if not absolutely mis-spent
evil years, or show you how my "talent" lies carefully folded up and
hidden away, in order that I may have it to return to its "owner". "Oh!
fool, fool that I am." Knowing better things and with a half a lifetime
gone, "I find myself still plodding along the old road paved with good
intentions." The springs of grace indeed surround me, but I am in the
shallows and the water is muddy. The very "Tree of Life" is by my side,
but it is a dwarfed and stunted shrub, whose shoots wither before they
put forth leaves. When will this change? Will my resolutions ever become
deeds? "Will grace abound: or will faith ever give such impetus to my
"Tree of Life," that it may grow up into heaven?" I put to myself the
question that was asked Ezekiel. "Can these dry bones live," and have no
other answer than his to make. These are some of my birthday thoughts.
Pray, forgive, excuse me if I have wearied you.
AUGUST 19th.--Back to Atchibul, twelve miles, the road for the most part
level, but there was one mile of very hard work, over the ridge I
crossed yesterday. I approached Atchibul from the hill I mentioned as
standing at the head of the garden, and from the top of it a very pretty
view of the place is obtained. I found the pavilion unoccupied, and
again took possession of it, set the fountains playing, and imagined
myself the Great Mogul. Just out of Vernag, I caught a small black and
yellow bird, which my boatman calls a "bulbul" (though I think he is
wrong in the name) and says it sings very well. I have had a cage made
for it, and it is now feeding at my side, and is apparently very happy.
I'll try and take it to England. I believe it is only one of the shrike
family, but it is too young to identify at present. However, it is my
fancy to keep it, so why should I not. The old gardener here is very
attentive, constantly bringing me fruit. Shall I do him injustice, by
saying that he probably has expectation of a reward? I think not indeed,
is it not the same expectation or its allied motive, the desire to
escape punishment, which prompts the actions of all of us? We do good, I
fear, more for the sake of the promised recompense, than for any love
of the thing itself. Light rain has fallen all day.
AUGUST 20th.--I halt at Atchibul. I have now completed my wanderings in
Kashmir, and have seen all I intended except one portion, which I shall
visit on my road home. My next move will be to ----, but as I do not
care to spend more than seven or eight days there, I am in no hurry to
get back. My bird died in the night, and by its death has put an end to
a rather violent controversy between my Bheistie and boatman. The
boatman stoutly maintained his opinion of its value and the Bheistie
with a more correct appreciation, and while explaining to me that it
was a jungle bird and would never sing, appeared to look upon my conduct
with a mixture of compassion and disgust, and then they quarrelled over
it. Was my fancy a foolish one? Some men will spend years in the pursuit
and classification of butterflies, while others go into ecstasy over a
farthing of the reign of Queen Anne. My common jungle bird was a pretty
one, and if I had got it home and put it in a gilt cage, it would surely
have possessed some value for its antecedents, even if it had proved as
mute as a fish, or as discordant as a Hindoo festival.
AUGUST 21st.--Marched back to Kunbul, seven miles, and took up my
quarters again on board the boat, fifteen or twenty other boats are
here, a good many visitors having recently arrived in this part of
Kashmir. I remained at Kunbul all day waiting for the completion of a
pair of chuplus which I ordered of a shoemaker ten days ago. I have
occupied the time by reading Marryat's "Newton Forster" (one of Hewson's
gifts) and I find that when I read I can't write, so that must be my
excuse for the shortness of my notes. My head is full of ships, sea
fights, and love making to the exclusion of everything else. I heard
you--you said it was a good job, as it prevented me writing more
nonsense.
AUGUST 22nd.--Slowly drifting all day down the stream towards
Sreenuggur. Past Bijbehara with its fine bridge, stopping there a short
time to procure milk and eggs for breakfast. Past Awuntipoor--the former
capital--but now only a very small village, where stands on the rivers
bank the ruins of two ancient Hindoo temples, square blocks, built
indeed of enormous stones, but without sufficient architectural
embellishment to require a closer inspection than I obtained from the
boat. Another of those charming lazy days on the water, nothing to think
about, but the time for meals, nothing to do, but to eat them when
prepared. The eastern part of Kashmir is covered with high isolated
mounds called Kuraywahs, composed of Alluvium, presenting perfectly
flat summits and precipitous sides. The top of these was doubtless the
original bed of the lake at the time when the whole valley was
submerged, and the present channels between them (though now dry land)
were cut by the rush of the water, when the Jhelum burst through the
opening at Baramula and drained the valley. This rush then is shown to
have been impetuous (and the high banks of the river also bear evidence
to it) but it seems to me that the mere breaking through of the stream
sixty or seventy miles away is not enough to account for it. No doubt
that occurrence was attended, I may say produced by violent
subterranean phenomena; and I imagine that this portion of the
vale--which is much higher than the western half--then underwent a
sudden upheaval, the result of which if only a few feet would be to
throw its waters with terrific force into the lower portion and afford
an easy explanation of the formation of both the Kuraqwahs and the
Jhelum. I noticed in my course up the Jhelum, that it appeared to have
originally consisted of a chain of small lakes, this would be the the
natural effect of such a cause as I have supposed. The bulk of water, at
first, would only have been sufficient to produce a few of them, perhaps
only the large one between Gingle and Baramula. But as its quantity and
measure continually increased by the flow from the higher level so
would lake after lake have been formed among the crowded hills until the
plains were reached. Then the drainage of these small lakes would follow
as a matter of course, and the channel of the river be reduced to a size
proportionate to its constant supply. Dear reader, you are very
difficult to please. My descriptions you call slow, my imaginings
frivolous, science dry. Jokes are feeble and personalities tedious
morality is stale, religion is cant. What, how can I write? You have had
a taste of all and if you are not content the fault is--well, let me be
on the safe side--either yours or mine.
