DIARY OF A PEDESTRIAN
IN
CASHMERE AND THIBET.
By
Captain Knight, Forty-eighth Regiment.
London:
Richard Bentley, New Burlington Street.
Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
1863.
To
those for whose perusal
the following pages were originally written
they are affectionately
dedicated.
PREFACE.
With the fullest sense of the responsibility incurred by the addition
of another volume to the countless numbers already existing, and daily
appearing in the world, the following Diary has been committed to the
press, trusting that, as it was not written with intent to publication,
the unpremeditated nature of the offence may be its extenuation, and
that as a faithful picture of travel in regions where excursion trains
are still unknown, and Travellers’ Guides unpublished, the book may not
be found altogether devoid of interest or amusement. Its object is
simply to bring before the reader’s imagination those scenes and
incidents of travel which have already been a source of enjoyment to
the writer, and to impart, perhaps, by their description, some portion
of the gratification which has been derived from their reality. With
this view, the original Diary has undergone as little alteration of
form or matter as possible, and is laid before the reader as it was
sketched and written during the leisure moments of a wandering life,
hoping that faithfulness of detail may atone in it for faults and
failings in a literary and artistic point of view.
Although the journey it describes was written without the advantages of
a previous acquaintance with the writings of those who had already gone
over the same ground, subsequent research has added much to the
interest of the narrative, and information thus obtained has been added
either in the form of Notes or Appendix. Under the latter head,
acknowledgment is principally due to an able and interesting essay on
the architecture of Cashmere, by Capt. Cunningham, and also to a paper
by M. Klaproth, both of whom appear to have treated more fully than any
other writers the subjects to which they refer.
As differences will be found to occur in the names of places, &c.
between the parts thus added and the remainder of the book, it may be
well to explain that in the former only are they spelt according to the
usually received method of rendering words of Eastern origin in the
Roman character. By this system the letters ā, e, ī, o, and ū, are
given the sounds of the corresponding Italian vowels; i and u are
pronounced as in “hit” and “put;” and the letter a is made to represent
the short u in the word “cut.” In this way it is that Cashmere,
correctly pronounced Cushmere, comes to be written Kashmīr, and Mutun,
pronounced as the English word “mutton,” [1] is written Matan, both of
which, to the initiated, represent the true sound of the words. Those
who have adopted the system, however, have not always employed it
throughout, nor given with it the key by which it alone becomes
intelligible; and the result has been that in many ways, but
principally from the un-English use made of the letter a, it has tended
quite as much to mislead and confuse, as to direct.
In the narrative, therefore, wherever custom has not already
established a particular form of spelling, the explanation of the sound
has been attempted in the manner which seemed least liable to
misconception, and, except as regards the letters a and u no particular
system has been followed. These have been invariably given the sounds
they possess in the words “path” and “cut” respectively, a circumflex
being placed over the latter to denote the short u in the word “put.”
Such names, therefore, as Cushmere, Tibbut, Muhummud, Hijra, &c. have
been left as custom has ruled them, and will appear in their more
well-known costume of Cashmere, Thibet, Mahomet, and Hegira.
The concluding sketch was originally intended to accompany a series of
brightly-coloured Cashmerian designs illustrative of the life of
“Krishna;” and the reproduction of these, in their integrity, not
having been found feasible, the sketch itself may appear de trop.
It has, however, been retained on the possibility of the translations
which occur in it being of interest to those who may not be acquainted
with the style of Eastern religious literature; while the outline it
presents of some of the religions of the East, bare and simple as it
is, may be acceptable to such as are not inclined to search out and
study for themselves the necessarily voluminous and complicated
details.
London.
June, 1863.
CONTENTS.
Preface. vii
Introduction. 3
Part I.
The Pleasures of the Plains. 9
Part II.
Cashmere. 39
Part III.
A Halt in the Valley. 78
Part IV.
Little Thibet. 129
Part V.
Ladak and the Monastery of Hemis. 181
Part VI.
A Retreat to the Valley. 205
Part VII.
Last Days of Travel. 261
The Religions of Cashmere and Thibet. 305
Appendix A.
The Temples of Cashmere. 347
Appendix B.
The Mystic Sentence of Thibet. 362
Appendix C.
A Sketch of the History of Cashmere. 376
ILLUSTRATIONS.
1. Ladak frontispiece.
2. View in Sirinugger To face p. 84
3. Solomon’s Throne 90
4. Hurree Purbut 92
5. Martund 108
6. Pandreton 122
7. Lamieroo 164
8. Road to Egnemo 176
9. Rajah’s Palace, Ladak 182
10. Monastery of Hemis 192
11. Seventh Bridge, Sirinugger 268
12. Hindoo Temple in the Himalayas 306
13. Gunesh 311
14. Birth of Krishna 312
15. Temple Decoration, Himalayas 318
16. Ancient Jain Temple 336
17. Chubootra, or Resting-place in the Himalayas Vignette Title.
18. The Head of Affairs 3
19. An Unpropitious Moment 27
20. Kismut 29
21. Crossing the Sutlej 30
22. A Halting-place in Cashmere 74
23. Latticed Window, Sirinugger 102
24. Sacred Tank, Islamabad 104
25. Painting versus Poetry 111
26. Love-lighted Eyes 112
27. Vernagh 115
28. Cashmerian Temple Sculpture 121
29. Patrun 126
30. Roadside Monument, Thibet 152
31. Road to Moulwee 155
32. Rock Sculpture 156
33. Thibetian Monument 159
34. Natives and Lama 164
35. Thibetian Religious Literature 167
36. Inscribed Stones 170
37. Inscribed Stone 176
38. Monument at Hemis 190
39. Painted Stone 199
40. Buddha 202
41. Snow Bridge 241
42. Kangree 266
43. Ancient Hindoo Temple 305
44. Fukeer of Solomon’s Throne 322
ERRATUM.
