CASHMERE.
June 13.—About two A.M. we passed out of India into the territory of
His Highness the Maharajah of Cashmere, and halted at Bimber. The
accommodation here turned out to be most indifferent, although in our
route the edifice for travellers was called a “Baraduree,” which
sounded grandly. It means a summer-house with twelve doors; but beyond
the facilities it afforded of rapid egress, we found it to possess but
few advantages.
Putting a couple of charpoys outside, we managed a few hours’ sleep al
fresco, in spite of the flies and mosquitoes innumerable, who lost no
time in taking possession of their new property. On being able to
discern the face of the country, we found ourselves at the foot of a
range of hills of no great height, but still veritable hills; and
although the sun was nearly as hot as in the plains, we felt that we
were emancipated from India, and that all our real travelling troubles
were over. In the evening we inspected the Maharajah’s troops,
consisting of eight curiously-dressed and mysteriously-accoutred sepoys
under a serjeant. These same troops had rather astonished us in the
morning by filing up in stage style in front of our two charpoys just
as we awoke, and delivering a “Present arms” with great unction as we
sat up in a half-sleepy and dishevelled condition, rubbing our eyes,
and not exactly in the style of costume in which such a salute is
usually received. We now found the “army” in the domestic employment of
cooking their victuals, so that we were unable to have much of a
review. However, we looked at their arms and accoutrements; ammunition
they had none; and saw them perform the “manual and platoon.” Their
arms had been matchlocks, but had been converted, these stirring times,
into flintlocks! In addition to these, which were about as long as a
respectable spear, they had each a sword and shield, together with a
belt and powder-horn, all clumsy in the extreme. In loading, we found
an improvement on the English fashion, for, after putting the imaginary
charge in with the hand, they blew playfully down the muzzle to obviate
the difficulty of the powder sticking to the sides. After presenting
the troops with “bukhshish,” we strolled through the village and met
the “thanadar,” or head man, coming out to meet us, arrayed in glorious
apparel and very tight inexpressibles, and mounted on a caparisoned
steed. Dismounting, he advanced towards us salaaming, and holding out a
piece of money in the palm of his hand; and not exactly knowing the
etiquette of the proceeding, we touched it and left it where we found
it, which appeared to be a relief to his mind, for he immediately put
it in his pocket again.
His chief conversation was on the subject of the Maharajah and the
delights of Cashmere, and anxiety as to our having got all supplies,
&c. which we required, as he had been appointed expressly for the
purpose of looking after the comfort of the English visitors. What with
our friend and his train, and the detachment of “the army” which had
accompanied us, our retinue began to assume the appearance of a
procession; and it was with great difficulty that we induced them all
to leave us, which they did at last after we had expressed our full
satisfaction at the courtesy displayed by the Maharajah’s very
intelligent selection of a “thanadar.”
June 14.—Broke up our camp about three A.M. and started our possessions
at four o’clock, after some difficulty in prevailing upon the coolies
to walk off with their loads. On mustering our forces, we found that
they numbered thirty-seven, including ourselves. Of these twenty-four
were coolies, carrying our possessions—beer, brandy, potatoes, &c.; our
servants were six more; then there were four ponies, entailing a native
each to look after them; and, last of all, one of the redoubtable
“army” as a guard, who paraded in the light marching order of a sword,
shield, bag of melons, and an umbrella. F. and I travelled on “yaboos,”
or native ponies—unlikely to look at, but wonderful to go. Mine was
more like a hatchet than anything else, and yet the places he went over
and the rate he travelled up smooth faces of rock was marvellous to
behold.
About eight o’clock we found ourselves once more among the pine-trees;
and, although the sun was very powerful, we had enough of the freshness
of the mountain air to take away the remembrance of the dusty plains
from our minds. No rain having fallen as yet, the springs and rivers
were all nearly dry; but we saw several rocky beds, which gave good
promise of fly-fishing, should they receive a further supply of water.
About nine A.M. we reached our halting-place, “Serai Saidabad,” a
ruined old place, with a mud tenement overlooking, at some elevation,
the banks of a river.
Here we were again received with a salute, by a detachment of warriors
drawn up in full dress—viz. red and yellow turbans, and blue trousers
with a red stripe.
After undergoing a refreshing bath of a skin of water, taken in our
drawing-room, we got our artist to work at breakfast, and shortly after
found, with considerable satisfaction, that we were in for the first of
the rains. This welcome fact first proclaimed itself by the
reverberation of distant thunder from among the mountains to the north;
then an ominous black cloud gradually spread itself over us, and, with
a storm of dust, down came the rain in torrents, making the air, in a
few minutes, cool and delicious as possible, and entirely altering the
sultry temperature which had previously prevailed. The thirsty ground
soaked up the moisture as if it had never tasted rain, and the trees
came out as if retouched by Nature’s brush; while as, for F. and
myself, we turned the unwonted coolness to the best account we could,
by setting ourselves to work to pull up all arrears of sleep forthwith.