AUGUST 23rd, Sunday.--We continued to progress last night by moonlight
long after the sun had set, and started again very early this morning,
so that the Tukh-t-i-Suliman (Soloman's Throne) and Fort are now
visible, and I expect to reach Sreenuggur before noon. It is faster work
floating down the current than towing against it. At Sreenuggur I found
several letters waiting for me, and amongst them a large "Official,"
which I tore open with eager haste; thinking it might be a reply to my
application to be sent home. It was ----. Well, you will never guess--an
urgent enquiry as to what language I could speak and write fluently
beside English. I have answered this question some half dozen times
since I have been in the service, but they never get tired of asking it.
The date of my arrival in India is another favourite and constantly
recurring enquiry, and this might lead me to give you a dissertation
upon the theory and practice of Red-tapeism, with a special
consideration of the amount of stationery thereby wasted, and its
probable cost to the Government. It would perhaps, be very interesting
to you, but to any one who is at all connected with it, the subject is
only one of weariness and disgust--weariness at the unproductive labour
entailed--disgust at the utter folly of the proceedings. So I pass it
by, leaving some one who is willing to sacrifice his feelings, or more
probably some one who knows nothing whatever about it to furnish the
much needed exposé; it is customary to cry it down but it is an
acknowledged evil, the custom has never been fully and fairly explained
to outsiders or it must have given way before the burst of public
indignation which such an explanation would have created. I have again
encamped in the Chinar Bugh, but not quite in the old position as a
better place was unoccupied. Indeed I had my pick of the whole, for
there is now nobody here but myself. I received news (in my letters)
that a field force had left Pindee to operate against some of the hill
tribes between Peshawur and Abbottabad--ruffians who are always giving
trouble, and who occasioned the inglorious Umbeylla campaign a few
years ago. I informed my "boy" that there was going to be some hard
fighting, and his reply was "With our troops, Sir?" Our troops! good
heavens! a black man speaking to me of "our troops." It is customary I
know to call these Asiatics our fellow subjects, but I never before had
the fact so forcibly brought before me.
AUGUST 24th.--I got up early this morning and have spent half the day on
the "Dul" or "City Lake"--a large sheet of water which lies at the foot
of the hill behind Sreenuggur. Besides the excessive beauty of the lake
itself there are many objects of interest to be seen on its banks. I
visited in succession the Mussul Bagh, Rupa Lank or Silver Isle,
Shaliman Bagh, Suetoo Causeway, Nishat Bagh, Souee Lank or Golden Isle,
and floating gardens. A word or two of description for each. The Mussul
Bagh is a large grove of fine chenars planted in lines so as to form
avenues at right angles to each other. There must be several hundred of
these noble trees upon the ground, I do not mean fallen but erect and
vigorous. The Shaliman Bagh is an extensive and well cultivated pleasure
garden with pavilions, tanks, canals and fountains, in true oriental
style. The upper pavilion is especially worthy of notice having a
verandah built of magnificent black marble veined with quartz
containing gold. It is surrounded by a large tank possessing one hundred
and fifty-nine fountains, and its exterior is grandly if not
artistically painted. The Nishat Bagh is smaller but scarcely less
attractive. It is arranged in a series of fifteen terraces, from which a
splendid view is obtained of the lake and adjacent country. Down its
centre runs a canal, expanding at intervals into tanks and having a
waterfall for each terrace, with a single straight row of fountains
numbering more than one hundred and sixty. Grand hills rise immediately
above it. It contains pavilions of fruit trees, and as a flower garden,
is superior to the Shaliman Bagh. The Suetoo Causeway, is a series of
old bridges and embankments which formerly crossed the lake, and was two
or three miles long, but only portions of it now remain. The two islands
are small and covered with trees, having no interest of themselves, but
adding greatly to the appearance of the lake. They are I believe
artificially constructed. The celebrated floating gardens are very
curious; they were formed by dividing the stalks of the water weeds near
their roots, and sprinkling the surface of them with earth, which
sinking a little way was entangled in the fibres and retained; Fresh
soil was then added, until the whole was consolidated, and capable of
bearing a considerable weight. The ground is now about nine inches
thick, floating upon the surface of the water, and the stalks of the
weeds below it having disappeared. It is exceedingly porous and is used
for the cultivation of water melons, when walking upon it a peculiar
elasticity is perceived, accompanied with a tremulous or jelly like
motion. It is divided into long stripes pierced by a stake at each end,
which secures them in their position and allows of their rising or
falling with the height of the water. An unlucky day for Silly. In the
first place he was _sea-sick_. The use of the broad paddle in a small
boat caused a good deal of shaking, and every stroke is attended with a
sharp jerk forwards--secondly, he mistook a collection of weeds for dry
land and jumped out into the water. This puzzled him immensely, and
after he was recovered he sat for a long time gazing with a bewildered
air upon the surface of the lake. Paid a visit in the afternoon to
Sumnud Shah for the purpose of replenishing my exchequer, but found his
shop better calculated to exhaust it. I'll not go there again.