Page 116, line 5, for A.D. 1612, read A.D. 1619.
“Who has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere,
With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave,
Its temples, and grottoes, and fountains as clear
As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave?”
INTRODUCTION.
More than a year and a half had been spent in the hottest parts of the
plains of India, and another dreaded hot season was rapidly making its
approach, when, together with a brother officer, I applied for and
obtained six months’ leave of absence for the purpose of travelling in
Cashmere and the Himalayas, otherwise called by Anglo-Indians “The
Hills.”
We had been long enough in the country to have discovered that the
gorgeous East of our imagination, as shadowed forth in the delectable
pages of the “Arabian Nights,” had little or no connexion with the East
of our experience—the dry and dusty East called India, as it appeared,
wasted and dilapidated, in its first convalescence from the fever into
which it had been thrown by the Mutiny of 1857–58. We were not long,
therefore, in making our arrangements for escaping from Allahabad, with
the prospect before us of exchanging the discomforts of another hot
season in the plains, for the pleasures of a sojourn in the far-famed
valley of Cashmere, and a tramp through the mountains of the
Himalayas—the mountains, whose very name breathes of comfort and
consolation to the parched up dweller in the plains. The mountains of
“the abode of snow!”
Our expeditionary force consisted at starting of but one besides the
brother officer above alluded to—the F. of the following pages—and
myself. This was my Hindoo bearer, Mr. Rajoo, whose duty it was to make
all the necessary arrangements for our transport and general welfare,
and upon whose shoulders devolved the entire management of our affairs.
He acted to the expedition in the capacity of quartermaster-general,
adjutant-general, commissary-general, and paymaster to the forces; and,
as he will figure largely in the following pages, under the title of
the “Q.M.G.,” and comes, moreover, under the head of “a naturally dark
subject,” a few words devoted to his especial description and
illumination may not be out of place.
With the highest admiration for England, and a respect for the
Englishman, which extended to the very lining of their pockets, Mr.
Rajoo possessed, together with many of the faults of his race, a
certain humour, and an amount of energy most unusual among the family
of the mild Hindoo. He had, moreover, travelled much with various
masters, in what are, in his own country, deemed “far lands;” and
having been wounded before Delhi, he had become among the rest of his
people an authority, and to the Englishman in India an invaluable
medium for their coercion and general management.
To us he proved a most efficient incumbent of the several offices we
selected him to fill. His administration no doubt did display an
occasional weakness; and his conduct as paymaster to the forces was
decidedly open to animadversion; for, in this capacity, he seemed to be
under the impression that payments, like charity, began at home, and he
also laboured under a constitutional and hereditary infirmity, which
prevented him in small matters from discerning any difference between
meum and tuum.
Having been employed collectively, however, it would be unfair to judge
of his performances in detail; and from his satisfactory management of
the expedition, occasionally under such trying circumstances as a
break-down in the land transport, or an utter failure in his tobacco
supply, we had every reason to be satisfied with our choice. The latter
misfortune was the only one which really interfered at any time with
his efficiency, or upset his equanimity, and it unfortunately occurred
always at the most inopportune seasons, and at a time when he was
undergoing his greatest hardships.
As long as the supply lasted, the mysterious gurglings of his “Hubble
Bubble,” or cocoa-nut water-pipe, might be heard at almost any hour of
the day or night. “Hubble bubble, toil and trouble,” was the natural
order of his existence; and when in some peculiarly uncivilised region
of our wanderings, the compound of dirt, sugar, and tobacco, in which
his soul delighted, was not forthcoming, he and his pipe seemed at once
to lose their vitality, and to become useless together. The temporary
separation which ensued, being in its way a mensa et thoro, was a
source of trouble and inconvenience to all concerned, and we had, more
than once, cause to regret not having given the tobacco question that
forethought and consideration to which it would be well entitled by any
one undertaking a similar expedition.
Overlooking these weaknesses, Mr. Rajoo’s character was beyond
reproach, and for the particular work he had to perform, his
combination of efficiency, portability, and rascality, rendered him in
every respect “the right man in the right place.”
Such was our “head of affairs,” and such the small force he had at
first to provide for. As we passed out of India, and got further from
regions of comparative civilization, his cares increased: cellar,
kitchen, larder, farm-yard, tents, &c. had then to accompany our
wandering steps, and the expedition gradually increased in size, until
it attained its maximum of nearly forty. From this it again as
gradually decreased, and as one by one our retainers disappeared, it
dwindled in dimensions until it finally reached its original limited
proportions, and then “we three met again,” once more upon the plains
of India.