June 15.—Started at four A.M., with our numerous train, and found the
road all the pleasanter for the rain of the previous evening, and all
things looking green and fresh after the storm. Our path led us up a
rocky valley, with its accompanying dashing stream, in the bed of which
we could see traces of what the brawler had been in his wilder days, in
huge and polished boulders and water-worn rocks, which had been hurled
about in all directions. We afterwards went straight up a precipitous
mountain, wooded with pine, which was no light work for the coolies,
heavily laden as they were. No sooner, however, were we on the top of
this than down we went on the other side; and how the ponies managed
their ups-and-downs of life was best known to themselves; certainly,
nothing but a cat or a Cashmere pony could have got over the ground.
About nine A.M. we reached “Nowshera,” under another salute, where we
found an indifferent-looking “Baraduree,” completely suffocated among
the trees of a garden called the “Bauli Bagh,” or “Reservoir Garden,”
from a deep stone well in the centre of it. Here we got on
indifferently well, the weather being close after the rain, and the
place thickly inhabited by crowds of sparrows, all with large families,
who made an incessant uproar all day long; besides an army of
occupation of small game, which interfered sadly with our sleeping
arrangements at night. In the evening we made the acquaintance of a
loquacious and free-and-easy gardener, entirely innocent of clothes,
who came and seated himself between F. and myself, as we were perched
upon a rock enjoying the prospect. According to his account, the
Maharajah’s tenants pay about seven rupees, or fourteen shillings, per
annum for some five acres of land. In the middle of the night we came
in for another storm of thunder and lightning, which took a good many
liberties with our house, but cooled the air; and only for the
mosquitoes, and other holders of the property, whose excessive
attentions were rather embarrassing, we would have got on very well. As
it was, however, I hardly closed an eye all night, and spent the
greater part of it in meandering about the Bauli Bagh, vestito da
notte—in which operation I rejoice to think that, like the Russians at
the burning of Moscow, I at least put the enemy to very considerable
inconvenience, even at the expense of my own comfort.
June 16.—About half-past four A.M. we got under weigh again, heartily
delighted to leave the sparrows and their allies in undisputed
possession of their property.
The “kotwal,” and other authorities, who had been extremely civil in
providing supplies, coolies, &c., according to the Maharajah’s order,
took very good care not to let us depart without a due sense of the
fact, for they bothered us for “bukhshish” just as keenly as the lowest
muleteer; and when I gave the kotwal twelve annas, or one shilling and
sixpence, as all the change I had, he assured me that the khidmutgar
had more, and ran back to prove it by bringing me two rupees. I gave
the scoundrel one, and regretted it for three miles, for he had robbed
the coolies in the morning, either on his own or his master’s account,
of one anna, or three-halfpence each, out of their hardly-earned wages.
To-day we find ourselves once more among the rocks and pines, and as we
progressed nothing could exceed the beauty of the views which opened
upon us right and left. A mountain stream attended our steps the whole
way sometimes smoothly and placidly, sometimes dancing about like a mad
thing, and teasing the sturdy old battered rocks and stones which long
ago had settled down in life along its path, and which, from the amount
of polish they displayed, must themselves have been finely knocked
about the world in their day. Rounding a turn of the river, where it
ran deeply under its rocky bank, we came suddenly upon the ghastly
figure of a man carefully suspended in chains from a prominent tree.
His feet had been torn off by the wolves and jackals, but the upper
part of the body remained together, and there he swung to and fro in
the breeze, a ghastly warning to all evildoers, and a not very pleasing
monument of the justice of the country. He was a sepoy of the
Maharajah’s army, who had drowned his comrade in the stream below the
place where he thus had expiated his crime. Not far from this spot we
discovered traces of another marauder, in the shape of a fresh
footprint of a tiger or a leopard, just as he had prowled shortly
before along the very path we were pursuing.
From this we gradually got into a region of fruit-trees, interspersed
with pines; and sometimes we came upon a group of scented palms, which
looked strangely enough in such unusual company. Through clustering
pomegranates, figs, plums, peach-trees, wild but bearing fruit, we
journeyed on and on; and, as new beauties arose around us, we could not
help indulging in castles in the air, and forming visions of earthly
paradises, where, with the addition only of such importations as are
inseparable from all ideas of paradise, either in Cashmere or
elsewhere, one might live in uninterrupted enjoyment of existence, and,
at least, bury in oblivion all remembrance of such regions as the
“Plains of India.”
About ten A.M., after a continuous series of ups-and-downs of varied
scenery, we arrived at “Chungas,” a picturesque old serai, perched upon
a hill over the river. It was marked off in our route as having no
accommodation, but, located among the mouldering remnants of grandeur
of an old temple in the centre of the serai, we managed to make
ourselves very comfortable, and thought our “accommodation” a most
decided improvement upon our late fashionable but rather overcrowded
halting-place. From the serai we can see, for the first time, the snowy
range of the Himalayas, trending northwards, towards the Peer Punjal
Pass, through which our route leads into the Valley of Cashmere.
