TO SIRINUGGUR.
I had hoped to have received intelligence of the Commander-in-Chief's
sanction of my application for leave ere the 15th. I only heard from
the Assistant Adjutant General at Lahore that it had been forwarded:
so, being in command at Amritsir, I gave myself leave in anticipation,
and, having some days previously arranged my 'palki dâk,' I entered it
about 4.30 P.M. on Monday the 16th, and making up my mind for
a grilling, it being extremely hot, off I started amid the farewell
salaams of my deserted retainers. The heat was very great, but the
prospect before me of, ere many days, plunging into the eternal snows
rendered endurance easy.
I reached the Sealkote bungalow about twelve next day: bathed,
breakfasted, made another meal at 4 P.M., after which I again jogged on
along the dusty road, keeping down my disgust and refreshing my weary
spirits, by conjuring up visions of snowy regions, and glorious sport
as before. And thus I arrived at Goojerat, after crossing the Chenab at
5 A.M. on the morning of the 18th.
Here I halted, breakfasted, and dined. Pursuing my hot and dusty
route at 4.30 P.M., I arrived at Bhimber about twelve midnight,
received good accounts of my belongings from Abdoolah, was almost
devoured by my two little pets, found Suleiman had arrived, but no
tidings of the Cashmiri, Jamhal Khan. I turned into bed in my tent,
feeling a delightful sensation at being really out of the scorching
plains of the Punjab; though I could hardly be said to be so, for the
following day,--
Thursday, 19th April, the heat was excessive, thermometer in the
day 96°, and at 9 P.M. in my tent, 90°. This day was employed
in arranging loads, and selecting such articles as I needed on the
road. Jamhal Khan joined, and made salaam. Suleiman went into Bhimber,
a large straggling town, and endeavoured to create a desire for the
knowledge of the Gospel. He encountered opposition, and found none
willing to receive books.
20th April. I made a good start before day had well dawned. It was a
miserable day's march, having a river to be crossed about ten times,
the bed of which, and indeed the road itself, is composed of boulders
and stones innumerable. There is also a steep ascent to climb, which is
no easy job, the path up it being merely indented in the naked rock by
continual footsteps. I may as well remark here, that this road is the
whole way abominable, nothing being ever done to improve it, although
there is a large amount of traffic along it with the Punjab; and the
Maharajah, with his usual avarice, takes good care to have heavy dues
levied on all imports and exports--bad luck to him, for a horrid screw!
The track is nothing more than a watercourse, and up and down the steep
hills is really dangerous.
The path this day leads over the said hill, on which is a station
of the rajah's in a narrow pass, where are officials to examine
passengers and take toll. The path thence descends roughly and
irregularly to a small valley, in which is the halting place, the
'baraduri' being a repaired portion of one of the old 'serais,' built,
I believe, by the Emperor Akbar. Many of them still exist, as also
remnants of bridges, also the work of that mighty potentate.
This place is called Saidabad, and though, perhaps, as hot as the
Punjab, being very confined, the pines and firs, the variety of
foliage, green crops, and verdant grassy slopes, with hills around
you, and mountains in the distance, tend much to lessen the sense
of heat. There are officials and sepoys here, and supplies in
moderation--tattoos, perhaps, coolies, fowls, &c. to be had.
21st April. I made a good start for Nowshera, sending on a coolie with
a basket containing breakfast.
The first part of the road is rough and difficult, lying by the stream,
interrupted by rocks; but it now opens into a pretty narrow valley,
from which you ascend a stiff steep hill of rock, but well wooded, and,
at this season, clothed with varieties of flowering shrubs and plants,
dog-roses abounding, by which the air was pleasantly perfumed. On the
summit of the hill is an old piece of solid masonry, now inhabited by
an old couple who supply excellent milk and eggs to wayfarers.
There is a beautiful and very extensive view from this eminence of a
fertile valley in which, on a small hill, is situate Nowshera, its
white buildings conspicuous. But the object of interest is the snowy
ridge of the Panjal range, and interposing itself midway, so as to
exclude from sight all but the upper ridges of the Pir Panjal, lies the
Rattan Panjal, its upper crests partially and thinly covered with snow.
The whole scene is charming as viewed at early morning, ere the dews,
ascending in misty vapours--in themselves beautifying the landscape by
their varied and many-tinted effects--are dissipated by the sun.