All our necessary preparations having been completed, and a sacrifice
of three precious weeks having been duly offered to the inexorable
genius who presides over public correspondence, we reduced our
impedimenta to the smallest possible compass, and with about a hundred
pounds to commence life with, all in two shilling pieces, that being
the only available coin of the realm in this our second century of
British administration, we took our departure by railway for Cawnpore.
Here we found ourselves located and hospitably entertained in the house
in which our unfortunate fellow-countrywomen were confined on their
recapture from the river by the Nana Sahib, one of the few mementos of
the mutiny still left standing at Cawnpore.
Next day we laid our dâk for Simla, and about six o’clock in the
evening, with the Q.M.G. on the roof, and ourselves and our possessions
stowed away in the innumerable holes and corners of the rude wooden
construction called a “Dâk garee,” or post coach, we took our
departure. After a few mishaps with our steed, involving the necessity
of getting out to shove behind, we entered upon the Grand Trunk Road,
and with a refreshing sense of freedom and relief, soon left Cawnpore
in all its native dust and dreariness behind us.
PART I.
THE PLEASURES OF THE PLAINS.
May 21, 1860.—Being fairly under weigh, our first attention was
directed towards the machine which was to be, in a great measure, our
home for many days to come. Not overburdened with springs, and not much
to look at, though decidedly an extraordinary one to go, our conveyance
was by no means uncomfortable; and, stretched upon a mattress extending
its entire length, F. and I chatted over our plans and projects, and
star-gazed, and soon fell asleep, in spite of the ruts on the road and
the wild discordant bugling of our ragged coachman, who seemed to
consider that, however inferior in other respects, in a matter of music
we were not to be outdone, not even by Her Majesty’s own royal mail. At
first sight, the necessity of trying to clear such lonely roads as we
were travelling was not altogether apparent; but a slight acquaintance
with the general principles and laws of progression of the national
Indian institution called a bullock-cart, or “beil-garee,” soon clears
up the difficulty. Built entirely of wood, and held together by scraps
of ropes and cord, a more hopeless-looking machine cannot exist; and
drivers and bullocks alike share in the general woodenness and
impassibility of the structure. The animals, too, having probably lost
all the better feelings of their nature in such a service, are appealed
to entirely through the medium of their tails, and the operation
occasionally results in the whole creaking mass being safely deposited
in some capacious rut, there to remain until “the Fates”—assuming,
perhaps, the appearance of three additional bullocks—arrive to draw it
out again. Occasionally, too, the institution comes to a halt for the
night, comfortably drawn up in the centre of the line of traffic, with
a delightful disregard for aught but the present, and an air of supreme
contempt for the most eloquent music of all the ragged coachmen on the
Grand Trunk Road.
Every five miles we stopped to change our horse, and miserable indeed
was the raw-boned little animal that made his appearance on every
occasion. Still the pace was kept up in spite of appearances, and at
seven A.M. we reached “Ghoorsahagunge”—more generally known as
Gooseygunge—sixty miles from Cawnpore, and 197 from Delhi.
Here we slept in peace until eleven o’clock, and awoke from dreams of
Cashmere to the unpleasant realities of a violent dust-storm. The usual
“Khus-khus tatties,” or screens of fragrant grass, which are kept in a
continual state of moisture at door and window, and convert the
dust-charged scorching blast into a comparative coolness, were not
forthcoming, and our halt was not a pleasant one by any means: still
our faces were towards the mountains, and the pleasures of hope enabled
us to take our misfortunes with entire philosophy. We started again
about five P.M., when the power of the sun was somewhat abated, and
encountered the usual difficulties with refractory horses at every
change. A start was in no case effected without much management and
exertion. A half-naked black generally attaches himself to each wheel;
the driver, from a post of vantage, belabours the miserable horse with
all his might and main; the Q.M.G. takes a firm hold of the rails on
the roof; and all shouting, grunting, and using bad language together,
away we go at full gallop, if we are in unusual luck, for about 300
yards. Then comes a dead stop: the same operation commences again, and
so on, until the animal is sufficiently far from his last stable to be
able to look forward with some confidence to the one ahead, and resigns
himself to circumstances accordingly. One peculiarity in this peculiar
country we found to be, that in putting our steed-to, the English
custom is reversed. The cart is “put-to,” not the horse; and the latter
being left standing anywhere on the road, the lumbering “garee” is
dragged up to his tail, and fastened up with a combination of straps
and ropes, marvellous to behold.
May 23.—To-day we arrived at “Etawah,” where we found a very
comfortable little staging bungalow, but no supplies of either beer or
butter procurable. On the road in the early morning there were herds of
deer and antelope in sight, but time being precious we left them
unmolested.
As yet very little change makes its appearance in the character of the
country. Level plains, with patches of trees, mango and palm, as far as
the eye can reach, and everywhere dust, dust, dust! The palm-trees,
however, with toddy parties scattered about among them, serve to make
the scene look cheerful, and, for an eastern one, comparatively lively.