June 17.—Another ride through hill and dale to “Rajaori,” or “Rampore,”
a most picturesque-looking town, built in every possible style of
architecture, and flanked at one extremity by a ruined castle. Our
halting-place was in an ancient serai, with a dilapidated garden,
containing the remains of some rather handsome fountains. It was
situated on a rock, several hundred feet above the river which
separated us from the town; and, from our elevated position, we had a
fine view of the whole place, and got an insight into the manners and
customs of the inhabitants, without their being at all aware of our
proximity.
The women and children appeared to be dressed quite in the Tartar
style: the women with little red square-cornered fez caps, with a long
strip of cloth thrown gracefully over them, and either pyjamas of blue
stuff with a red stripe, or a long loose toga of greyish cloth,
reaching nearly to the feet. The little girls were quite of the
bullet-headed Tartar pattern, of Crimean recollection, but wore rather
less decoration. The Crimean young ladies generally had a three
cornered charm suspended round their necks, while the youthful fashion
of Rajaori, scorning all artificial adornment, selected nature only as
their mantua-maker, and wore their dresses strictly according to her
book of patterns. After enjoying a delightfully cool night in our
elevated bedroom, we started for “Thanna.”
Our path led through a gradually ascending valley, cultivated, for the
rice crop, in terraces, and irrigated by a complicated net-work of
channels, cut off from the mountain streams, and branching off in every
direction to the different elevations. The ground was so saturated in
these terraces that ploughing was carried on by means of a large
scraper, like a fender, which was dragged along by bullocks, the
ploughman standing up in the machine as it floundered and wallowed
about, and guiding it through the sea of mud.
June 18.—Reached Thanna at nine A.M. and came to a halt in a shady spot
outside the village. There was an old serai about half a mile off, but
it was full of merchants and their belongings, and savoured so strongly
of fleas and dirt, that we gave it up as impracticable.
This was the first instance of our finding no shelter; and, as ill luck
would have it, our tents took the opportunity of pitching themselves on
the road, a number of coolies broke down, and one abandoned our
property and took himself off altogether. Under these interesting
circumstances, we were obliged to spend the day completely al fresco,
and to wait patiently for breakfast until the fashionable hour of
half-past two P.M. The inhabitants took our misfortunes very
philosophically, and stopped to stare at us to their heart’s content as
they went by for water, wondering, no doubt, at that restless nature of
the crazy Englishman, which drives him out of his own country for the
sole purpose, apparently, of being uncomfortable in other people’s. Our
position, although at the foot of the grander range of mountains, we
found very hot, and a good deal of ingenuity was required in order to
find continued shelter from the scorching rays of the sun. The natives
here, seemed to suffer to a great extent from goitre, and one of our
coolies in particular had three enormous swellings on his neck,
horrible to look at. During the night, Rajoo came in with the missing
baggage, except two khiltas, for which no carriage could be procured,
and which he was in consequence obliged to abandon on the road until
assistance could be sent to them.
June 19.—Started at daybreak from our unsatisfactory quarters, and
enjoyed some of the finest scenery we had yet encountered. The road
ascended pretty sharply into what might be called the real mountains,
and finding our spirits rise with the ground, we abandoned our ponies
and resolved to perform the remainder of our wanderings on foot. As we
reached the summit of our first ascent, and our range of view enlarged,
mountain upon mountain rose before us, richly clothed with forest
trees; while, overtopping all, peeped up the glistening summits of the
snowy range, everything around seems cool and pleasant, in spite of the
hot sun’s rays, which still poured down upon us. Our road from this,
descending, lay among the nooks and dells of the shady side of the
mountain; and the wild rose and the heliotrope perfumed the air at
every step as we walked along in full enjoyment of the morning breeze.
Our sepoy guide of to-day was not of the educated branch of the army.
He was the stupidest specimen of his race I had ever met; and as his
language was such a jargon as to be nearly unintelligible, we failed
signally in obtaining much information from him.
Among other questions, I made inquiries as to woodcock, the cover being
just suited to them, and after a great deal of difficulty in explaining
the bird to him, he declared that he knew the kind of creature
perfectly, and that there were plenty of them. By way of convincing us,
however, of his sporting knowledge, he added that they were in the
habit of living entirely on fruit; and he was sadly put out when F. and
I both burst into laughter at the idea of an old woodcock with his bill
stuck into a juicy pear, or perhaps enjoying a pomegranate for
breakfast. Shortly after, we came suddenly upon quite a new feature in
the scene—a strange innovation of liveliness in the midst of solitude.
At a bend in the road, what should appear almost over our heads but a
troop of about a hundred monkeys, crashing through the firs and
chestnuts, and bounding in eager haste from tree to tree, in their
desire to escape from a party of natives coming from the opposite
direction. They were large brown monkeys, of the kind called lungoors,
standing, some of them, three feet high, and having tails considerably
longer than themselves. Their faces were jet black, fringed with light
grey whiskers, which gave them a most comical appearance; and as they
jumped along from tree to tree, sometimes thirty and forty feet,
through the air, with their small families following as best they
could, they made the whole forest resound with the crashing of the
branches, and amused us not a little by their aërial line of march.