At the foot of the hill the path proceeds through ups and downs of a
more or less stony character, until you descend into the valley of the
Tooey, a fine rapid brawling stream, in some places one hundred yards
wide, but averaging perhaps fifty: possessing some deep still pools,
at the turbulent entrances to which an angler would wager good fish
would be found, were there any in these waters. Nor would he be far
wrong. There are fish, and huge ones, too, in those promising pools.
Nor are they quite insensible to the wiles of the crafty angler, who
may with moderate skill enjoy good sport along this river. But here, as
elsewhere, fish have their moods and whims, their times and seasons, so
that some practice and observation are requisite.
You cross this river, and some two hundred yards on the 'baraduri' is
situated in the middle of a densely-planted garden. Not liking its
appearance--thinking it would, at least, be prolific of insects and of
fever--I went on through the town of Nowshera, and, descending again to
the river, encamped under a 'tope' of mulberry trees, in a long grassy
plain, lying between a range of hills of moderate height and the river.
There is little to notice in Nowshera, a long street with the ordinary
bazaar shops, and, on the right-hand, a castellated gateway, leading
into an old serai, one of the series of Akbar, I suppose.
I tried fishing in the evening at a splendid looking pool, very
deep, in which the rushing waters bury themselves, as it were, for
a time, pausing ere they again pursue their onward troubled course.
This pool lies under a precipitous cliff, just beneath the town; it
is of considerable extent, and of unknown depth, and in its dark
recesses lurk mahseer of monstrous bulk, I am told. My fortunes
were at their worst this evening, as far as catching a dish of fish
went. I tried spinning, having been provided with most tempting
minnow-like bait by some small boys, eager for 'backsheesh': and I
tried 'atta' in a sticky lump on a large-sized salmon-hook--a bait
of reputed irresistibility--but without effect. Numbers of fish,
small and some evidently of goodly size, to set one longing, rose and
actually floundered on the surface; but not a run could I get. A heavy
thunderstorm, bursting in the distance, was rapidly approaching, which
was, perhaps, the unlucky evil influence: so, tired of trying to get
anything out of the water, I took a header in, and enjoyed a most
refreshing and cooling swim.
22nd April. Sunday. Halted and passed the Sabbath in repose.
23rd April. To Chungir-ke-Serai--a long and tedious march, the path
leading over rocks which hedge in the river, on turning an angle of
which I overtook Abdoolah, who had preceded me with the breakfast
things, standing gazing back in my direction. I told him it was not yet
time for breakfast, supposing that to be his meaning, when he pointed
upwards, and, suspended from the projecting limb of a tree, some little
way up the hill shutting in the river, hung the still-mouldering body
of a man, his lower limbs still in his clothes, the ghastly face
denuded of flesh, yet with a matted felt of hair straggling here and
there over the glistening bones, grinning horribly down upon us.
This wretch, it appeared, had in the most treacherous, barbarous, and
cowardly manner murdered an old man and child, close to the spot where
he expiated his crime. Being a sort of rural policeman in the employ of
the Maharajah, he was armed with a sword, which, of course, excited no
suspicion in his victims, whom he joined on the road as they journeyed
from Nowshera, and ascertaining that they possessed a few rupees'
worth of property, the miserable caitiff, yielding to the suggestions
of the Tempter, cut them down, and threw their bodies into the river.
Suspicions followed their disappearance: other circumstances pointed to
this man, who was arrested, and confessing his guilt was executed where
the bloody deed was committed.
I left this gloomy spot full of reflections of the most depressing
nature: but with that rapidly revolving mental process, which so
soon exchanges our train of thought, I was soon almost as though the
repulsive object had not been met with.
I soon afterwards arrived at a pool, where I proposed stopping to
breakfast, and also to fish, having in this pool, when passing last
year, whilst occupying a seat on a rock overhanging it, observed some
monstrous great fish basking; for it was a scorching hot day, and the
sun at high meridian at the time.
I tried the 'atta' bait--merely paste made very adhesive--but without
more than one or two nibbles which came to nothing: so knocked off and
comforted the inner man. While so employed, came by a 'gent' riding,
whom I saluted. I knew him to be in my rear, proceeding to join the
Trig. survey party which was before me some days: asked him to dinner,
and he accepted.