In the evening we again took the road, with a hot wind blowing strongly
and steadily, and before long we were overtaken by a dust-storm, which
completely enveloped us in its murky folds, and interfered with our
happiness a good deal. Got through the night much as usual, with the
addition of a midnight vocal entertainment, which some hundreds of
wolves and jackals treated us to, while the “authorities” were looking
to our welfare, by taking off and greasing our wheels. Of travellers we
meet but few, generally bullock-train parties, with soldiers, &c.,
return dâks, and an occasional old Mussulman, or other native, taking
advantage of the early morning for his journey, and wrapped and
swaddled up as if afraid of being congealed by the coolness of the
morning air.
Every day’s journey leaves one more and more at a loss to discover the
sources of the wealth of this enormous country. The soil, for miles and
miles a dead flat, is now barren as a desert, and we meet hardly a sign
of active traffic. During the night we certainly did encounter a long
train of heavily-laden bullock-waggons; but the merchandize was
gunpowder, and its destination was up, instead of down the road.
May 24.—Arrived at “Kurga,” where we found neither bread nor butter
forthcoming—nothing but—“plenty fowl, Sahib!” In the evening we again
encountered a heavy dust-storm, the worst of the season; the whole
night it continued to blow in our teeth; and between the fierce dryness
of the wind and the searching particles of dust, which visited us
without ceremony, we spent anything but an agreeable night. At three
A.M. we reached the “Hingus Nuddee,” or river; and changing our
solitary horse for two fat bullocks, we crossed its sandy bed, and over
a bridge of boats—not so genteelly, perhaps, but much more securely,
than we could have otherwise done. There were the remains here of a
handsome suspension bridge; but the chains had been cut by the rebel
Sepoys, and nothing but the pillars now remained.
May 25.—At four A.M. we crossed the bridge of boats over the Jumna, and
found ourselves under the gloomy battlements of the Fort of Delhi.
Entering by the Calcutta Gate, we drove through large suburbs, lighted
up with rows of oil lamps, reminding one, in the dim light, a good deal
of Cairo. Arriving at the dâk bungalow, we found it such a dirty
looking deserted building, and the interior so much of a piece with the
exterior, that we mounted again, and set off to try the Hotel, or
“Pahunch Ghur,”—a name originally intended to convey the meaning “An
arriving house,” but neatly and appropriately corrupted into the term
“Punch Gur,” which speaks for itself, and troubles no one much about
its derivation. We were rather disappointed with the general appearance
of the city: dirt and grandeur were closely combined, and the
combination gave the usual impression of shabby genteelness in general,
not at first sight prepossessing. After driving through what might have
been an Eastern Sebastopol, from the amount of ruin about, we reached a
cut-throat-looking archway; and the coachman, here pointing to a dirty
board, above his head, triumphantly announced the “Punch Gur!” Hot and
thirsty, we got out, with visions of rest and cooling sherbets, too
soon to be dispelled. Passing through long dirty halls, and up
unsavoury steps, we at last reached a sort of court, with beds of
sickly flowers, never known to bloom, and from thence issued to a suite
of musty hot Moorish-looking rooms, with gold-inlaid dust-covered
tables, and a heavily-draped four-post bedstead, the very sight of
which, in such a climate, was almost enough to deprive one of sleep for
ever. Our speech forsook us, and without waiting to remark whether the
lady of the house was an ogress, or possessed of a “rose-coloured body”
and face like the full moon, we fairly turned tail, and drove in all
haste to our despised dâk bungalow, where, meekly and with softened
feelings towards that edifice, we were glad to deposit ourselves on a
couple of charpoys, or “four-legs,” as the bedstead of India is called,
and endeavour to sleep the best way we could. “Delhi,” we found, quite
kept up its reputation of being the hottest place in India. All idea of
sight-seeing was out of the question, and the whole of our energies we
were obliged to expend in endeavouring to keep moderately cool.
After enjoying the two first of blessings in a hot climate—viz. a
plentiful supply of cold water and a change of raiment, we felt
ourselves able to undergo the exertion of meeting the traditional
grilled fowl at breakfast, and of inspecting the curiosities from the
bazaars. At the first wish on the latter subject, we were invaded by a
crowd of bundle-carrying, yellow-turbaned, rascally merchants, who, in
half a minute, had the whole of their goods on the floor—rings,
brooches, ivory ornaments, and inutilities of all sorts and kinds, all
of them exorbitantly dear, and none of any real value.
We left Delhi again at about six P.M., after loitering about the city
for a short time, among the teeming bazaars, some parts of which were
picturesque and “Eastern” enough. Outside the city walls, the country
was ruined and dilapidated in the extreme; demolished houses and wasted
gardens telling their tale of the loss of Delhi, and our struggle for
its recapture.
May 26.—During the night, we got over seventy-three miles, and reached
“Kurnaul” at seven A.M. The bungalow we found unusually comfortable,
being a remnant of the old régime, and one of the few which escaped
from the hands of the rebels during the mutiny.
The country here begins to improve in appearance—more trees and
cultivation on all sides; and the natives appear finer specimens than
their more southern relations. The irrigation, too, seems to be carried
on with more systematic appliances than further south—the water being
raised by the Persian wheel, and bullock-power introduced in aid of
manual labour.