After crossing a dashing mountain-torrent by a rude bridge of trees
thrown across it, we arrived at the village of Burrumgulla. Here our
guide wanted us to halt in a mud-built native serai, but, with the
recollection of past experience fresh upon us, we declined, preferring
to choose our own ground and pitch our first encampment. The ground we
selected was almost at the foot of a noble waterfall, formed by a huge
cleft in a mass of rugged rock. The water, dashing headlong down, was
hidden in the recess of rock below, but the spray, as it rose up like
vapour and again fell around us, plainly told the history of its birth
and education. Even had we not seen the snowy peaks before us from the
mountain top, there was no mistaking, from its icy breath, the nursery
in which its infant form had been cradled. Just at our feet was one of
the frail and picturesque-looking pine bridges spanning the torrent;
while just below it another mountain river came tumbling down, and,
joining with its dashing friend, they both rolled on in life together.
As soon as our traps arrived, F. and I had a souse in the quietest pool
we could find, and anything so cold I never felt; it was almost as if
one was turned into stone, and stopping in it more than a second was
out of the question. After breakfast and a siesta, we sallied out to
try and explore the head of the cataract above us. After rather a
perilous ascent over loose moss and mould, and clutching at roots of
shrubs and trees, we were brought to a stand by a huge mass of
perpendicular rock, which effectually barred us from the spot through
which the water took its final leap. The upper course of the torrent,
however, amply repaid us for our labour, for it ran through the most
lovely dell I ever saw; and as it bounded down from rock to rock, and
roared and splashed along, it seemed to know what there was before it,
and to be rejoicing at the prospect of its mighty jump. Torrent as it
seemed, it was evidently nothing to what it could swell to when in a
rage, for here and there, far out of its present reach, and scattered
all about, were torn and tattered corpses of forest trees, which had
evidently been sucked up and carried along until some rock more abrupt
than its neighbours, had brought them to a stand and left them,
bleached and rotting, in the summer’s sun. At night we found ourselves
glad to exchange our usual covering of a single sheet for a heavy
complement of blankets, and found our encampment not the least too
warm. The authorities here were particularly civil and obliging, and
supplied us with the best of butter, eggs, and milk. The latter was
particularly good, and, not having often tasted cow’s milk in the
Plains, we did it ample justice here.
June 20.—Found it rather hard to turn out this morning, in consequence
of the great change in the temperature, but got under weigh very well
considering. Our path led us up the main torrent towards the snow, and
in the first three miles we crossed about twenty pine-tree bridges
thrown across the stream, some of them consisting of a single tree, and
all in the rudest style of manufacture. Near one of these, under an
immense mass of rock, we passed our first snow. It looked, however, so
strange and unexpected, that we both took it for a block of stone; and
being thatched, as it were, with leaves and small sticks, &c., and
discoloured on all sides, it certainly bore no outward resemblance to
what it really was.
After an almost perpendicular ascent up natural flights of steps, we
reached our next stage, Poshana—a little mud-built, flat-roofed
settlement on the mountain-side. Here we engaged a couple of
“shikàrees,” or native sportsmen, and made preparations for a détour
into the snows of the Peer Punjal in search of game.
June 21.—Having made a division of our property, and sent the Q.M.G.
with an advanced guard two stages on to Heerpore, F. and I started at
daybreak for a five-days’ shooting expedition in the mountains.
We took with us a khidmutgar and bhistie—both capital servants, but
unfortunately not accustomed to cold, much less to snow. Besides these,
we had ten coolies to carry our baggage, consisting of two small tents,
bedding, guns, and cooking utensils, &c.; and our two shikàrees with
their two assistants. The two former wore named Khandàri Khan and Baz
Khan,—both bare-legged, lightly clothed, sharp-eyed, hardy-looking
mountaineers, and well acquainted with the haunts of game, and passes
through the snow.
For the first time we had now to put on grass shoes or sandals; and
though they felt strange at first, we soon found that they were
absolutely necessary for the work we had before us. Our shoemaker
charged us six annas, or ninepence, for eight pairs, and that was
thirty per cent. over the proper price. However, as one good day’s work
runs through a new pair, they are all the better for being rather
cheap. Along the road in all directions one comes across cast-off
remains of shoes, where the wearer has thrown off his worn-out ones and
refitted from his travelling stock; and in this way the needy
proprietor of a very indifferent pair of shoes may, perchance, make a
favourable exchange with the cast-off pair of a more affluent
pedestrian; but, to judge from the specimens we saw, he must be very
needy indeed in order to benefit by the transaction. On leaving
Poshana, we immediately wound up the precipitous side of a mountain
above us, and soon found that, from the rarification of the air, and
the want of practice, we felt the necessity of calling a halt very
frequently, for the purpose, of course, of admiring the scenery and
expatiating upon the beauties of nature. About two miles on the way we
came to a slip in the mountain-side, and just as we scrambled, with
some difficulty, across this, our foremost shikàree suddenly dropped
down like a stone, and motioning us to follow his example, he
stealthily pointed us out four little animals, which he called
“markore,” grazing at the bottom of a ravine. Putting our sights to
about 250 yards, we fired both together, with the best intentions, but
indifferent results; for they all scampered off apparently untouched,
and we again resumed our march.