Arrived at Chungir-ke-Serai, an old Akbar serai, on the top of a
hill overhanging the river--a fine view of the snowy range--the
features of the country rough, but picturesque. I tried fishing again
without success: enjoyed a cool swim: returned and had to wait about
three-quarters of an hour for my guest, although he was close at hand,
and I sent to him two or three times. But, lo! he at length appeared,
got up rather considerably, quite abashing me, who was sitting in
a flannel shirt and corresponding nethers. We had a pleasant chat
together. He informed me that he had never been out of India, was born
in the country, and educated at Landour, whence he was appointed direct
to the Survey department. I do not know his name.
24th April. Rijaori. I made an early start as usual, and had a rough
scrambling march of it. The road following the trend of the river,
here and there crosses steep stony hills, where the track is only a
watercourse. We crossed the river just below Rijaori. This passage is
at times very difficult and dangerous, and never very pleasant, as
there is a great body of water, and strong current at all times, but
after the rains a roaring flood.
The camp-ground of Rijaori is very pretty, in a garden, one of much
note, there being remains of aqueducts and fountains, a summer-house
on an eminence overlooking the river, and the town on the other side.
In the garden are some magnificent plane trees, called 'chunar' in
Cashmere, affording good and pleasant protection from the sun.
I found a young officer of the 24th encamped here, and asked him and my
former guest to dinner.
I prepared my tackle, and was provided with small fish by youngsters
who remembered me the year before, and started to fish, full of
expectation, at 4.30 P.M.--the sun broiling. I tried the nearest
pool under the temple, where last year a mighty fish had got
off, breaking my line and robbing me of my best spinning tackle--no
run, nothing stirring. I went down to another fine pool, where two
streams blend their waters, situated under a lofty hill, steep and
well-wooded down to the precipitous rocky bank of the river--a lovely
piece of water; had an offer or two, and hooked and landed an impudent
little brat of 2-lb. weight; then had some little sport with a nice
little chap of 5-lb. or so, when, having disturbed the pool, I went
lower and fished two or three likely spots, without moving anything.
So I struggled back over the bothering boulders to my pet pool, where I
strove long and ineffectually, and was actually on the point of leaving
off, when--Whirr, whirr, whirr, whirr went the reel, the rod bent
double, the line smoked again, and the still waters of the pool rose
in swells, as the sogdollager I had hold of darted violently down the
stream. Fifty yards were out in no time, when I butted him strongly,
and turned him, only then getting an idea of his weight, and joyfully
exclaimed he was a twenty-pounder. The young officer of the 24th was
with me; he and the native attendants were greatly excited.
I was conscious of having work cut out for me, and intensely eager
to secure the prize I knew to be at stake. The struggle was long and
stout. At one time the fish turning up stream, made direct for the
bank where 24th stood, about forty yards from me. A brawling cascade
separated us, and I was over knees in water in another noisy rapid, so
did not hear his remarks, but noticed his gesticulations, and judged
from them, he was astonished at the monster I had hold of.
Well, after a rare game of pully-hauly, my scaly enemy took the bottom,
and I could not move him. 'Oh! what a weight he must be,' thought I;
'hold on good tackle!' I shook the bait, so as to make his jaws rattle
and his teeth ache, when at last he moved with a vengeance, making
a violent effort, up and down and all sides, to break away. Then he
shewed his massive golden side--glorious sight! I hauled him towards
a round hand-net a handy lad held ready in the water--no gaff with
me--but too soon yet. Away he sped, bending the rod alarmingly, and
making the winch talk loudly. I turned him again, and repeated the
attempt to net him--away he rushed again. I then humoured him, and
tired him with the rod and short line, until he was bagged, the lad
going up to his middle, and when in the net he could not lift him out
himself.
He was a regular monster in size, but beautiful to behold--a truly
handsome fish, of lustrous golden hues. He was carried off in triumph,
suspended from my mountain staff across the shoulders of two well-sized
youths, who could but just keep his tail off the ground.
Great was the admiration in camp, and many and various the guesses at
his weight. 24th and I each had a 24-lb. weighing hook: putting both
together, a weight of 48 lb. was required to bring both indicators
flush, which my captive did; so we rated him as a fifty-pounder.
I must not dismiss this sporting incident without recording the
excellent qualities of this fish when brought to table. He had hung
all night, disembowelled: in the morning was not scaled, but skinned,
and being cut in lateral scallops was simply fried, and without any
exaggeration was delicious, only inferior to a good salmon. It was
firm and rich, of a brown colour, flaked with curd, and though I was
prepared with anchovy sauce, that was scouted. I never myself eat any
mahseer, or other Indian river fish, anything like it.
