Diary of a Pedestrian in Cashmere and Thibet
by W. H. Knight · English · Gutenberg #3639 · 495,661 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Diary of a Pedestrian in Cashmere and Thibet
Author: W. H. Knight
Release date: January 1, 2003 [eBook #3639]
Most recently updated: November 22, 2021
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIARY OF A PEDESTRIAN IN CASHMERE AND THIBET ***
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are still unknown, and Travellers’ Guides unpublished, the book may not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.”
PART II.
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.
PART III.
A HALT IN THE VALLEY.
Being fairly settled in our quarters, we were not long in putting our
new staff of dependants into requisition; and, taking to our boat,
sallied forth to get a general view of the city of Sirinugger. [6]
Finding, however, a review of the army going on, we stopped at the
parade-ground to witness the interesting ceremony. The troops we found
drawn up in lines, forming the sides of a large square, and dressed in
what his Highness Rumbeer Singh believes confidently to be the English
costume. As far as one could see, however, the sole foundation for this
belief lay in the fact of their all wearing trousers! These were
certainly the only articles of their equipment that could in any way be
called English in style; and they bore, after all, but a slender
resemblance to the corresponding habiliments of the true Briton.
The head-dress, generally speaking, was a turban. One regiment,
however, had actually perpetrated a parody on the English shako—a feat
which I had always hitherto considered absolutely impossible.
The cavalry were mounted upon tattoos, or native ponies, and wore white
trousers, with tight straps, which rendered them for the time being the
most miserable of their race.
A few of them had imitations of Lancer caps, some had boots, some
slippers, some spurs, others none; some had wondrous straps of tape and
cord, others wore their trousers up to their knees; but one and all
were entirely uniform in looking completely ill at ease and out of
their element in their borrowed would-be-English plumage. Just as we
had finished taking a general view of the army, the Maharajah appeared
upon the stage, dressed in a green-and-gold embroidered gown and turban
and tight silk pantaloons, mounted on a grey caparisoned Arab steed.
After riding round the lines with his retinue, he came up, and we were
presented in due form; and after asking us if we had come from
Allahabad, and expressing his opinion that it was a long way off, in
which we entirely concurred with him, he shook hands in English style;
and, taking his seat in a chair which was placed for him, we collected
ourselves around, and, similarly seated, prepared to inspect the
marching past of his highness’s redoubtables. Before this began,
however, the Maharajah’s little son made his appearance, dressed in all
respects like his papa, with miniature sword and embroidered raiment;
and to him we were also introduced in form. During the marching past, I
congratulated myself upon being several seats distant from his
highness’s chair, for the effect was so absurd that it was almost
impossible to preserve that dignity and composure which the occasion
demanded.
The marching was in slow time, and the step being fully thirty-six
inches the fat little dumpy officers nearly upset themselves in their
efforts to keep time, and at the same time prevent their slippers from
deserting on the line of march; while, in bringing their swords to the
salute, they did it with a swing which was suggestive of their throwing
away their arms altogether. Besides artillery, five regiments of
infantry and two of cavalry marched past—in all, little over 2,000
men—colours flying and bands playing “Home, sweet home!” After this the
irregulars began to appear; and although the first part of the army
might have almost deserved the name, these put them completely in the
shade. One colonel had a pair of enormous English gold epaulettes and a
turban; another a black embroidered suit, with white tape straps, and
slippers; and as for the men, there were no two of them dressed alike,
while in the way of arms, each pleased his own particular fancy also. A
long gun over the shoulder was the most popular weapon; but each had,
in addition, a perfect armoury fastened in his girdle: pistols with
stocks like guns, daggers and even blunderbusses made their appearance;
and the general effect, as the crowd galloped independently past,
dressed in their many-coloured turbans, and flowing apparel, was most
picturesque. As soon as the last of the flags and banners and prancing
horses had gone past, the Maharajah set us the example of rising, and
mounting his grey steed, cantered off in state, surrounded by the crowd
of dusky parasites, arrayed in gold and jewels, who formed his court.
His Highness appeared to be about thirty-eight years old, and was as
handsome a specimen of a native as I had ever seen. He wore a short,
jet-black beard, and mustachios, turned up from the corners of his
mouth, and reaching, in two long twists, nearly to his eyes. He
appeared absent and thoughtful which, considering the low state of his
exchequer, was perhaps not to be wondered at. [7] His English visitors
spend a good deal of money every summer in his kingdom; and for this
reason alone, he is anxious enough to cultivate their acquaintance, and
gives naches, or native dances, and champagne dinners periodically to
amuse them. He presents, also, an offering to each traveller that
arrives, and we in due course received two sheep, two fowls, and about
fourteen little earthen dishes containing rice, butter, spices, eggs,
flour, fruit, honey, sugar, tea, &c., all of which were laid at the
door of our tent, with great pomp and ceremony, by a host of
attendants.