Our encamping ground we found situated among a shady grove of
fir-trees, with a mountain-torrent running beneath, bridged over, as
far as we could see, with dingy-looking fields of snow and ice. Here,
in the middle of June; with snow at our feet, above us, and around us,
we pitched our tent, and had breakfast, and laid our plans for a search
for game to-morrow. Though the wind blew cold and chilly off the snows,
we soon found that the midday sun still asserted his supremacy, and our
faces and hands soon bore witness to the fierceness of the trial of
strength between the two. Our camp, although so high up, was not more
than six miles from Poshana, and from thence we drew all our supplies,
such as milk, eggs, and fowls, &c., the coolies’ and shikàrees’
subsistence being deducted from their pay. Our own living was not
expensive: fowls, threepence each for large, three-halfpence small;
milk, three-halfpence per quart, and eggs, twelve for the like amount,
or one anna. For the rest, we lived upon chupatties, or unleavened
cakes of flour—very good hot, but “gutta-percha” cold—potatoes from
Lahore, and, in the liquid line, tea and brandy. At night we slept upon
the ground—pretty hard it was while one was awake to feel it—and not
having any lamp, we turned in shortly after dark, while in the morning
we were up and dressed before the nightingales had cleared their
voices. These latter abounded all about us, and formed a most agreeable
addition to our establishment.
June 22.—Left our camp before sunrise, and crossing a large field of
snow over the main torrent, we clambered up the precipitous side of our
opposite mountain. The snow at first felt piercingly cold as it
penetrated our snow-shoes, but before we reached the top, we had little
to complain of in the way of chilliness. Our sharp-sighted guides soon
detected game on the rocks above us, and off we went on a stalk, over
rocks and chasms of snow—now running, now crawling along, more like
serpents than respectable Christians, and all in a style that would
have astonished nobody more than ourselves, could we have regarded the
performance in the cool light of reason, and not influenced by the
excitement of chasing horned cattle of such rare and curious
proportions.
The markore, however, were quite as interested in the sport as we were,
and after an arduous and protracted stalk, they finally gave us the
slip, and we called a halt at the summit of a hill for breakfast and a
rest during the heat of the day. The former we enjoyed as we deserved,
but for the latter I can’t say much: occasionally a cold blast from off
the snow would run right through us, while the sun bore down upon our
heads with scorching power, making havoc with whatever part of us it
found exposed to its rays, and blistering our hands and legs. The
guides helped us out by building up a most ricketty-looking shanty with
sticks and pieces of their garments and our own, and under this apology
for shelter, with our feet almost in the snow, we passed the day, until
it was cool enough again to look for game. In the evening we came
suddenly upon a kustura, a sort of half goat, half sheep, with long
teeth like a wolf. He was, however, in such thick cover, that we were
unable to get a shot at him.
Our camp, we found, moved, according to order, some three miles higher
up, to facilitate the shooting on that side: it was still, however,
among the firs and nightingales.
June 23.—Up again before sunrise, and off to the tops of the mountains
in search of game. The pull-up took us about an hour and a half, and on
reaching the summit, we found ourselves above the pass of the Peer
Punjal, the rocky and snow-covered ranges of mountain around us
gradually trending off on all sides, and losing themselves in
pine-covered slopes, till they finally blended with the blue outlines
of the ranges of Pills we had crossed on our route from Bimber. While
taking a sharp look around us for a herd of some twenty animals which
we had seen the day previously, we suddenly found ourselves close to a
party of five markore, but they scampered off so fast over rock and
snowdrift, that they gave us no opportunity of getting a shot.
Following them up, we came, while clinging to an overhanging ledge of
rock, upon one solitary gentleman standing about 150 yards below. We
both fired together, but the pace we had come, and the ground we had
crossed, had unsteadied our aim, and though my second bullet parted the
wool on his back, it was not written that our first markore was to fall
so easily. After this we tracked the first herd for a long distance
over the snow, until they scampered down an almost perpendicular face
of snow and ice, and here we gave them up, halting on a spur of the
mountain for a repast of chicken, eggs, chupatties, and cold tea.