My two guests chatted away at dinner, a glass or two of ale being
highly appropriate on the occasion of this huge success. We parted at
nine, early hours being essential, they intending to proceed onwards at
dawn, I to stop and try my luck again.
25th April. Rijaori. I tried the upper pool above the town, a beautiful
and most promising-looking pool: but, after trying every persuasive
and seducing attitude, failed to move an admirer, and being chilled
returned to camp and breakfast, when I regaled upon the morsel I have
above described.
I passed the day reading, and anxious for the shades of evening to
permit my further attempts on the fishes, but to cut short this
evening's proceeding need only say that I fastened to another leviathan
in the same pool, after many indecisive offers had been made; but, woe
is me! he at once, after feeling himself fast and trying rod and line,
bored straight down, and cutting my bottom-line over a stone got clear
off with my set of spinning tackle. Let me draw a veil over my misery,
nor again awake memory to the bitterness of my disappointment.
26th April. To Thanna. The road still running in company with the
river, the courses only being reversed. This day's march was much
pleasanter than any previous one, there being but little up and down
comparatively, and the pathway in many places lying under shady wooded
slopes, its sides fringed with numbers of sweet-smelling shrubs.
The approach to Thanna presents a lovely view of the Rattan Panjal
range in front; and on the left-hand is a well-wooded range of hills,
beneath which are undulating slopes, whereon is a good deal of
cultivation which is in some parts carried in terraces to the tops of
the hills. There is an old fort-like building, formerly the habitation
of some ruffian of a rajah, I presume. The camp was pitched close to a
small village on the road to the Rattan Pir. At this place Suleiman had
an attentive audience of some ten or twelve respectable natives, who
listened to his account of our religion with pleasure, and were glad to
accept some Gospels and tracts, never having, they said, obtained any
accurate idea before of what the Christian Faith consisted.
I have omitted to note the effect produced by Suleiman at the different
stations, so will retrace my steps for that purpose.
At Rijaori, the first day, he was not only repulsed, but threatened. On
the second day, however, he had listeners, and distributed some books.
At Nowshera, favourable results--being listened to calmly and
attentively, some enquiries and discussions entered into, and some
Gospels and tracts received. There was here a teacher in a school, who
had been educated in the mission school of Lahore, and he it was whose
influence operated favourably. He took some books for his school.
I forgot to mention an occurrence at Bhimber. I had noticed in the
day a man lying near the 'baraduri,' who was apparently suffering,
and continually uttered cries and moans from the same spot. I called
Suleiman, and with a light proceeded to make enquiries; when it
appeared that this unfortunate man had fallen from a mulberry tree
close by, and had disabled himself so much that he could not proceed on
his way home to Cashmere. So there he was left to shift for himself,
dependent on the charity of passers by, wholly unable to raise himself
from the ground. I sent for the havildar of the guard, and giving
the disabled man five rupees, which I understood to be ample for the
purpose, ordered him to be removed to a house, to be cared for, and
sent to his home when recovered.
Thinking this a good opportunity, I called the attention of some thirty
people, who were looking on, to the fact that the Christian religion
thus enjoined its professors to obey their Lord's commands, and that
the religion of Jesus Christ was love. Not being sufficiently fluent
myself, I requested Suleiman to use this living text, and he addressed
the assemblage, who seemed much impressed, and expressed their entire
concurrence in the sentiments and principles uttered. But this is often
the case without any further consequences.
27th April. From Thanna across the Rattin Pir pass to Byramgullah.
This is a stiff pull, but not precipitous. The path winds about, taking
advantage of the slopes of the mountain to gain the summit gradually.
There is a faquir's establishment on the top, and the view on either
side is very fine. That looking down over the plain past Rijaori and
Nowshera--over the several wave-like lines of inferior hills into the
plains of the Punjab of limitless extent, lost only in vapour and
distance--is grand from its great extent, and beautiful in its varied
features as in its colouring.
The other side presents the masses of the Pir Panjal, covered with
snow. This range is of bold massive proportions, and affords the
traveller a truly sublime picture of mountain scenery.