After the review, we took boat again and paddled down the stream to
look at the town, and a quainter and more picturesque-looking old place
it would be hard to conceive. The houses are built entirely of wood, of
five and six stories, and overhanging the river, and are as close as
possible to each other, except where here and there interspersed with
trees. Communication is kept up between the banks by means of wooden
rustic bridges, built on enormous piles of timber, laid in entire
trees, crossing each other at equal distances. Not a single straight
line is to be seen in any direction—the houses being dilapidated and
generally out of the perpendicular; and everywhere the river view is
bounded by the snow-capped ranges of mountain, which, towards the
north, appear to rise almost from the very water’s edge.
July 2.—Taking the Q.M.G. as a guide, we sallied out immediately after
breakfast to explore the land part of this Eastern Venice. Entering at
the city gate, on the left bank of the river, near the Maharajah’s
palace, we walked past a row of trumpery pop-guns, on green and red
carriages, and so through the most filthy and odoriferous bazaar I ever
met with, till we reached the residence of Saifula Baba, the great
shawl merchant of Sirinugger. Here we found a noted shawl fancier
inspecting the stock, and were inducted to the mysteries of the
different fabrics. Some that we saw were of beautiful workmanship, but
dangerous to an uninitiated purchaser. They ranged from 300 to 1,000
rupees generally, but could be ordered to an almost unlimited extent of
price. After inspecting a quantity of Pushmeena and other local
manufactures, Mr. Saifula Baba handed us tea and sweetmeats, after the
fashion of his country; and we adjourned to the abode of a worker in
papier maché, where we underwent a second edition of tea and
sweetmeats, and inspected a number of curiosities. The chief and only
beauty of the work was in the strangeness of the design; and some of
the shawl patterns, reproduced on boxes, &c., were pretty in their way,
but as manufacturers of papier maché simply, the Cashmeeries were a
long way behind the age.
On reaching home, we found that the Maharajah had sent his salaam,
together with the information that he was going to give a nach and
dinner, to which we were invited.
July 3.—After continuing our explorations of Sirinugger, we repaired,
about seven o’clock, to the Maharajah’s palace, where we were received
by a guard of honour of sixty men and four officers, the latter in gold
embroidered dresses, and hung all over with ear-rings and finery of
divers sorts and kinds.
Ascending the stairs, we were met by the Deewan, or prime minister, who
conducted us into an open sort of terrace over the river, where we
found the Maharajah with the few English officers already arrived
seated on either side of him, and the nach-girls, about twenty in
number, squatted in a semicircle opposite them. Standing behind his
Highness were colonels of regiments and native dignitaries of all
sorts, dressed in cloth of gold and jewels, and in every variety and
hue of turban and appointments. A number of these were Sikhs; and
magnificent-looking men they were, with their flowing dress and
fiercely-twisted whiskers and mustachios. The nach-girls, too—a motley
group—were attired in all the hues of the rainbow, and with the
white-robed musicians behind them, awaited in patience the signal to
commence. In singular contrast to this glittering throng, which formed
the court, were the guests whom the Maharajah, on this occasion,
delighted to honour. The British officer appeared generally in the
national but uncourtly costume of a shooting jacket! and though some
few had donned their uniform, and one rejoiced in the traditional
swallow-tail of unmistakeable civilization, neither the one nor the
other contrasted favourably in point of grace with the Cashmerian rank
and fashion.
After shaking hands with his Highness, who prides himself upon his
English way of accomplishing that ceremony, and does it by slipping
into one’s hand what might be taken for a dying flat fish, we took our
seats, and the dancing began shortly afterwards. Though on a more
magnificent scale than anything I had seen of the kind before, the
programme was flat and insipid enough. The ladies came out two and two,
and went through a monotonous die-away movement, acting, dancing, and
singing all at the same time, and showing off their red-stained palms
and the soles of their feet to the best advantage. Some of the women
were very pretty, but very properly they modified their charms by
dressing in the most unbecoming manner possible. Their head-dress was a
little cloth of gold and silver cap hung all round with pendent
ornaments, and these were becoming enough, but the remainder of the
dress was much more trying. A short body of shot silk was separated by
a natural border from a gauze skirt, which hung down perfectly straight
and innocent of fulness, and allowed a pair of white pyjamas to appear
beneath. These were fastened tightly round the ancles, which were
encircled by little bunches of the tinkling bells, which the ladies
make such use of in the dance. Round the shoulders comes a filmy scarf
of various colours, which also plays a prominent part in all their
movements, and answers in its way to the fan of more accomplished
Western belles.