May 27.—Arrived at Umballa at three A.M., and found the staging
bungalow full. The only available accommodation being a spare charpoy
in the verandah, F. took a lease of it, while I revelled in the
unaccustomed roominess of the entire carriage, and slept till six, when
we got into our lodgings. Although so near the foot of the Himalayas,
the weather was so oppressive here that exploring was out of the
question; and at six P.M., changing our carriage for palankeens, or
doolies, we commenced a tedious and dusty journey to the village of
“Kalka,” the veritable “foot of the hills,” where we were met by a
string of deputies from the different “dry-lodgings” in the
neighbourhood, soliciting custom. The first house we came to was
guarded by an unmistakeable English hotel-keeper, of some eighteen
stone; and so terrible was the appearance she presented, with her arms
akimbo, rejoicing in her mountain air, that in our down-country and
dilapidated condition, we felt quite unequal to the exertion of
stepping into her little parlour; and passing her
establishment—something in the small bathingplace-style of
architecture—we went on to the next, very much of the same order, and
called the “Brahminee Bull.” Here, to my dismay however, standing in
the selfsame position, weighing the same number of stone, and equally
confident in the purity of her air as her neighbour, stood another
female “Briton,” with the come-into-my-parlour expression of
countenance, regarding us as prey. Under the circumstances, exhausted
nature gave in; though saved from Scylla, our destiny was Charybdis,
and we accordingly surrendered ourselves to a wash, breakfast, and the
Brahminee Bull. During the day, we had a visit from a friend and
ex-brother officer, whom we had promised to stay with, at “Kussowlie,”
on our road up. Kalka was not hot, but grilling, so that a speedy
ascent to the station was soon agreed upon. Not caring to risk a
sun-stroke, I resigned myself to the traditional conveyance of the
country, a “jhampan,” while the other two rode up; but here, for the
second time, it was “out of the fryingpan into the fire.” Such an
infernal machine as my new conveyance turned out never could have
existed in the palmiest days of the Inquisition. It was a sort of
child’s cradle, long enough for a creature of some five or six summers,
made like a tray, and hung after the fashion of a miniature four-post
bedstead, with goat’s-hair curtains. The structure is suspended,
something in the fashion of a sedan-chair which has been stunted in its
growth, between two poles; between the projections of these again,
before and behind, connected by a stout strap, are two shorter bars,
each supported, when in travelling order, on the shoulders of two
bearers. When the machine is in motion, therefore, there are four men
in line between the shafts.
The pace is always rather fast, and down a declivity the torturers go
at a run; the result is, that prominent parts of one’s body are
continually in collision with the seat or sides of the machine, coming
down from various altitudes, according to the nature of the ground and
the humour of the inquisitors. After getting over about six miles in
this graceful and pleasing manner, we reached the first of the
fir-trees, and as we rose still higher a delicious breeze came over the
hills, as precious to the parched and travel-stained pilgrim from the
plains as a drop of water to the thirstiest wanderer in the desert.
Kussowlie appeared a picturesque little station, perched at the summit
of one of the first of the hilly ranges, and here I found my two
companions, burnt and red in the face as if they, too, had had their
sufferings on the road, occupied in looking over the goods of a
strolling Cashmere merchant; luckily for themselves, however, it was
under the protecting superintendence of our hostess. Our friends were
living on a miniature estate commanding a magnificent view of the
mountain ranges on one side, and, on the other, the plains of the
Punjab, the scorching country from which we had just made our escape
lying stretched out before us like an enormous map in relief. Towards
the mountains were the military stations of “Dugshai” and “Subathoo,”
and the boys’ asylum of “Senore,” the latter rather marring the face of
nature by the workhouse order of its architecture. “Simla” we could
just distinguish, nestled among the blue mountains in the far distance.
Here we spent a couple of days very pleasantly with our hospitable
entertainers, and satisfactorily pulled up all arrears of sleep—a
luxury none can really appreciate who have not travelled for six days
and nights in the different local conveniences I have mentioned.
Before leaving we had an opportunity of seeing how England in the
Himalayas makes its morning calls. Walking, which amounts almost to an
impossibility in “the plains,” seems to be voted infra dig. in “the
hills,” and Mrs. Kussowlie according made her appearance seated in
state in a jhampan, and borne on the shoulders of four of her slaves.
These were active, wiry-looking natives, dressed in long green coats,
bound with broad, red, tight-fitting pantaloons, and with small turbans
of red and green on their heads. Altogether, a more startling-looking
apparition to the uninitiated than this Himalayan morning visitor could
hardly be imagined, even in a tour through the remotest regions of the
earth.