During our morning’s work we had come across some most break-neck
places, and had one or two narrow escapes, which, at the time, one was
hardly conscious of. The snow was wedged into the ravines like sheets
of ice, and being most precipitous, and continuing to the very foot of
the mountains, terminating in the numerous torrents which they fed, a
single false step in crossing would have sent one rolling down, without
a chance of stopping, to be dashed to pieces at the bottom. In this
way, a couple of years before, two coolies and a shikàree had been
killed, while shooting with an officer. F. and I generally crossed
these places in the footsteps of the guides, or in holes cut by them
for our feet with a hatchet; but the men themselves passed them with a
dash, which only long practice and complete confidence could have
imitated. During our halt we suffered a good deal from the sun,
although the snow was only six inches off. In spite of the shade which
our guides constructed for us out of mysterious portions of their
dress, both our wrists and ankles were completely swollen and blistered
before evening, while our faces and noses in particular began to assume
the appearance so generally suggestive of Port wine and good living.
Our descent to the camp was a good march in itself, and we arrived
there about five P.M. hot and tired, ‘but quite ready for our mountain
fare. On our road, we luckily discovered a quantity of young rhubarb,
growing in nature’s kitchen-garden, and pouncing on it, we devoted it
to the celebration of our Sunday dinner. [4] We also saw a number of
minaur, or jungle-fowl, something of the pheasant tribe; but they were
so wild that nothing but slugs would secure them, and they entirely
declined the honour of an invitation to our Sunday entertainment.
June 24.—We were not at all sorry to remember this morning, as the sun
rose, that it was a day of rest, for after our last few days of work we
were fully able to enjoy it. Amused ourselves exploring all about us,
and picking wild flowers in memory of our camp. The commonest were wild
pansy and forget-me-not, and the rhododendron grew in quantities. In
the afternoon we made a muster of our standing provisions, having only
brought four days’ supply, and seeing little chance of getting back for
ten. The result was., that tea was reported low, potatoes on their last
legs, and brandy in a declining state. Under these melancholy
circumstances, we agreed to stop another day for shooting, and then
march over the snows for Aliabad and Heerpore, to join our main body at
the latter place. A road by Cheta Panee was declared impracticable for
coolies, in consequence of the hardness of the snow; so we gave it up.
June 25.—All over the mountains again this morning before daybreak, and
up to breakfast-time without seeing game. However, one of our
sharp-sighted guides then detected markore, grazing at a long distance
up the mountains; even through the glasses they were mere specks, and,
to our unpractised eyes, very like the tufts and stones around them;
but in all faith that our guides were right, off we started in pursuit.
The first step was to lose all our morning’s toil by plunging for a
mile or so down a steep descent. After that being accomplished, up we
went again, up and up an apparently interminable bank of snow, at an
angle of about sixty degrees, and slippery as glass. At the summit,
exhausted and completely out of breath, we did at last arrive, and from
this our friends of the morning were expected to be within shot. Not a
sign of a living creature appeared, however, to enliven the solitude
around us, and we began to think that our guides were a little too
clear-sighted this time, when what should suddenly come upon us but a
solitary old markore, slowly and leisurely rounding a rugged point of
rock below. We were all squatted in a bunch upon a space about as large
as a good-sized towel; but, hidden as we thought ourselves, I could
discern that our friend had evidently caught a glimpse of something
which displeased him in his morning cogitations. Still, on he came, and
just as he crossed a small field of snow, F. opened fire at him across
the ravine: the ball struck just below his body, and, as he plunged
forward, I followed with both barrels. On he went, however, and before
another shot could be fired he was coolly looking down upon us from a
terrace of inaccessible rocks, completely out of range. Nothing
remained but to descend again, and this we accomplished very much more
speedily, though perhaps not quite in such a graceful style as we had
ascended. The shikàrees merely sat down on the inclined plane, and with
a hatchet or a stick firmly pressed under the arm as a lever to
regulate the pace, or a rudder to steer clear of rocks as occasion
might require, down they went at a tremendous pace, until the slope was
not sufficient to propel them further.
Our own wardrobe being limited in dimensions we declined adopting this
mode of locomotion, and slipping and sliding along, soon accomplished
the descent, in a less business-like but equally satisfactory manner.
While taking the direction of our camp, we espied seven more animals,
perched apparently upon a smooth face of rock; and after a short
council of war off we started on a fresh stalk, down another descent,
over more fields of snow, and up a place where a cat would have found
walking difficult.
While accomplishing this latter movement, our guides detected two huge
red bears, an enormous distance off, enjoying themselves in the evening
air, and feeding and scratching themselves alternately, as they
sauntered about in the breeze. Abandoning our present stalk, which was
not promising, down we went again, and crossing about a mile and a half
of broken ground, snow, rocks, &c., we reached a wood close to the
whereabouts of our new game. F. and I, separating, had made the place
by different routes, and just as I had caught sight of one enormous
monster, F. and the shikàree appeared, just on the point of walking
into his jaws. Having, by great exertion, prevented this catastrophe,
we massed our forces, and taking off our hats, just as if we were
stalking an unpopular landed proprietor in Tipperary, we crept up to
within sixty yards of the unsuspicious monster, and fired both
together. With a howl and a grunt, the huge mass doubled himself up,
and rolled into the cover badly wounded. Being too dangerous a looking
customer to follow directly, we reloaded and made a circuit above him;
and after a short search, discovered him with his paws firmly clasped
round a young tree. By way of finishing him, I gave him the contents of
my rifle behind the ear, and we then rolled him down a ravine on to the
snow beneath, where, a heavy storm of rain, hail, and thunder coming
on, we left him alone in his glory. Putting our best legs foremost, we
made for our camp, amid a pelting shower of hail like bullets and an
incessant play of lightning around us, as we pushed our way along the
frozen torrent. About five P.M., tired and drenched, we reached the
camp, when we discovered that our tents, though extremely handy for
mountain work, were not intended to keep out much rain, and that all
our rugs, and other comforts, were almost in as moist a state as
ourselves. During the entire night it continued to hail, rain, thunder,
and lighten; and with the exception of the exact spots we were each
lying on, there was not a dry place in the tent to take refuge in.