AUGUST 25th.--Lying down inside my tent I just now heard two crows
chuckling and laughing in their way and saying to one another "here's a
joke" or caws to that effect. You need not laugh at this statement or
think that my mind has suddenly become deranged, I merely state a fact.
The language of animals--dumb creatures as fools call them--is far more
expressive than you imagine, and if you had spent the same time and the
same attention that I have in listening to birds notes, you would be
able to understand much of their meaning. Here a conversation carried on
in a foreign tongue, one to which you a perfect stranger, will you be
able to distinguish words? No! you will only hear a confusion of sounds
possessing apparently but little variety. But as you become accustomed
to it the words and syllables will start out into clear relief; so with
birds songs--at first they will appear to you to be always the same, but
they have really different tones and meanings, which you may learn to
appreciate by studying them in connection with their acts. However I
heard the crows say "here's a joke" and guessing I was to be the victim
of it, I immediately jumped up and rushed out. They flew away loudly
exulting and I found my match box,--which I had left on the table broken
to pieces and the matches carefully distributed so as to cover as large
a space of ground as possible; there is a crow's joke for you--there is
not much in it as a joke,--but I introduce it principally to show that
birds talk and that I (clever I) can understand them. I wrote the
foregoing to eke out my notes for the day, not having anything
particular to record. When the Baboo called upon me with the startling
intelligence, all officers from the Peshawur division ordered
immediately to rejoin their respective regiments; this has taken away
the greater number of the visitors and very few are now left in Kashmir.
Why don't I pack up and start? Well, I forgot to mention a short
sentence in the order "except those on medical certificate" which saves
me the trouble and annoyance of hurrying back before the expiration of
my leave. It is on account, I suppose, of the little war we have entered
on with those hill tribes, and I may be missing honour and glory, wounds
and death, neither of which I care to earn from barbarians on the black
mountains. I am sorry for the affair as I fear that from the
inaccessibility of the country the best result will barely escape
disaster. This is a strange day. You see me, one moment trifling with my
thoughts for the sake of occupation and then having matters and subjects
for the deepest consideration suddenly thrust upon me. Ought I to
rejoin? I am indeed protected from the necessity of doing so, but my
health is now fully established and such being the case, is it my duty
to waive my right and return to my regiment. I think not, for the reason
it is not likely that they will weaken the garrison at Peshawur by
sending any of its troops into the field. Its strength is maintained for
the purpose of defence against the Cabulese and other powerful Pathan
tribes immediately surrounding it, who are deadly enemies, and would be
eager to avail themselves of any opportunity for offence. Therefore I
imagine that my regiment will remain in quarter, and do just as well
without me as with me; and therefore have I determined to adhere to my
original plans.
AUGUST 26th.--There was a great fire in the town last night; three
hundred houses have been destroyed. I went early to the scene of the
disaster, which is on the left bank of the river adjoining the first
bridge. The embers were still smouldering, and among the ruins the heat
was intense, owing to the houses having been built almost entirely of
wood, little but ashes and charred logs remained of them. Here and there
a few hot bricks retained the semblance of a wall, but the destruction
has been as complete as it is excessive. The bridge has also suffered,
the bank pier having been attacked by the flames, and half the railing
on either side of the foot-way has been torn off and precipitated into
the water. The latter injury was caused I imagine, by the rush of the
crowd over it at the time of the fire. No lives lost I believe.