After each couple had gone through the whole of their performances,
they used to squat themselves down suddenly in the most ungraceful
style imaginable, and were then relieved by another pair of artistes
from the group.
One lady, in addition to the dance, favoured us with “the Marseillaise”
with the French words, being occasionally prompted by the head of the
orchestra, who nearly worked himself into a frenzy while accompanying
the dancers with both vocal and instrumental music at the same time.
The Maharajah himself was plainly dressed in white robes, with a pair
of pale-green striped silk pantaloons fitting his legs like stockings
from the knee down, and terminating in a pair of English socks, of
which he seemed immensely proud. His turban was of the palest shade of
green, and (in strong contrast to the rest of his court) without any
ornament whatever. The little heir to the throne—a nice little
blackamoor of about eight years of age—was, like his father, perched
upon a chair, and arrayed in a green and gold turban, pants, and socks,
with the addition of a velvet gold-embroidered coat, while round his
neck were three or four valuable necklaces, one of pear-shaped emeralds
of great size and beauty. After a few dances the doors of the
banqueting-room were thrown open, and his Highness led the way into
dinner with the commissioner. On entering, we found a capital dinner
laid out English fashion, and with a formidable army of black bottles
ranged along the table. The Maharajah, however, had disappeared, and we
were left to feed without a host. The grandees, meanwhile, remained
outside, and still enjoyed the dances, ranging themselves upon their
haunches in front of the rows of chairs which not one among them would
have dared to trust himself in for either love or money. Considering
that our entertainer was a Hindoo, and that his dinner-giving
appliances were limited, each person having to bring his own knife,
fork, spoon, and chair, we fared very well, and after having drunk his
health, again assembled in the court, where we found Rumbeer Singh
still occupied with the wearisome nach, and reattired in a gorgeous
dress of green velvet and gold. After a short stay he got up, and we
all followed his example, glad enough to bring the entertainment to an
end, and betake ourselves to our boats. At the stairs there was a
desperate encounter with innumerable boatmen, each boat having six,
eight, or ten sailors, and all being equally anxious to uphold the
credit of their craft by being the first to land their masters safe, at
home. We were fortunate enough to reach our own at once, and, with a
shouting crew, away we dashed up the river, leaving the others
struggling, fighting, and flourishing their paddles in the air, in a
way which was more suggestive of an insurrection scene in Masaniello
than the departure of guests from a peaceable gentleman’s own hall door
on the night of an evening party.
On the stairs there was an extraordinary assemblage of slippers, which
seemed to hold the same relative position that hats and cloaks do in
more enlightened communities—that is, the good ones were taken by the
owners of the bad, and the proprietors of the bad ones were fain to
make the best of the exchange. Next morning our khidmutgar came up with
a most doleful countenance and presented to our notice a pair of
certainly most ill-favoured slippers, which a fellow true-believer had
inadvertently substituted for a pair of later date. The lost ones had,
in fact, only recently been received from the boot-maker; and the blow
was difficult to bear with resignation, even by the saintliest follower
of Islam—a reputation which our retainer came short of by a very long
way indeed.
July 4.—Having an accumulation of letters to answer, we devoted the day
to writing—merely enjoying a little otium cum dig.—in the evening,
reclining in our boat while serenaded by the crew of boatmen.
July 5.—Walked up, before daybreak, to the Tukht e Sûleeman, or
Solomon’s throne, “the mountainous Portal,” which Moore speaks of
in Lalla Rookh, and which forms the most striking landmark in the
valley.[8]
From the summit there was a curious view of the multitudinous wooden
houses and the sinuous windings of the river, which could alone be
obtained from such a bird’s-eye point of inspection. An old temple at
the top was in the hands of the Hindoo faction, being dedicated to the
goddess Mahadewee, and in charge of it I found two of the dirtiest
fukeers, or religious mendicants, I ever had the pleasure of meeting.
One was lying asleep, with his feet in a heap of dust and ashes, and
the other was listlessly sitting, without moving a muscle, warming
himself in the morning sun. Both were almost naked, and had their
bodies and faces smeared with ashes and their hair long and matted.