The descent to Byramgullah is steep and rugged, and altogether
wearisome. But, when accomplished, one is amply compensated for one's
toils. The road from the foot of the mountain crosses a bridge over
a picturesque torrent, clear and rapid, rushing in roaring cascades
below. There is here every component part of a beautiful landscape,
but space. The valley is confined, there being but just room for the
river and a small bit of level on an elevated bank. This is shut in
by lofty hills, some entirely clothed with a rich mantle of foliage,
others having intervals of grassy slopes. But the whole is singularly
beautiful.
There is a fort on an isolated hill, of curious structure, only capable
of defence against bows and arrows, I should think; but it is a
picturesque object, of a Swiss character as to architectural appearance.
28th April. Along the bed of the torrent to Possianah, crossing some
thirty-five bridges (so called), very awkward for riding, but, on the
whole, an easy march, the scenery of a romantic character.
Possianah is a singularly built village, on the precipitous side of a
mountain which is the vis-a-vis of the redoubtable Pir Panjal; which
here, lifting his snowy summit to the clouds, frowns down upon you in
all his majesty and grandeur, looking by no means affable to approach,
and promising an arduous struggle to get the better of.
The village is at this time more miserable than ever, its ordinary
inhabitants having deserted it to escape the rigours of the winter;
there remained or had returned only two or three. Many houses, being
most inappropriately built with flat roofs, had fallen in, and
altogether the place had anything but a cheerful aspect.
Here, however, I must pass two days, the 29th being Sunday. So I
had the hovel, used as a baraduri, cleaned out, and there ensconced
myself and traps, and had nothing whatever to complain of,--the most
magnificent scenery around me, a delightful climate (the wind, perhaps,
a little too chill here), and no scarcity of creature comforts.
29th April. Sunday. I halted at Possianah. When at Byramgullah, I heard
the Pir was not passable for tattoos, so left mine there to await
orders, intending to leave them to come on in a few days, when the road
would probably be open. But from a near reconnoitre of the mountain as
to snow, and from information acquired, I determined to run the risk,
and sent for my ponies.
As I was at breakfast a saheb was announced, and a stout party made
his appearance, a M. Olive, a French merchant in the shawl trade, who
passes the winter season at Amritsir, returning to Cashmere, when the
passes open, for business.
The Maharajah does not permit Europeans to reside in the valley
during the winter; perhaps, from jealousy of their becoming permanent
residents, and finally annexing the country; perhaps, because the
winter is the time for collecting his revenue, when, it is said, the
most infamous oppression is practised, and complaints are rife and loud.
I had seen the new comer, but was not acquainted with him, and could
do no less than invite him to share my homely fare, and after some
polite demur he fell to. He spoke no English, and my French had been
lying 'perdue' a couple of years or so; but I assayed to converse, and
eking out my French with Hindostani managed to keep up the conversation
without difficulty. The stout gent had been carried all the way from
Amritsir in a jan-pan--a sort of covered chair on poles--which four or
six men at a time carry on their shoulders. How he could ever get up
the Pir Panjal, I could not imagine.
Another traveller had also arrived--one, by the bye, I should have
previously noted as having arrived at Rijaori the day I halted
there--an artillery Vet, who had been suffering from some affection of
the head, and irritability of nerves. He dined with me at Rijaori, and
highly approved the mahseer, which he pronounced equal to salmon, but
far inferior in my opinion.
In the course of the day I found the unfortunate Vet had sent his pony
round by the Poonah pass from Baramoolah, and he lamented having done
so, groaning over the prospect of the morrow's arduous exertions.
I, therefore, placed mine at his disposal, as I prefer footing it,
especially when the path is difficult.
30th April. From Possianah to Dupchin. The road from Possianah descends
to the torrent roaring at a considerable depth below, from which the
ascent recommences, so that you have to descend from a considerable
elevation, perhaps a quarter of the height of the Pir, and then
again ascend on the other side; which loss of way is provoking. From
Possianah to the foot of the Pir is, I imagine, two miles, the latter
part of the road very rough and stony.