AUGUST 27th.--At six o'clock this morning a Jemindar or military
officer made his appearance, sent by the Baboo, for the purpose of
conducting me over the fort. A row of a mile down the river, and half a
mile walk through the narrow rough crowded and stinking streets of the
town brought us to the outworks, at the foot of the hill on which it is
built. This hill is very steep and several hundred feet high, (I do not
know the exact height, but I think it is between six and seven hundred
feet) and the climb up it was fatiguing. From the top there is an
extensive view, but the morning was misty and the greater part of the
valley indiscernible. In front lies the town, intersected by the Jhelum;
a great desert of mud-covered roofs presenting anything but the green
carpet-like appearance described in books. On the left long lines of
poplars, enclosing the Moonshi Bagh and the various encamping grounds,
with the Tukh-t-i-Suliman rising high above them. Behind, the Dul,
spread out like a sheet of silver with the back ground of mountains, and
many canals radiating and glistening in the sun-light. Of the fort I
have but little to say. From below, its position renders it imposing,
but a nearer inspection dispels the illusion. Inside it there is a
Hindoo temple, two or three tanks filled with green, slimy water, and
some wretched hovels for the occupation of the garrison. The ramparts
though high are weak and a few shells dropped within them would blow
the whole place to pieces. The ordnance consists of four ancient brass
guns; two of them about 9-pounders and the others 32-pounders, but I did
not see a spot from which either of them could be safely fired; and even
if there were bastions strong enough, I doubt if cannon could be
depressed sufficiently to sweep the precipitous sides of the hill. On my
way back to the boat, I turned aside to visit the Jumma Musjid, or chief
Mosque, a large quadrangular wooden building, the roof of which is
supported by deodar columns of great height, each pillar being cut out
of a single tree, but I cannot waste more time over it, the name recalls
to my memory the magnificent Jumma Musjid of Delhi--but comparisons are
odious. When parting with my attendant I felt uncertain whether or no he
would be offended by the offer of a remuneration for his trouble, so I
left him to ask for it, as natives usually do not scruple to request
"bucksheesh" for the most trifling service, but either his orders or his
dignity prevented him from soliciting it, and he went away unrewarded
and I doubt not dissatisfied. After noon I went and selected a lot of
papier maché articles, and gave monograms to be painted upon them. Their
papier maché is fairly made, elaborately painted and moderate in price.
At this shop they prepared some ladâk tea for me, a most delicious
beverage possessing a delicate flavour such as I have never before
tasted in any tea. It was sweetened with a sort of sweet-meat in lieu of
plain sugar.
AUGUST 28th.--A blank day, I have done nothing but fish and only caught
one of moderate size. Early in the morning there was a storm attended
with high wind and heavy rain; it cleared up before sun-rise, but its
effect has been to make the day very pleasantly cool.
AUGUST 29th.--Went up to the Tukh-t-i-Suliman (Solomon's Throne) before
breakfast. It stands one thousand one hundred feet above the town, and
the ascent is effected by means of unhewn stones arranged in the form
of a rough flight of steps built by the Gins, I should fancy for their
own private use and without any consideration for the puny race of
mankind that was destined to follow them. I am a tall man and gifted
with a considerable length of _understanding_ but the strides I was
obliged to take--sometimes almost bounds--if calculated to improve my
muscles, were certainly very trying to my wind. However all things have
an end, and so had that long flight of steps, and at the summit I had
leisure to recover my breath and enjoy the magnificent view. I took care
to have a clear day for this excursion, and the whole valley was seen
stretched out like a map, and spreading far away to the feet of its
stupendous mountain boundaries. The lakes like huge mirrors reflecting a
dazzling radiance. The Jhelum twisting like a "gilded snake" and forming
at the foot of the hill the original of the well-known shawl pattern;
miles upon miles of bright and verdant fields, divided and marked out by
the banks and hedges; clumps and groves of lofty trees diminished by
distance to the appearance of mere dark green bushy excrescences; the
poplar avenue looking like two long and paralleled lines drawn upon the
ground; the fort and hill but a pigmy now; the city of sombre colour,
with its houses closely huddled together and presenting an expanse of
mud--unworthy stone for such a setting! The high and rugged mountains
on every side piercing the clouds, out of which the everlasting snow and
ice rock regions untrod by mortal foot gleam and glisten coldly in the
scene below; these are the constituent parts of a view which taken
altogether ranks among the finest (if indeed it be not itself the
finest) in the world. But I have no description for it as a whole, words
would fail me if I attempted to reproduce it on paper, so you must take
the items and arrange them to your own satisfaction, and wish you had
the opportunity of seeing the glorious original. I am no antiquarian,
but I believe the building itself possesses great interest for those who
indulge in that musty study, on account of its vast antiquity and
uncertain history. To me it is only a Hindoo temple of quaint
architecture and unwholesome smell. Inside it is a small marble idol in
the form of a pillar with a snake carved round it.