June 26.—After an exceedingly moist night, we made the most of a little
sunshine by turning out all our property, and hanging it around us on
stones and bushes to dry. After we had distinguished ourselves in this
way, for a couple of hours, down came the rain again; and after stowing
our half-dried goods, we assembled under a tree, and held a council of
war as to our future movements. The rain had swelled the mountain
torrents considerably, and the hail, lying on the old snow, had made it
slippery as glass, so that we were obliged to give up the mountain pass
we had agreed upon, and decided on a retreat to “Poshana,” our present
ground being fairly untenable. Sending off our tents and traps, and
half-drowned servants, who were completely out of their element, we
remained behind under the pines till the rain a little abated, and
having secured the bear-skin for curing, we started off with our
rear-guard for Poshana. The road was so slippery, that even with
grass-shoes we could hardly keep from falling; and the snow we found as
hard as ice, and proportionately difficult to cross. The consequence
was, that in passing a steep incline with the guide, he slipped, and I
followed his example, and down we both went like an engine and tender,
the guide fishing about with his legs for obstacles, and I above him,
endeavouring to use my pole as an anchor to bring us to.
Luckily, we both reached terra firma safely, after a perilous run,
though at the same side we started from, and a long distance from our
point of previous departure. On at length reaching the opposite side,
we found a disconsolate coolie bemoaning himself and reckoning his
bones, having also fallen down the snow, while a little further on we
came upon the bhistie lamenting over a similar disaster. The latter
functionary had also lost a valuable pot of virgin honey, which had
only come up from Poshana the day before, and which we had not had time
to see the inside of even, ere it was thus lost to us for ever, and
made over as a poetical reparation to the bears of the country for the
ruthless murder we had committed on one of their number. Found the hut
at Poshana empty, and were glad to get into its shelter again. The rain
seeming quite set in, we determined to discharge our shikàrees, and
after paying them three rupees each for their week’s work, we sent them
away perfectly happy, with a few copper caps and a good character
apiece.
June 27.—Left Poshana at five A.M., and made for the Peer Punjal pass.
A sharp struggle brought us to the summit, where we found a polygon
tower erected, apparently as a landmark and also a resting-place for
travellers to recover themselves after their exertions. [5] At the
Cashmere side of the pass I had expected to see something of the
far-famed valley, but nothing met the eye but a wild waste of land,
bounded on all sides by snow, while a few straggling coolies toiled up
towards us with some itinerant Englishman’s baggage like our own.
This turned out to belong to a party returning to Sealkote, and we were
rather elated by seeing among their possessions several enormous
antlers, which promised well for sport at the other side of the valley.
They turned out, however, to have been bought, and, as their owners
informed us, there was no chance of meeting such game until October or
November. About two miles down the pass we reached the old serai of
Aliabad, and found the only habitable part of it in possession of a
clergyman and a young Bengal artilleryman bound for the
shooting-grounds we had just left. With much difficulty we obtained a
few eggs, and a little milk with which we washed down the chupatties we
had brought with us; but the coolies were so long getting over the
path, that no signs of breakfast made their appearance until about two
o’clock. At mid-day it came on to rain heavily, and we took up our
quarters in a miserable den, with a flooring of damp rubbish and a
finely carved stone window not very much in keeping with the rest of
the establishment. Here we spent the day drearily enough, the prospect
being confined to a green pool of water in the middle of the serai,
around which the Pariah dogs contended with the crows for the dainties
of offal scattered about. As soon as it was dark, we were glad enough
to spread our waterproof sheets on the ground, and sleep as well as the
thousands of tenants already in possession would allow us.
June 28.—Up at sunrise, and packed off our things down the mountain for
Heerpore, where the main body of our possessions were concentrated.
Shortly after their departure it began to rain an Irish and Scotch
combined mist, and after warming our toes and blinding our eyes over a
wood fire for about three hours, in hopes of its clearing, we donned
grass-shoes and, putting our best legs foremost, accomplished about
thirteen miles of a most slippery path without a halt, except for the
occasional purpose of adjusting our dilapidated shoes.