They appeared to have arrived at a state of almost entire abstraction,
and neither of them even raised his eyes or seemed to be in the
slightest degree aware of my presence, although I took a sketch of one
of them, and stared at both, very much as I would have done at some new
arrival of animals in the Zoological Gardens.
In the evening we went again to Saifula Baba’s and visited the
workrooms, where we were much astonished by the quickness with which
the people worked the intricate shawl patterns with a simple needle,
and no copy to guide them.
The first stages of the work are not very promising, but the finished
result, when pressed and rolled and duly exhibited by that true
believer Saifula Baba, in his snowy gown and turban, was certainly in
every way worthy of its reputation.
Returning home, we visited a garden where any of the English visitors
who die in the valley are buried—the Maharajah presenting a Cashmere
shawl, in some instances, to wrap the body in. There were about eight
or ten monuments built of plaster, with small square slabs for
inscriptions. One of these was turned topsy-turvey, which was not to be
wondered at, for a native almost always holds English characters
upside-down when either trying to decipher them himself or when holding
them to be read by others.
July 6.—In the early morning I ascended to the throne of Solomon, in
order to get a sketch of the Fort of Hurree Purbut, and in the
afternoon we repaired to the lake behind the town, where there was a
grand Mela or fair, on the water, to which the Maharajah and all his
court went in state. The lake is beautifully situated at the foot of
the mountains, and was covered so densely in many parts with weed and
water-plants that it bore quite the appearance of a floating garden;
and as the innumerable boats paddled about, with their bright and sunny
cargoes, talking and laughing and enjoying themselves to their heart’s
content, the scene began to identify itself in some measure with
Moore’s description of the “Sunny lake of cool Cashmere,” and its
“Plane-tree isle reflected clear,” although the poet’s eyes had never
rested on either lake or isle. Putting poetry on one side, however, for
the present, we made our way to the extremity of the lake, in order to
pay a visit to his Highness’s gaol, where we were received by a very
civil gaoler, equipped with a massive sword and dilapidated shield. We
found 110 prisoners in the place, employed generally in converting dhan
into chawul, or, in other words, clearing the rice-crop. There was also
a mill for mustard oil, and the most primitive machine for boring
fire-arms ever invented, both worked by water-power. The prison dress
was uniform in the extreme: it consisted simply of a suit of heavy
leg-irons and nothing more!
After seeing the fair, we paddled across through a perfect water-meadow
to the Shalimar gardens, where we found the Rajah and his suite just
taking their departure. The vista on entering the gardens was extremely
pretty: four waterfalls appear at the same moment, sending a clear
sheet of crystal water over a broad stone slab, and gradually receding
from sight in the wooded distance. A broad canal runs right through the
gardens, bridged at intervals by summer-houses and crossed by carved
and quaintly-fashioned stepping stones. At the extremity there is a
magnificent baradurree of black marble, which looks as if it had been
many centuries in existence, and had originally figured in some very
different situation. The pillars were entire to a length of seven feet,
and were highly polished from the people leaning against them. Around
this, in reservoirs of water, were about two hundred fountains, all
spouting away together, and on one side a sheet of the most perfectly
still water I ever saw. It appeared exactly like a large looking-glass,
and it was impossible to discern where the artificial bank which
inclosed it either began or terminated.
In these gardens it was that Selim, or Jehangeer the son of Akbar, used
to spend so many of his days with the far-famed Noor Jehan in the
beginning of the seventeenth century, and here was the scene of their
reconciliation, as related by Feramorz to Lalla Rookh ere he revealed
himself to her as her future lord, the king of Bucharia. From these
founts and streams it was that the fair Persian sought to entice her
lord, with “Fly to the desert, fly with me!”
“When breathing, as she did, a tone
To earthly lutes and lips unknown;
With every chord fresh from the touch
Of Music’s spirit,—’twas too much!”
“The light of the universe” overcomes even the “conqueror of the
world.” Thinking it, after all, wiser to kiss and be friends than be
sulky, he surrenders at discretion:—
“And, happier now for all their sighs,
As on his arm her head reposes,
She whispers him with laughing eyes,
‘Remember, love, the Feast of Roses!’”
Leaving the favourite haunts of the “magnificent son of Akbar,” we
crossed the lake again to see the Maharajah inspect a party of about
2,000 soldiers, who were departing for the war at Girgit. Nothing in
the way of supplies being procurable near the scene of action, the
greater part of the review was taken up by the marching past of a horde
of Cashmeree and mountain porters, heavily laden with the sinews of
war. According to report, the pay of the army here is about five
shillings per mensem, with a ration of two pounds of rice per diem.