AUGUST 30th, Sunday.--The beginning of a fresh week which will at its
conclusion find me on my way homewards, my back turned on the lovely
valley and all the beauties that I have witnessed existing only in my
memory like a pleasant dream that has passed. So wags the world, joys
giving place to sorrows, and sorrows in their turn effaced by fresh
happiness or oblivion. For a little while each one of us plays his ever
varying part in the great drama of life. Now bewailing with bursting
heart, and scalding tears the light affliction which is but for a
moment; now with ringing laugh and reckless gaiety he enjoys the
present, forgetful alike of past and future, now with stormy passions
raging he "like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high
heaven, as make the angels weep;" and then is his short act over, then
the curtain falls and then will he be called before it to receive
approbation? Who can tell, I judge not one individually; but I may
generalize and say, that while as a rule we give a terrible earnestness
to the performance of the _business_ connected with our parts, we too
often fail to appreciate and interpret the _spirit_ of the character,
without which it is of course but a sorry exhibition and one that will
be deservedly damned. As I sit under the shade of the chenars writing, a
young native swell is passing along the opposite bank of the canal--a
mere boy, with gold turban, lofty plume and embroidered clothing, riding
a horse led by two grooms, followed by attendants also mounted, but
sitting two on a horse and preceded by a band consisting only of some
six drummers. He is playing his part doubtless very much to his own
satisfaction, and little thinking that there is one "taking notes" and
laughing at his proceedings. But so it is, we can always see, and
ridicule the faults and foibles of others, would to God we could as
easily perceive and weep over those of our own. The Baboo Mohes Chund
called to pay his farewell visit to me and shortly afterwards sent a
second edition of "russud" including as before--a live sheep.
AUGUST 31st.--My last day in Sreenuggur--and now let me make a few
observations on a topic which I dare say you are surprised has not been
mentioned before, I mean the women; the far-famed beauties of Kashmir. I
am not ungallant, while I have been silent, I have been observing, and
have delayed my remarks in order that they might have the benefit of the
largest experience I could command. I did this the more willingly,
because to tell the truth, I was disappointed at first, and I hoped that
by waiting I might eventually have reason to change my unfavourable
opinion. This however has not been the case, and while I intend to do
full justice to their charms I must commence by saying that they have
been grossly exaggerated. I do not of course allude to the higher
classes. They are invisible; they _may_ be very beautiful, but are never
seen by Europeans. But the middle and lower classes go about with the
face uncovered, exposing themselves to the criticism of some and the
admiration of others, and it is of them I speak. The slim elegant figure
of the Hindoo is seldom seen; they are large, plump, round women. Their
complexion has been absurdly compared to that of our brunettes (may they
feel complimented thereby) but veracity compels me to say that they are
_very dark_. Fair indeed by comparison with the Hindoos, but actually
and unmistakeably copper-coloured not to say _black_. In their features
we find a great improvement; a well-shaped nose replaces the expanded
nostrils, compressed lips, the thick pouting ones, their teeth are of
marvellous whiteness and regularity as are those of all Asiatics. Their
cheeks may sometimes have a tinge of pink, but this is usually veiled by
the darker tint of the "rete mucosum." Their eyes--oh! their eyes!--here
lies their beauty, almond-shaped eyes, that when not in anger cannot
help throwing the sweetest and most captivating glances. None of your
trained disciplined eyes, taught to express feelings that do not exist;
but still eyes that equally deceive, eyes that nature in some strange
freak determined should ever look love. Unconsciously and
unintentionally they dart upon you the brightest, the most tender, nay,
even passionate glances. When looking at a young face, you only see the
eyes; eyes so voluptuous, so maddening, that you exclaim "good heavens
what a beautiful creature," and unless you are a calm and cool analyst
like myself, you may not discover that there is really no beauty save in
them. They dress their hair in a peculiar manner. It is plaited in a
number of small plaits joining two larger ones which fall over the
shoulders and unite in the middle of the back to form a long tail
terminating with a tassel. The larger plaits are mixed with wool, this
adds to their bulk, and increase the length of the tail, which often
extends below the knees. They wear a single loose gown, reaching in
ample folds nearly to the feet. On the head a small red skull cap, over
which is thrown the white (too often dirty) "chudder"--a light cloth
which hangs down the back and is used for veiling the face. The
boatwomen are renowned for their beauty. I have seen but little of it.