I started on this occasion without any refreshment, such as tea,
thinking I should better husband my breath, and work my lungs more
easily: and I think the idea a success, as I ascended with much more
ease and comfort than on the former occasion, when I primed myself
with tea, hard eggs, &c. It is, undoubtedly, a tremendous pull; and
one meets with a provoking deception as to distance. For when about a
quarter of the height has been ascended, the first flight, as it were,
up to the snow drift, the traveller looking above him, puffing and
panting with his violent efforts, sees above him what appears to be the
summit close at hand, which is but the top of the lower ridge, from
which runs a somewhat level path on the slope to the snow drift--an
enormous mass of snow, some half-mile long, and, I suppose, from one
to two hundred yards broad, and, I fancy, from fifty to a hundred
feet deep, filling a gorge of the mountain which commences quite at
the summit. Over this mass we struggled, a violent icy blast in our
faces, to a point where the path turns off to the left, and climbs
upwards by zigzags to the more gradual slope under the summit. Here I
overtook a woman carrying a boy of, perhaps, five years old, who, poor
little creature, was crying bitterly from cold, his teeth chattering,
and presenting a forlorn appearance. The woman was sitting down
disconsolate, unable to proceed. I tried to persuade her to put the lad
down, and lead him, to restore circulation, but she did not adopt my
suggestion; so, leaving a man to help them on, I continued my ascent,
and finally reached the top.
The height is, I believe, some 10,000 feet above the sea. The view,
looking back, is magnificent--an endless succession of wave-like lines
of hills terminating, as they gradually recede, in the hot vapours of
the Punjab.
It was pleasant to look down the steep and rugged path we had won our
way up, there beholding others still toiling and struggling upwards,
the coolies with their loads in a long-drawn straggling line, here
coming into view, and quickly disappearing behind some projection or
in some bend of the road, but constantly to be seen resting on their
crutches. I watched my ponies with some anxiety. They had been stripped
in order to give them every freedom of limb, and several coolies had
been told off to assist them. They were more than half-way up when I
saw them: it was just at a difficult point, where the snow was deep and
soft, and the path hung on the side of the mountain. The old Yarkandi
broke through the snow, and was plunging and struggling violently, but
after three or four desperate efforts got out of trouble. The other
avoided this place. I find the former from his very caution apt to go
off the good path, and get himself into difficulties. When the snow
gives, he goes down on his knees and so hobbles on.
I did not wait longer, but strode away over the snowy plains, which
descend in a very gentle incline to the Alliahabad Serai. The sensation
was delightful after the troublesome ascent, and I enjoyed the change
of play of muscles amazingly, as did my two little dogs to whom the
snow was a novelty. They kept frisking and bounding about, rushing off
to a distance, then occasionally taking a roll.
The landscape, as a winter scene, was perfect,--one glittering field
of snow, lofty hills on either side also covered with snow, the sun
shining cheerily, and the difficult entrance to the valley achieved.
But after a time my eyes ached from the glare, and I was glad when
a mile or two of descent brought us to patches of brown hillside.
There were two very awkward watercourses to cross, the banks high,
precipitous, and covered with snow, giving every chance of a tumble.
I got well over, and found the serai, where I had intended to halt,
in such a state from snow, melted and unmelted, and the only place
for camping in a similar condition that, shrinking from its chill
uninviting aspect, I determined to push on; so after my usual breakfast
of cold tea and hard eggs I again sped on my way--and a toilsome way
it was. The sun was now very hot, and the path running over ridges and
down gorges of rock on the slopes of the mountain, and encumbered with
snow, in enormous drifts in some of the ravines, made this additional
eight miles (I think it was) a formidable addition to the ascent of the
Panjal.
I forgot to mention that on the top of the Pir is a faquir's hut, where
last year we were supplied with the most delicious draught of milk
we had ever tasted. But the faquir had not yet ventured to face the
inclement climate, so no milk this time.
There is also a small watch tower of an octagonal form, of which there
are several to be seen, here and there, along the route. This forms a
very conspicuous object, being so distinctly seen at Possianah as to
deceive one as to the distance; and I fancy that an European accustomed
to the denser atmosphere of the mountain regions in that quarter of
the globe would be astonished at the atmospheric effects here. Rarely,
except in case of a thunderstorm, and in the rainy season which lasts
about two months, is there any vapour to impede the vision, which roams
over snowy peaks of various chains of mountains far on the other side
of Cashmere.