In the evening, the number of boats congregated on the lake was
marvellous. All were perfectly crammed with Cashmerian
pleasure-seekers; but the turbaned faithful, in spite of the pressure,
in no way lost their dignity, but with pipes and coffee enjoyed
themselves in apparently entire unconsciousness of there being a soul
on the lake beside themselves. The most wonderful sight, however, was
the immense crowd of many-coloured turbans congregated on shore,
witnessing the departure of the Cashmerian Guards; and as they thronged
the green slopes in thousands, they gave one quite the idea of a mass
of very violent-coloured flowers blooming together in a garden. On our
way home we had great jostling, and even fighting, in order to maintain
our position among the crowds of boats, the result of which was that
our crew managed to break two paddles in upholding the dignity and
respectability of their masters. The Maharajah himself, however, gave
us the go-by in great style, in a long quaint boat, propelled by
thirty-six boatmen, and built with a broad seat towards the bows, in
shape like the overgrown body of a gig in indifferent circumstances, on
which his Highness reclined. By his side was the little prince, in
glorious apparel, while half a dozen of his court, arrayed in spotless
white, appeared like so many snow-drifts lying at his feet.
July 7.—Made our arrangements to-day for a trip by water to the Wûler
Lake, and spent the afternoon in inspecting the jeweller’s and other
shops in the city. The native workmen appear to engrave cleverly both
on stone and metal, and some of their performances would bear
comparison with any European workmanship of a similar kind. They also
work in filagree silver, charging about sixpence in every two
shillings’ worth of silver for their labour. About nine P.M. we took to
our boats; F. and I occupying one together, in which we stowed bedding,
dressing-things, &c. while the cooking apparatus and servants occupied
the other. Passed the night very comfortably, and found the situation
most conducive to sleep, as we glided gently along with the stream.
July 8.—Awoke to find an innumerable swarm of mosquitoes buzzing about
our habitation, and apparently endeavouring to carry it off bodily.
Letting down, however, the muslin curtains, which the foreknowledge of
the faithful Q.M.G. had provided us with, we succeeded in puzzling the
enemy for the time being. About eight o’clock, the fleet came to an
anchor at a luxuriant little island at the entrance of the great lake;
to all appearance, however, it might have been situated in a meadow,
for we had to force our way to it through a perfect plain of green
water-plants, whose slimy verdure covered the face of the lake for
miles around. It was wooded by mulberry trees, very prettily entwined
with wild vines, and in the midst were the remains of an old Musjid, in
which we discovered a slab of black marble, covered with a beautifully
carved inscription in Arabic, and appearing as if it had not always
held the ignoble position which it now occupied. Scattered about the
island, also, were many scraps of columns and carved stones, which gave
evidence of having belonged to some ancient temple or palace. While
thus surveying our island, we were pestered to death by swarms of
prodigious mosquitoes, for which the Wûler Lake is justly celebrated,
and during breakfast the eating was quite as much on their side as
ours; so that we were glad to weigh anchor, and with our curtains
tightly tucked in around us, we floated away, in lazy enjoyment of
climate and scenery, towards the centre of the lake. As we cleared the
margin of the water-plants, we found ourselves on a glassy surface,
extending away towards the west as far as the eye could see, and
bordered on all sides by gorgeous mountains and ranges of snow. Around
the edges of the lake a sunny mirage was playing tricks with the cattle
and the objects on the banks, and as we glided lazily on with the
stream, and the splashing paddles, and even the foiled mosquitoes, made
music about us, we began to enter more into the spirit of our
situation, and to appreciate the peculiar beauties of the “sunny lake
of cool Cashmere,” with the dolce far niente existence which of right
belongs to it. About one o’clock we reached Sompoor, at the Baramoula
extremity of the lake, and as it came on to blow a little, it was not
too soon: our boats were totally unadapted for anything rougher than a
mill-pond, and in the ripple excited by the small puffs of wind, I had
the misfortune to ship what was, under the circumstances, a heavy sea,
and so sacrificed the prospects of a dry lodging for the night. Sompoor
we found a picturesque but dirty village, with promise of good fishing,
in the river below it. We unfortunately had no tackle, but the boatmen
succeeded in catching five or six good fish with a hook baited with a
mulberry only: a very favourite article of consumption, apparently,
among the Cashmerian little fishes.