The Punditanees are said to be more beautiful than the boatwomen. I
consider them even less so. But among the Nautch girls I have seen both
grace and beauty, and as a class, I certainly think far better looking
than the others. Respect to age is a noble feeling--though one that is
unfortunately at a low ebb now-a-days--but truth, compels me and I must
pronounce all the elderly women to be positively ugly, and a woman is
elderly in Kashmir when in England she still might be called young. The
men are a fine race, regular features, broad shouldered and muscular,
wearing their bushy black beards on their faces, but shaving the head,
which is covered with a small coloured skull cap and white turban. Two
other men have pitched their tents under this tope. To-morrow I shall
leave them in undisturbed possession of the whole. They are friends and
have been travelling in Kashmir. I have had a conversation with one of
them, but I don't like strangers and am glad they did not come before.
SEPTEMBER 1st.--Up and away, taking a last look at the town and bridges,
a last look at the Tukh-t-i-Suliman while floating down the river. I am
on my way to Baramula, having given up my intended visit to Gulmurg, so
that I may get a week at Murree, and see more of the place than I did
when I was last there. Adieu to Sreenuggur, adieu to the Scind, adieu
to Manusbul; gently onwards we go towards lake Wulloor. It is a bright
clear day, one of the brightest among the many bright ones, and the
valley seems smiling upon me an affectionate farewell in order that the
last recollections and parting scene may be a joyful memory to me in
days and years to come. I thank thee for it. When I am gone let
rain-tears fall and clouds of care bewail my absence, but gladden my
departing moments with the full radiance of thy glorious countenance.
Oh! Kashmir, loveliest spot on earth, I owe thee a deep debt of
gratitude, I came to thee weak in body; thou hast restored my strength,
I was poor in thought; thou hast filled my heart with good things, I
was proud in conceit; thou hast shown me nature's grandeur and my own
littleness. With a voiceless tongue thou hast spoken and my spirit has
heard the unuttered words. Tales of the creation when the morning stars
sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy; tales of man and
his works perished in the endless roll of ages; tales of the future when
heaven and earth shall have passed away amid the dread terror of the
great tribulation. Aye, and one more tale, a tale of love, mercy, and
forgiveness; the tale of an Asiatic--who, not far from here, was once
"bruised for our transgressions," who took upon Himself the iniquities
of us all and made up for us a mighty deliverance, and to this tale
there is a refrain that echoes from hill to hill, and spreads along the
plain in endless repetition, "believe only and thou shalt be saved," but
though the command is so simple, its eager passionate tone as it swells
around me, and an earnest mournful cadence as it dies away in the
distance, seems to imply that it is neither easily nor commonly obeyed.
SEPTEMBER 2nd.--Awoke early and found myself in the broad waters of the
lake, the full moon shining brightly in the west, and yet unpaled by the
rosy dawn that was rapidly illuminating the east. Stopped at Sopoor for
breakfast, and Macnamara, surgeon of the 60th Rifles, and his wife,
arrived soon after me, also bound for Murree. Macnamara was at Peshawur
with me, and was one of the committee that sent me away. We passed the
morning in conversation, and at mid-day continued our journey to
Baramula. He told me that he had heard that I was going home this winter
with troops; but I do not know whether his information is reliable. I
trust it may prove to be so, but it has not raised my hopes to a
certainty. It is a good rule never to reckon confidently upon the
achievement of our desires. It never assists to realise them and only
renders the disappointment more bitter in case of failure. I have a
great hope, but I do not forget that obstacles may arise, that while
man proposes God disposes, and often find myself forming plans for next
year under the supposition that I shall still remain in India. I have
written the dedication of this volume and have written it as if I had
already returned to England, and this may appear to indicate that I rely
strongly upon the fulfilment of my expectation. But not so, I can alter
or destroy it if need be, and shall do so with regret indeed, but
without despair. About halfway between Sopoor and Baramula the wind
increased to a gale and obliged me to take refuge under the bank. I
dined with Macnamara and his wife at 8 o'clock, the weather moderated
and we proceeded to Baramula.
SEPTEMBER 3rd.--At sunrise I obtained coolies, and turned my back on
the happy valley for ever. It was a beautiful morning with a golden haze
rising from the ground, the mountains appearing blue and purple against
the eastern halo; but before I had gone a mile a dark cloud gathered
around me, and wept passionate rain. I marched to Naoshera, ten miles,
followed in an hour by Dr. and Mrs. Macnamara who will be my fellow
travellers as far as Murree. The Rohale ferry is re-opened and I am
returning by the direct road on the left bank of the Jhelum. There is a
barahduree at every stage, so I sold my tent at Sreenuggur to render my
baggage lighter. I am travelling with only six coolies. The river is
much lower and less rapid than when I came up it, the excess of water
caused by the melting of the snow during the summer having been carried
off. It is still however a noisy turbulent torrent.