May 29.—About six o’clock in the evening we remounted our instruments
of torture and took the road to Simla. For about seven miles the path
was down hill, and the bearers being fresh, they huddled us along at a
pace calculated to outrage our feelings most considerably, and, at the
same time, with no more consideration for our welfare than if we were
so many sacks of coal. In spite of the sufferings of the principal
performers, the procession was most amusing; and as we jolted, bumped,
and bundled along, it was impossible to keep from laughing, although
crying, perhaps, would, under the circumstances, have been more
appropriate. My machine led the way, four of the inquisition being in
the shafts, and four in waiting, running along at the side with pipes,
bundles, sticks, &c. Then came F. similarly attended, and finally the
Q.M.G., hubble bubble in hand, and attired in a gold embroidered cap,
surrounded by a lilac turban: seated in a sort of tray, and reclining
at his case in full enjoyment of his high position, he looked the
priest of the procession, and managed to retain his dignity in spite of
the rapid and unceremonious way in which he was being whirled along. As
the moon went down we had the additional effect of torchlight to the
scene, three bearers having the special duty of running along to show
the pathway to the rest. This seemed a service of some danger, and our
torch-bearers at times verged upon places where a stumble would have
apparently extinguished both themselves and their torches for ever.
About half way we stopped for about an hour for the bearers to partake
of a light entertainment of “ghee and chupatties”—otherwise, rancid
butter and cakes of flour and water. This was their only rest and only
meal, from the time they left Kussowlie at six P.M. until they reached
Simla at eight A.M. The same set of bearers took us the entire
distance, about thirty-five miles; and the four men who were not
actually in the shafts used to rest themselves by running, ahead and up
precipitous short cuts, so as to insure a few minutes’ pull at the pipe
of consolation before their turn arrived again. To us, supposed to be
the otium cum dig. part of the procession, the road seemed perfectly
endless. No sooner were we up one ascent than we were down again on the
other side; and when we thought Simla must be in sight round the next
turn, it seemed suddenly to become more hid than ever. In one of these
ups and downs of life my machine, during a heavy lurch, fairly gave way
to its feelings, and with a loud crash the pole broke, and down we both
came, much to my temporary satisfaction and relief. A supply of ropes
and lashings, however, formed part of the inquisitors’ stores, and we
were soon under weigh again to fulfil the remainder of our destiny.
The entrance to Simla led us through a fine forest of oaks, firs,
cedars, and other large trees; and winding along through these we
could, every now and then, discern, towering over the backs of endless
ranges of blue and hazy mountains, ridge upon ridge of glittering snow,
which cast its icy breath upon us even where we were, helping us to
forget the horrors of the night, and giving us a renewal of our lease
of existence. Simla itself soon opened on our view, a scattered and
picturesque settlement of houses of the most varied patterns perched
about over the mountain top, just as an eligible spot presented itself
for building purposes. It is situated 8,000 feet above the level of the
sea and 7,000 over the average level of “the plains,” Umballa, which is
near the foot of the range, being 1,000 above the sea-level. From our
halting-place we could discern the scene of our night’s journey, with
Kussowlie looking like a mere speck in the distance, and we felt a
proud sort of consciousness of having accomplished a desperate
undertaking in very good style. Passive endurance was, under the
circumstances quite as worthy of praise as the more active virtues
displayed by those who were the cause of our sufferings. After the
first good breakfast I had eaten for three months, we pulled up arrears
of sleep till four P.M. and found, on awaking, that our much expected
letters had arrived from the post, and among them the necessary
permission from the Punjab Government to travel in Cashmere, and
instructions for our guidance while in the territory. From among the
routes laid down in the latter we chose No. 1. [2] The direct line
across the mountains from Simla would have entailed additional delay
and permission, and as time was precious we decided upon descending
again to the plains and making our way through Lahore, not, however,
without a severe pang at leaving so soon the terrestrial paradise of
which we had got a glimpse. After arranging our movements with the
“authorities,” we sallied out to see fashionable Simla airing itself,
which, as far as dress is concerned, it appeared to do very much in the
fashionable watering-place style at home. The jhampans, palkies,
dandies, [3] &c. which took up the entire road, however, loudly
proclaimed India, Simla being much too dainty to touch the ground with
its pretty feet, and too lazy to use its own legs for purposes of
out-door locomotion. The station seems a curious combination of many
styles and places; the scenery and houses, Swiss; the people Anglo
Indians, Affghans, Cashmeeries, &c.; the conveyances,
Inquisito-Spanish; and the bazaars, in their native dirt, pure Indian.
May 31.—After making our leave secure, we made up our minds for a
plunge into the plains again and a forced march to Lahore, being rather
expedited in the determination by hearing that several travellers had
been recalled from leave in consequence of there being a scarcity of
officers with their regiments.
With a fine moonlight night in our favour we again took the road; and
practice slightly assuaging our sufferings, we got on smoothly enough
till within a few hours from Hureepore Bungalow, when my machine again
broke with a crash, and the nature of the fracture being compound, I
walked on and left the executioners to repair the instrument at their
leisure.
June 1.—Reached Hureepore at four A.M., and found the place in
possession of a crowd of monkeys of all sorts and sizes, taking an
early breakfast. Here, chicken and eggs being again written in our
destiny, we halted for an hour or two, and at eleven again took the
road with our cast-iron bearers, and hurried along in the noonday sun,
up hill and down dale, through Kussowlie, and on and on till we were
once more fairly deposited at the feet of “Mrs. Charybdis.” A slight
dinner here, and at 8.30 P.M. we were again in train, shuffling along
through several feet of dust, which the bearers, and torch-carriers,
and the rest of our numerous train, kicked up about us, in clouds
nearly dense enough to cause suffocation.