After the first five or six miles the path entered a beautifully-wooded
valley, and at one spot, where two torrents joined their foaming waters
at the foot of a picturesque old ivy-grown serai, the landscape was
almost perfection. Passing this, we entered a thickly-shaded wood,
studded with roses and jessamine, and peopled with wood-pigeons and
nightingales, who favoured us with a morning concert as we passed.
Crossing a wooden bridge over the torrent, we reached a fine grass
country, and here the presence of a herd of cows told us we were near
our destination. At Heerpore we found Mr. Rajoo located with all our
belongings in a little wooden sort of squatter’s cabin, where we were
glad to take shelter out of the dripping rain. It reminded one strongly
of Captain Cuttle’s habitation and a ship’s cabin together, and made
one feel inclined to go on deck occasionally. It was on the whole,
however, very comfortable, and seemed, after our late indifferent
quarters, to be a perfect palace. After breakfast, we made inquiries as
to our worldly affairs, and found that all were thriving with the
exception of the potatoes, which had been taken worse on the road, and
were already decimated by sickness. We added a sheep to our stock, for
which we paid three shillings, and laid in a welcome supply of butter.
The khidmutgar and bhistie, we found, had retailed the history of their
many sorrows to the other servants, and, having expatiated most fully
on the horrors they had endured among the snows and thunderstorms of
the mountains, were promising themselves a speedy end to all their woes
among the peace and plenty of the promised land of Cashmere.
June 29.—After some trouble in procuring coolies, we started at eleven
in a shower of rain, and found ourselves gradually passing into the
valley, and exchanging rocks and firs for groves of walnut; and moss
and fern for the more civilized strawberry and the wild carnation. The
strawberries, though small, had a delicious flavour, and we whiled away
the time by gathering them as we passed. About two o’clock we reached
the village of Shupayon, and here began to perceive a considerable
change in the style of architecture from what we had been accustomed
to; the flat mudden roof giving place to the sharply-pitched wooden
one, thatched with straw, or coarsely tiled with wood.
Our halting-place we found, for the first time, to possess a staircase
and upper story. A little square habitation it was, with a verandah all
round it, and built entirely of wood. From this, as the clouds lifted
from the mountain-tops around, a most lovely view opened out before us.
Wherever the eye rested toward the mountains, the snow-capped peaks
raised themselves up into the clear blue sky; while at our feet lay the
far-famed valley, reaching towards the north, to the very base of the
mountain range, and rising gradually and by a gentle slope to our
halting-place, and so back to the pass from which we had just
descended.
As the sun appeared to have come out again permanently, we took the
opportunity of getting our tents and other property which had suffered
from the wet out for a general airing.
June 30.—Marched about nine miles through fertile slopes of
rice-fields, shaded by walnuts and sycamores, and found our
halting-place situated in a serai, shrouded in mulberry and cherry
trees, and with a charming little rivulet running through it,
discoursing sweet music night and day. Our habitation was a baraduree,
or summer-house, of wood, and having an upper room with trellised
windows, where we spent the day very pleasantly. At dinner we had the
first instalment of the land of promise, in the shape of a roly-poly
pudding of fresh cherries, a thing to date from in our hitherto
puddingless circumstances.
July 1.—Started at daybreak for our last march into the capital. The
first appearance of the low part of the valley was rather
disappointing, for there was nothing striking in the view; still, the
country was extremely fertile, and its tameness was redeemed by the
glorious mountain range, which bounded the valley in every direction,
with its pure unsullied fringe of snow. Our path was occasionally
studded with the most superb sycamores and lime-trees; and as we
approached the town we entered a long avenue of poplars, planted as
closely together as possible, and completely hiding all the buildings
until close upon them. Passing through the grand parade-ground, we
found a bustling throng of about four hundred Cashmeeries, with heavy
packs beside them, waiting for an escort to take out supplies to the
Maharajah’s army, now on active service at a place called Girgit, in
the mountains. The said army seemed to be fighting with nobody knew
who, about nobody knew what; but report says that his Highness, having
a number of troops wanting arrears of pay, sends them out periodically
to contend with the hill tribes, by way of settlement in full of all
demands.
Having engaged a boat’s crew at Ramoon, we were, on arriving at the
River Jhelum, which runs through the city, immediately inducted to the
manners and customs of the place; and being safely deposited in a long
flat-bottomed boat, with a mat roof and a prow about twelve feet out of
the water, we were paddled across by our six new servants, and landed
among a number of bungalows on the right bank, which were erected by
the Maharajah for the reception of his English visitors. These are
entirely of wood, of the rudest construction, and are built along the
very edge of the river, which is here about a hundred yards broad.
We were received on landing by the Baboo and Moonshee, the native
authorities retained by the Maharajah for the convenience of his
visitors; and learning from them that there were no bungalows vacant,
we pitched our little camp under a shady grove of trees close by; and
thus, in the capital of the land of poetry and promise, the far-famed
paradise of the Hindoo, we brought our wanderings to an end for the
present, and gave ourselves and our retainers a rest from all the toils
and troubles of the road.