SEPTEMBER 4th.--A long march of fourteen miles to Ooree. The road is
becoming very hilly, but is not as yet nearly so rough and difficult as
on the other side. Passed two ruins; one of then very similar to those
at Wangut, but much smaller.
SEPTEMBER 5th.--To Chukoti, sixteen miles, a severe and fatiguing march,
the hills being intersected by ravines--the beds of streams--to all of
which there was a steep descent and corresponding ascent. This is the
worst march on the Murree road, but though bad, it is much better than
five or six that I described on my journey from Abbottabad. These long
marches are very detrimental to my diary, for at the conclusion I have
no energy either to think or write. I am not using my dandy now, and
have to walk every inch of the way.
SEPTEMBER 6th.--Fifteen weary miles to Huttian, low down on a level with
the river where I found a number of tents belonging to the Lord Bishop
of Calcutta and his Chaplain, who are here with a large retinue of
servants, and are on their way into Kashmir. They had very
considerately and unlike a certain ---- ---- left the bungalow empty for
the use of other travellers. Macnamara sprained his knee yesterday, and
used my dandy to day. One of my coolies stumbled on the road and the
Kitta he was carrying--containing my stores and cooking utensils, went
over the Rhudd and burst open in the fall. Macnamara was behind
fortunately (for me) and superintended the collection of the articles so
that my only loss of any moment is that of my big cooking pot, which
from its weight probably rolled all the way down to the Jhelum--the long
grass growing on the hill, stopped the other things. The six remaining
marches are I am glad to say short. The three last have been a severe
trial on account of the numerous and rough ups and downs, and for the
last mile or two this morning, the soles of my feet were in great pain;
Silly too was very exhausted even to the dropping of his tail.
SEPTEMBER 7th.--Got up at daybreak and marched on Chikar, distance ten
miles. For three miles the road continued along the valley of the
Jhelum, and then turned to the south, and crossed several ranges of
hills, each range rising higher than the one before, very hard work it
was, the ascents being so steep and long--I can't keep my breath going
up hill; it is far more fatiguing than any roughness of road. Chikar is
a good sized village with a fort and is situated on the summit of a
mountain at least two thousand feet above the Jhelum. There is a fine
view of the surrounding hills from the Barahduree. Shortly after our
arrival it began to rain, and has turned out a wet day. I had half my
crockery broken by the coolie dropping the basket instead of putting it
carefully down at the conclusion of the march.
SEPTEMBER 8th.--To Meira, seven and a half miles, a toilsome hill for
half the distance, and then a descent the rest of the way. Scenery very
pretty, the valleys being much larger and the mountains higher. The
Murree ridge is now visible. From this bungalow we can see the next
halting place, half way up a hill on the opposite side of an extensive
valley deeply cut by ravines. The view is really very grand--much the
finest on this road--in some parts it slightly resembles the scenery
around Darjeeling with, of course, pine trees taking the place of
magnolias and rhododendrons. The mere mention of those trees--magnolias
and rhododendrons I mean--will only give you a misconception of the
Sikin forests, because your ideas will be turned to the stunted shrubs
of our northern latitudes. The magnolias and rhododendrons I speak of,
are huge towering trees, taller than the largest oaks. How well I
remember the magnificent spectacle they presented when in blossom! I
have never seen mountains or forests that could compare in grandeur with
those of the eastern Himalayas. Can you imagine Kishun-gunga twenty-nine
thousand feet high? No! it is impossible; it is a sight that produces
the most intense awe, and when I first looked upon it I did not know how
to contain my feelings; but enough, or I shall be giving you a chapter
quite irrevelant to my journey from Kashmir. By the side of this
bungalow stands a large cypress; a very beautiful and by no means a
common tree. There is something peculiarly rich in its dark green
foliage, and withal, melancholy look, but that is doubtless owing to
its tomb--stone associations. Ince in his "Guide," calls it a
_sycamore_. He could hardly have named a tree more widely different.
SEPTEMBER 9th.--To Dunee, eight and a half miles; first half, down hill,
second up: both very steep and rough. A bad fatiguing march. The
barahduree here has been lately white-washed and looks quite refreshing
after the other dirty ones; but the rooms are ridiculously small. This
is the last halt in Kashmirian territory; to-morrow we shall be in a dâk
bungalow. I had a lesson to-day. The same lesson that the spider taught
Bruce--never to cease striving to obtain any desired object; and not
despair even if frequent failures attend the attempt. Ever since I left
Baramula I have been endeavouring to catch another of the green
butterflies, as beetles had eaten my first specimen. But they are very
alert on the wing, and I could not get near one. The last two or three
marches I had not seen any, having got out of their locality, but to-day
a solitary one flew by me and I knocked it down, caught it, and secured
it in my toper. Success will eventually crown all constant endeavours,
it is a slight peg on which to hang a moral, but let it pass. Life is
made up of trifles, and I desire my book to represent my life. A number
of people--ladies, men, and children--came into the bungalow at 2
o'clock, having made a double march and overtaken us; so we are very
closely packed, even the verandah being occupied.