Dropping down the river, we dined on the bank among the mulberry trees,
and I afterwards essayed to take a sketch of the village; such a firm
and determined body of mosquitoes, however, immediately fell upon me,
that, after a short but unsuccessful combat, I was fairly put to
flight, and Sompoor remained undrawn. We passed the night above the
town, ready for an early start in the morning.
July 9.—Left our moorings before sunrise, and halted about eight A.M.
at a little island stacked with elephant-grass, where, after as good a
swim as the tangled weeds would permit, we breakfasted pleasantly under
the trees.
From this point we adopted a new mode of progression, the boatmen
towing us from the bank; and the motion was a great improvement on the
paddling system, except that it had a tendency to set one to sleep
altogether. Reached Sirinugger, and our camp again, at four P.M.
July 10.—Paid Saifula Baba, the shawl merchant, a visit to-day, in
order to get a bill of exchange on Umritsur cashed. Found him just
going out to Mosque, in his snow-white robe and turban, cleanly-shaved
pate, and golden slippers. Not having any money, he promised us a
hundred rupees of the Maharajah’s coinage to go on with. These nominal
rupees are each value 10 annas, or 1s. 3d., the most chipped and
mutilated objects imaginable. On one face of the coin are the letters
I.H.S. stamped, a strange enough device for a heathen or any other mint
to have adopted. While floating about the Eastern Venice, we discovered
a number of finely-cut old blocks of stone in the built-up wall which
bounded the river; and on inspecting the place, we came upon an ancient
Mussulman cemetery and ruined Musjid, in which there were some very
antique-looking carvings, which apparently had commenced life elsewhere
than on Mussulman ground. The graveyard, however, was itself extremely
old, although many of the turbaned and lettered tombstones of the
faithful were in perfect preservation. All began with the “La Ulah ila
Ullah,” or “B’ism Ullah,” [9] with which everything connected with a
Mussulman does commence, either in life or death.
All through the city one can trace the remains of some much more
ancient structure in the huge blocks of carved stone which are
scattered about among their more plebeian brethren, and serve to form
with them, in humble forgetfulness of past grandeur, the foundations of
the lofty rattletrap but picturesque wooden structures which line both
sides of the river and form the city of Cashmere in the year of grace
1860.
Some of these houses, as one looks into the narrow lanes leading to the
river and sees them in profile, are apparently in the last stage of
dissolution, leaning out of the perpendicular and overtopping their
lower stories and foundations in a way that would put even the leaning
tower of Pisa to shame. One six-storied house, of long experience in
this crooked world, had made the most wonderful efforts to redeem his
character and to recover his equilibrium by leaning the contrary way
aloft from what he did below. Poor fellow! he had been but badly
conducted in his youth, and was nobly endeavouring to correct his ways
in a mossy and dilapidated old age. The tracery of much of the
wood-work carvings, and particularly of the windows, varies greatly,
and in some places is so minute that it requires close inspection to
find out the design. Of these the Zenana windows of the Maharajah’s
palace are about the finest specimens; but as there is no way of
approaching them closely, it is impossible to make out their details.
July 11.—Started this evening by water for Islamabad, the ancient
capital of Cashmere.
We made a slight change in our arrangements, rather for the better, by
hiring a large boat for ourselves and handing our own over to the
servants and culinary department in general.
July 12.—Found ourselves not very far on our road on awakening this
morning, the night having been very dark, the current strong against
us, and the sailors lazy.
Another cause of delay also, if these were insufficient, was, that the
proprietor of the boat dropped his turban overboard, with two rupees in
the folds of it, and the old lady his spouse had stopped the fleet for
at least an hour to cry over the misfortune. Before breakfast we had a
swim, and found ourselves only just able to make way against the
stream. Breakfasted on the river bank, under the trees, and surrounded
by rocky snow-capped mountains. Reading, scribbling, and eating
apricots brought us to about an hour before sunset, when F. and I
landed and went ahead to pick out a spot for a dining-room for
ourselves. In the search, we passed through orchards and gardens
innumerable, and finally decided upon a grove of magnificent sycamores
on the river bank, where we laid out our table just as the sun went
down. Within view was a picturesque old wooden bridge, on the mossy
tree-formed piles of which the bushes were growing, as if quite at
home, and hanging gracefully over the flowing river.
July 13.—Found ourselves at sunrise at the end of our boat journey,
bathed in the river, and started for Islamabad, about half a kos off.