The beauties of this scenery, in its magnificence and colossal
proportions, its illimitable extent and brilliancy of colouring, is
far beyond any description. All around you nature exhibits herself in
her most attractive forms, presenting almost every variety of shape
and colour, mountain and valley, rock and dell, forests of noble pines
and individual giants waving their monstrous arms overhead as you
pursue your path, with foaming torrents dashing at the bottom of the
precipices below you, gushing rills of purest water trickling from
the hills on whose slopes you move, and from the path to the torrent
below you stretch undulating grassy slopes, here steep, there gently
inclining, occasionally intercepted by a rough ravine through which
tumbles a torrent, and the whole surface gay with many flowers which
the while perfume the air--the 'tout ensemble' is such as to send the
observant traveller, however much his limbs may be taxed, exhilarated
and rejoicing on his way. It is a new existence to any one coming from
the depressing monotony of the interminable plains of the Punjab.
I had a long time to wait at Dupchin before any of my followers
arrived; so I took a snooze under a pine tree adjoining a fine stream,
at which I had slaked my thirst. The whole of my effects did not arrive
until about five o'clock. There was no village, no house here, it being
simply used as a camp ground, for which it offered some facilities--a
level surface, wood and water in abundance--food we had brought with us.
The night was bitterly cold, but my servants managed tolerably, four
or five sleeping in my smaller tent, as many as it would hold. Others
and the coolies coiling themselves up in their warm blankets under a
pine-clad bank, screening them from the wind, by the help of rousing
fires of dry pine wood kept up through the night, if not perfectly
comfortable, did not suffer: for they did not grumble--a good sign.
1st May. To Shupyim. The first part of the road is rough and difficult,
through a pine forest. You then cross the river by a bridge, the
scenery charming; emerge from the forest, and enter upon level grass
lands. We halted at Heerpoor for breakfast, a small village where
supplies are to be got: there is an old serai, one small room only
habitable, but good ground for camping.
The road from Heerpoor to Shupyim is good, over level grassy elevated
land, park-like scenery on either hand, the valley of Cashmere widening
before you, and a glorious display of mountains beyond it.
One may consider oneself fairly in the valley here, having left the
mountains behind; there remain only slight elevations between Shupyim
and Sirinuggur.
2nd May. I followed the path to Sirinuggur which, although one of the
principal roads to the capital, was but a bridle path, in some places
difficult to find, and leading over rivers and streams, some of which,
being without bridges, are awkward to cross.
We halted at a village called Serai, from there being the remains of
one there. Ramoo is the usual station, but it does not divide the
distance so equally, being too near Shupyim.
We had some difficulty in obtaining supplies, Jamhal Khan being
compelled to resort to harsh measures, such as kicking and so forth, to
bring the village official to a sense of his duties, and the importance
of a 'burra saheb.' This discipline was that best adapted to his rude
perceptions: and after some vociferations, and making as though he
would apply to me, who cruelly stopped the address with threats of
further coercive measures, he roused himself, and set to work with
activity to get what was required.
M. Olive came up: he had intended going right on to Sirinuggur,
expecting horses out to meet him, with his city man of business. The
latter did appear, and informed him that the ponies were sent the other
road, it being understood he would enter the valley of Baramoolah. M.
O. decided to remain, and readily accepted my invitation 'a gouter:'
when with some biscuits and potted bloaters, washed down by a bottle of
excellent hock, we contrived to open the sources of our eloquence, and
sat out regardless of the sun which, though the air was pleasant and
fresh, had a powerful tanning effect, as my face indicated on retiring
to my tent. Previous to thus taking 'tiffin,' I proposed to M. Olive
that we should unite our provisions and dine together, as I had some
claret on which I wished to have his judgment pronounced. He readily
assented, remarking that his khansamah should have orders to combine
culinary operations with mine.
I strolled out, and went in the direction of Sirinuggur, looking to
obtain a view of that city, but could only discern its site, indicated
by the fort of Hari-Parbut, conspicuous on a solitary hill, and by the
poplar trees, forming avenues round the city.
I returned and sat down to dinner with M. Olive, who, by the bye,
added nothing to the repast, apologising as he had intended dining
at Sirinuggur. However, I had abundance, and the claret was greatly
admired, and fully appreciated, M. Olive declaring it to be 'une
veritable acquisition': it had, however, considerable body, so we did
not drink more than half the bottle--sufficient again to engage us in
uninterrupted conversation.
M. Olive became quite eloquent, and getting on some pet topics
connected with France and her glories, Louis Nap. and his genius
and policy, he launched out and discussed these matters with great
intelligence. He is a very agreeable companion, having all the
politeness of manner of the well-educated Frenchman, and being a man of
sense and observation I found all he enlarged upon, and his views and
opinions, interesting and instructive.