SEPTEMBER 10th.--To Kohala, six miles, nearly all the way down a
terribly steep and rough hill to the banks of the Jhelum--which river
has taken a great bend among the mountains and now runs at right angles
to its former course. A ferry boat crosses the torrent at this spot and
the passage during the summer is attended with considerable danger, as
the stream runs at the rate of twenty miles an hour. I got my baggage in
it and landed upon British soil at the other side. The Dâk bungalow is
just above, but we were very much crowded as all the other people
remained for the night. After dinner a great thunderstorm took place
accompanied with very heavy rain.
SEPTEMBER 11th.--Marched to Dargwal, twelve miles, up hill all the way,
but the road is broad and smooth, so that the march was quickly and
easily accomplished. M---- and his wife did not come in till the middle
of the day as they could not get coolies in time to start early. There
is a good furnished bungalow here, our other fellow travellers have gone
on to Murree, so we have the house to ourselves.
SEPTEMBER 12th.--To Murree, ten miles, road the same as yesterday. Went
to Woodcot, and found Spurgeon, Gordon, and Egerton, of the 36th; Hensma
and Beadnell, 77th; and Dalrymple, 88th. Put up with them sharing
Spurgeon's room. Spent a pleasant time at Murree, doing very little--a
long rest of ten days after my labours--and on the 22nd, at 1 o'clock, I
took my seat in the mail cart with Redan Massy for my companion, and
started on my journey to Peshawur. Arrived at Rawul Birder at 6 in the
evening, and went on at once by the Government van. Had no time for
food. Got to Peshawur at 7 o'clock next morning, and thus ended my three
months sick leave. And now I go back to the din and bustle of life, the
empty conventionalities of society, the noise and glitter of mess; to
the re-pursuit of my profession, and to learn again by the bedside of
many a dying man how weak and powerless is that profession to combat the
ills that flesh is heir to. I sometimes wish I could exchange my present
calling. Terrible thoughts often assail me, after the death of any of my
patients. Questions as to whether I am at all responsible for the fatal
issue. Whether by lack of knowledge that I should possess or by careless
observation during the progress of the disease, I have allowed a man to
die who might have been saved, or pushed into the grave one who was only
trembling with uncertainty upon its brink. Yet as a set off against
these feelings there is the satisfaction experienced when sufferings are
relieved or health restored by the interposition of my aid. The
profession of medicine is potent for good and evil. For good in the
hands of him who makes it his lifelong study; for evil in his hands who
adopts it merely as a respectable means of obtaining his livelihood. It
is noble in the one case; detestable in the other. You do not know how
detestable. If the vail could be raised, if you could see the vast
amount of misery and suffering caused, the many hearts broken that God
would not have made sad; and the many unprepared souls hurried out of
this life into eternity by the ignorance of men who are "licensed to
kill," you would cry out against the whole body of the profession with a
bitter hatred, that even the army of noble and devoted minds amongst us
would be unable to appease. Am I too severe? I fear not. There are
charlatans and know nothings in every pursuit, but in mine they effect
so seriously the temporal and may be eternal welfare of mankind that
their existence is awful to contemplate. Shall I, in conclusion, write
an apology for having nothing better than the foregoing to offer for
your perusal "devil a bit." If I have written folly and you have read it
all, why, you are the greater simpleton. To me it was an occupation when
I had nothing better to do, on your part it was a foolish waste of
time, which might have been more profitably employed. If I have written
folly and you have _not_ read it, what necessity is there for me to
apologize to you? If I have written sense and you consider it nonsense,
you owe me an apology for your erroneous opinion. But if I have written
sense and you have derived pleasure from the perusal of it, then we are
both content, and I need neither forefend your criticism nor beg your
excuses. Thus then I have proved that though it may possibly be
necessary for you to apologize to me, it cannot under any circumstance
be needful for me to apologize to you. But there is a small class to
whom the above remarks do not apply. I mean those few who I delight to
think will read my book diligently and admiringly, merely because _I_
wrote it. Whose judgment is warped by their affection, and who will be
unconscious of the weary yawn my pages may often produce. Shall I
apologize to them? No! let them read, let them yawn; T'is a labour of
love on their part, a labour which _love_ has prepared for them--and for
them alone--or mine.
And now farewell. May your shadow _never_ grow less! May you live for a
thousand years.