On the bank we found three other travellers encamped, and leaving them
fast asleep, we pushed ahead and took possession of the baraduree. This
we found a charming little place in a garden, full of ponds of sacred
fish, with old carved stones scattered about, belonging to the Hindoo
mythology. Through one corner of an upper tank a stream of crystal
water flowed in from the mountain which rose perpendicularly behind
it—the water welling up from below in a constant and abundant stream.
Round this corner were some most grotesque stones; and here the sacred
fish were assembled in such shoals as to jostle each other almost out
of the water; but whether they were attracted by the fresh supply of
water or the sacred images covered as they were with votive offerings
of milk and rice, flowers, &c., the fish or the Brahmins alone can
tell.
Tradition states that an infidel Christian officer once killed three of
these fish, and having eaten one of them, died shortly after. Putting
their sanctity out of the question, however, the little creatures are
so tame and so numerous that few people would be inclined either to
kill or to eat them. While feeding them with bread, I could have caught
any number with my hand; and holding a piece of tough crust under
water, it was amusing to feel them tugging and hauling at it, making
occasional snaps at one’s fingers in their efforts. They were generally
about half a pound in weight.
Our baraduree was built of wood, in the usual style, with latticed
windows of various designs, and having one room overhanging the stream
which ran through the centre of the house from the sacred tanks.
Directly below the place we occupied was a little waterfall, which
conversed pleasantly day and night; and by taking-up a loose plank in
the floor we could see as well as hear it. Learning that there were
some ruins in the neighbourhood, supposed to have existed from before
the birth of our Saviour, we started in the afternoon for a place
called Bowūn, or more popularly Mutton, about two and a half kos off.
The sun to-day we found very hot in this same valley of coolness, its
rays coming down on the backs of our heads in a very searching and
inquisitive manner. Along the entire path there were running streams in
every direction: and what with these and the magnificent sycamores and
walnut-trees which shaded us as we walked, our opinions of the beauty
of the country got a considerable rise. The path from the Peer Punjal
Pass by which we entered appears to be the worst point of view from
which to see the valley. From either the Peshawur or Murree roads the
effect is much finer; and from the north-east, from which direction it
is perhaps seldomer seen than any other, it looks greener and more
beautiful than from either of the other points.
At Mutton we found our three lazy friends of the morning, encamped
under the trees reading green railway-novels, and evidently very much
puzzled how to kill time. Beyond a tank teeming with sacred fishes,
there appeared nothing whatever to be seen here. Taking warning from
this, we thought it not worth while proceeding to Bamazoo, where we
were told there were caves; but, treating the fishes to a small coin’s
worth of Indian maize, we retraced our steps and diverged about a kos
off the Islamabad road to Pandau. Here we were rewarded by coming
suddenly upon a magnificent old Cyclopeian ruin of grey stone, bearing,
from a little distance, the appearance rather of an ancient Christian
Church—such as may be seen occasionally in Ireland—than of a heathen
place of worship. On entering, we found a number of ancient carvings on
the massive stone walls, but they were much worn, and the designs to us
were unintelligible. Some of them were like the Hindoo divinities,
while others were more like Christian devices, such as cherubims, &c.
Altogether, it puzzled us completely as to its origin; but there was no
doubt whatever as to its having existed from an extremely ancient date;
and from its general style, as well as the absence of any similitude to
any other place of heathen worship we have met, we set it down in our
own minds as most probably a temple to the Sun. [10] Most of the
figures, as far as their worn state would allow one to judge, appeared
to be female; and there was an entire absence of any symbol at all
resembling a cross. Many of the huge pillars had been eaten away as if
they were of wood, by the combined effects of wind and weather; but
hands had also been at work, as pieces of the decorations and figures
appeared scattered about in every direction.
Passing through the town of Islamabad on our return, we went into some
of the houses to see the people at work at the loom-made shawls. Very
hard-working and intricate business it seemed to be, and very hard and
Manchestery the production looked to my eye, far inferior to the
hand-made, shawl, though not generally considered so.
I tried to negotiate a shawl with the overseer, but he assured me that
the pieces were all made separately, and were sent in to the merchant
at Sirinugger to be put together, and that he in fact had nothing
whatever to do with the sale of them.
In the evening we dined at a fashionably late hour, and were lulled to
sleep by the simple music of our domesticated waterfall.
July 14.—Started at daybreak for Atchabull, three and a half kos off
towards the north-east. The baraduree we found situated in the middle
of a large reservoir, in a beautiful but half-ruined garden; and here,
the commissariat being unusually late in arriving, we took the edge off
our appetites with a quantity of small apricots, red plums, cherries,
&c.