June 2.—At 8.30 A.M. we arrived again at Umballa, and with nothing to
comfort us in our dusty and worried condition but the reflection that
our start from Simla was a magnificent triumph of stern determination
over present enjoyment and unwonted luxury, we again resumed our forced
march. At six P.M. we took our departure, in a very magnificent coach,
but in an “unpropitious moment,” for the horse was unusually averse to
an advance of any sort, and when we did get clear of the station his
opinions were borne out by a terrific storm of dust, with a thunder,
lightning, and rain accompaniment, which effectually put a stop to all
further progress. The horse for once had his wish, and was brought to a
regular stand. The wind howled about us, and the dusty atmosphere
assumed a dull red appearance, such as I had only once before seen at
Cawnpore, and the like of which might possibly have prevailed during
the last days of Pompeii. After getting through the worst of the storm,
we pushed along, and had reached the twentieth mile-stone, when,
catching a flavour of burning wood, I looked out and found the wheel at
an angle of some 30 degrees, and rubbing against the side preparatory
to taking its leave altogether. Here was another effect of starting in
an unpropitious moment. The interruption in the great forced march
preyed heavily upon our minds, but, on the principle of doing as “Rome
does,” we took a lesson from the religion of “Islam,” and concurring in
the views expressed by our attendant blacks, viz. that “whatever is
written in a man’s destiny that will be accomplished,” we ejaculated
“Kismut” with the rest, and resignedly adapted ourselves to the
writings in our own particular page of fate. Having sent back to
Umballa the news of our distress, a new conveyance in a few hours made
its appearance; and hauling it alongside the wreck, we unshipped the
stores, reloaded, and eventually reached “Thikanmajura” at eight A.M.
June 3.—Starting at about three o’clock P.M., we found the unpropitious
moment still hanging over us: first a violent dust-storm, and then a
refractory horse, which bolted completely off the road, and nearly
upset us down a steep bank, proved to demonstration that our star was
still obscured.
About midnight we reached the river “Sutlej,” and exchanged our horse
for four fat and humpy bullocks, who managed, with very great labour
and difficulty, to drag us through the heavy sands of the river-bed
down to the edge of the water. Here we were shipped on board a
flat-bottomed boat, with a high peaked bow; and, after an immensity of
hauling and grunting, we were fairly launched into the stream, and
poled across to the opposite shore. The water appeared quite shallow,
and the coolies were most of the time in the water; but its width,
including the sands forming its bed, could not have been less than two
miles and a half. It was altogether a wild and dreary-looking scene, as
we paddled along—the wild ducks and jackals, &c. keeping up a concert
on their own account, and the patient old bullocks ruminating quietly
on their prospects at our feet.
On arriving at what appeared to be the opposite bank, we were taken
out, and again pulled and hauled through the deep sand, only to be
reshipped again on what seemed a respectable river in its own right;
and here, getting out of patience with a stream that had no opposite
bank, I fell asleep, and left the bullocks to their sorrows and their
destiny.
June 4.—Arrived at Jullundur, where we had to share the bungalow with
another traveller and a rising family, who kept us alive by howling
vigorously all day. The road from this being “Kucha,” literally
uncooked, but here meant to express “unmetalled,” we had yet another
form of conveyance to make acquaintance with. It was a palkee, rudely
strapped upon the body of a worn-out “Dâk garee;” and although a more
unpromising-looking locomotive perhaps never was placed upon wheels,
the actual reality proved even worse than the appearance foreboded.
Anybody who has happened to have been run away with in a dust-cart
through Fenchurch Street, or some other London pavement, the gas pipes
being up at the time, might form some idea of our sensations as we
pounded along, at full gallop, over some thirty miles of uneven,
uncooked road; but to anybody who has not had this advantage,
description would be impossible. About half way, it appeared that it
was written in my miserable destiny that the off fore-wheel of my shay
was to come off, and off it came accordingly; so that once more I
became an involuntary disciple of Islam, and went to sleep among the
ruins, with rather a feeling of gratitude for the respite than
otherwise. On awaking, I found myself again under way; and effecting a
junction with my companion, we had a light supper off half a
water-melon; and, after crossing the River Beas by a bridge of boats,
and being lugged through another waste of sand by bullocks, we once
again reached a “cooked” road, and arrived at “Umritsur” at six A.M.
June 5.—Found the heat so great here that we were unable to stir out.
As a consolation, we received a visit from four “Sikh Padres,” who
rushed in and squatted themselves down without ceremony, previously
placing a small ball of candied sugar on the table as a votive and
suggestive offering. The spokesman, a lively little rascal, with a
black beard tied up under his red turban, immediately opened fire, by
hurling at us all the names of all the officers he had ever met or read
of. The volley was in this style: First, the number of the regiment,
then Brown Sahib, Jones Sahib, Robinson Sahib, Smith Sahib, Tomkins
Sahib, Green Sahib, and so on, regiment after regiment and name after
name, his brother Padres occasionally chiming in in corroboration of
their friend’s veracity and in admiration of his vast stock of military
information. After much trouble, we got rid of the pack, at the price
of one rupee, which was cheap for the amount of relief afforded by
their departure.
June 6.—Reached Lahore at ten P.M. and had a night in bed, for the
third time only since leaving Cawnpore. The Q.M.G. being at once set to
work to make the necessary arrangements for our final start for
Cashmere, we paid a hurried visit to the Tomb of Runjeet Singh and the
Fort and City of Lahore. These were worth seeing, but they abounded in
sights and perfumes, which rendered the operation rather a trying one,
considering the very high temperature of the weather.
June 7.—Drove out in a dilapidated buggy, and with an incorrigible
horse, to Mean Meer, the cantonments of Lahore. The place looked burnt
up and glaring like its fellows, and a fierce hot wind swept over it,
which made us glad enough to turn our backs on it and hurry home again
as fast as our obstinate animal would take us. The Q.M.G., we found,
had collected our staff of servants together, and was otherwise pushing
on our preparations as fast as the dignity and importance of the
undertaking would admit.
The staff consisted of khidmutgar, bawurchie, bhistie, dhobie, and
mihtar; or, in plain English, butler, cook, water-carrier, washerman,
and sweeper.
Of these, the washing department only brought with it its insignia and
badge of office. This was an enormous smoothing-iron, highly ornamented
with brass, decorated with Gothic apertures, and made to contain an
amount of charcoal that would have kept an entire family warm in the
coldest depths of winter. Being of great weight, we rather objected to
such an addition to our stores—the more so as our linen was not likely
to require much getting-up. The dhobie, however, declared himself
unable to get on without it, and it accordingly had to be engaged with
its master.
June 8.—To-day Rajoo is still hard at work laying in stores from the
bazaars and arranging means of transport for them; the weather hot
beyond measure; and as neither our food nor quarters are very good, we
begin to forget our lessons of resignation, more especially as the
mosquitoes begin to form a very aggravating item in our destiny.
June 9.—About four P.M. the Q.M.G. came in triumphantly with about
sixteen tall baskets covered with leather, which he called “khiltas;”
and having ranged them about the room like the oil-jars of “Ali Baba,”
he proceeded to cram them with potatoes, tea, clothes, brandy, and the
whole stock of our earthly goods, in a marvellous and miscellaneous
manner, very trying to contemplate, and suggestive of their entire
separation from us and our heirs for ever.
Coolies not being procurable in sufficient numbers to carry away all
our stores together, F. and I agreed to start in the morning, leaving
the head of affairs with the rearguard to follow at his leisure. Got
away at last in two “palkees,” with four “banghy wallahs,” or
baggage-bearers, carrying our immediate possessions, guns, &c. Spent
the night wretchedly enough, the roads being of the worst, and covered
nearly a foot deep everywhere with fine dust, which our bearers very
soon stirred up into an impenetrable cloud, enveloping us in its folds
to the verge of suffocation.
The sensation is strange enough, travelling in this way along a lonely
road at dead of night, closely shut up in an oblong box, and surrounded
by some twenty or more dusky savages, who could quietly tap one on the
head at any time, and appropriate the bag of rupees—inseparable from
Indian travelling—without the slightest difficulty. That they do not do
so is probably from the knowledge they possess that with the bag of
rupees there is generally to be found a revolver, and that an English
traveller is of so generous a disposition that he seldom parts from his
money without giving a little lead in with the silver.
June 10.—After a dusty jolt of forty miles, we reached “Gugerwalla” at
eight A.M., and felt the change from Lahore most refreshing. The
village seemed a quiet little settlement, very little visited by
Englishmen, and the inhabitants, probably on that account, appeared of
a different stamp from those we had hitherto met. The women, in
particular, were more gaily dressed, and not so frightened at a white
face as more south. The rearguard not having come up at six P.M. we
started off without it. Crossed the Chenab during the night. The fords,
by torchlight, were most picturesque, and rather exciting, in
consequence of the water at times taking it into its head to see what
was inside the “palkee.” The Chenab makes the fourth out of the “five
waters” from which the “Punjab” takes its name. The Jhelum only
remains—the ancient Hydaspes of Alexandrian notoriety.
June 11.—Reached “Goojerat” at five A.M. and enjoyed a few hours of
quiet sleep in a very comfortable bungalow. The “khiltas” not making
their appearance, we halt here for the night. In the evening we
explored the city—a straggling rabbit-barrow settlement, inclosed by a
mud wall, and boasting the narrowest streets I had ever seen. In an
open space we came upon a marvellously-ornamented “mundir,” or Hindoo
temple, painted in the most florid style, with effigies of dark
gentlemen in coloured pants riding on peacocks, antelopes, and other
beasts of burden common in the country. It seemed the centre of
attraction to a numerous concourse of strangers from the north; among
others, a bevy of young ladies with loose trousers and fair
complexions, evidently “Cashmeeries,” who seemed to regard the “heathen
temple” as one of the wonders of the world. In the middle of the night
the rearguard came in with the supplies, and we at once turned it into
an advanced-guard, and packed it off to make preparations for our
arrival at “Bimber.”
June 12.—Spent a very hot day at Goojerat, and amused ourselves by
inspecting the gold-inlaid work for which the place is famous. At 5.30
P.M. we started for our last night’s journey in British territory; and
thus terminated, for the present, our experiences of all the hot and
dusty “pleasure of the Plains.”