While exploring the gardens, we found, among other remains of grandeur,
a Humaam, or hot-bath room, which was in very good preservation, and
had probably in its day been honoured by the fair presence of Noor
Jehan, with whom Atchabull was a favourite resort, and who has been, at
one time or another, over all these gardens, during her lord’s visit to
the valley.
About thirty yards from the house, at the base of an almost
perpendicular hill, were the great sources of interest which the place
possesses—viz., a number of springs of ice-cold water, bubbling up to a
height of two or three feet above the surrounding water level, and
forming three separate rivers: one in the centre which expanded round
our house, and one on either side. Around were fruit-trees of all sorts
and kinds, and from every quarter came the gurgling sound of rushing
water mingled with the singing of innumerable birds. Here sweetly
indeed do the “founts of the valley fall;” and their number and beauty,
as well as the purity of the clear and crystal streams which they pour
over the length and breadth of the land, it is which forms one of its
chief and pleasantest features, and has, no doubt, mainly contributed
to its reputation as a terrestrial paradise. To the abundance of these
streams the inhabitants are indebted for the crops of waving rice which
spread their delicately-green carpetting over the entire valley; the
purity of the waters give to the silks the brightness of their dyes and
to their shawls their fame; and from its virtues also the love-lighted
eyes are supposed to derive their far-famed lustre. No wonder,
therefore, that to the Hindoo at least, “Cashmere is all holy land.”
From his sun-burnt plains and his home by the muddy banks of his sacred
Ganges, he can form but a small conception of these cooling streams and
shady pleasures. Should he happen to read the glowing descriptions of
Lalla Rookh, and be perhaps led to reflect that—
“If woman can make the worst wilderness dear,
What a heaven she must make of Cashmere!”
He no doubt ejaculates “Wa, wa!” in admiration of the poetry of the
West, and thinks complacently of the partner of his joys as all his
fancy painted her. His highest flights of imagination, however,
probably fail to transplant him very far beyond the actual wilderness
which bounds his mortal vision, while Pudmawutee and Oonmadinee, as
here depicted by his own artistic skill, present, in all their
loveliness of form and feature, his best conceptions of ideal worth and
beauty. No wonder, therefore, that the reality of
“Those roses, the brightest that earth ever gave,
Those grottoes and gardens and fountains so clear!”
and above all of—
“Those love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave,” [11]
should shed its influence largely on his imagination, and that, in
contrast to his own dry and dusty native plains, Cashmere should well
be called the Hindoo’s Paradise.
July 15.—Marched at dawn for Vernagh, a distance of eight kos, rather
over a Sabbath-day’s journey. Here we had to wait a considerable time
for our breakfast, the cook being an indifferent pedestrian and the day
a very hot one. The baradurree was curiously built, close to an octagon
tank, the water from which ran at a great pace through an arch in the
middle of the house. [12] The tank was supplied with water in great
volume, but from no apparent source, and was filled with fine fish, all
sacred, and as fat as butter, from the plentiful support they receive
from the devout among the Hindoos, not to mention the unbelieving
travellers, who also supply them for amusement. The tank itself, the
natives informed us, was bottomless, and it really appeared to be so;
for from the windows of the baradurree, some fifty feet over the water,
we could see the sides stretching back as they descended, and losing
themselves in the clear water, which looked, from the intensity of its
blue, both deep and treacherous to an unlimited extent. The water, too,
was so intensely, icily cold, that an attempt to swim across it would
have been a dangerous undertaking, and neither F. nor I could summon
courage to jump in. We, however, bathed in the stream which ran out of
the inexhaustible reservoir, and its effect we found very similar to
that of hot water, so that a little of it went a very long way with us.
As for the fish, they swarmed in such numbers that they jostled each
other fairly out of the water in a dense living mass, while striving
for grains of rice and bread.
This also was a favourite resort of Jehangeer and Noor Jehan; and I
found an inscription in the Persian character which, in a sentence
according to Eastern custom, fixed the date of the erection of the
building attached to the tank as A.H. 1029, or, about A.D. 1619. The
inscription runs thus:—
“The king of seven climes, the spreader of justice, Abdool,
Mûzuffer, Noor-ûl-deen [13] Jehangeer Badshah, son of Akbar,
conqueror of kings, on the day of the 11th year of his reign paid a
visit to this fountain of favour, and by his order this building
has been completed. By means of Jehangeer Shah, son of Akbar Shah,
this building has raised its head to the heavens.”
“The ‘Inventor of Wisdom’ has fixed its date in this line,
viz:—‘Aqsirabad o Chushma Wurnak.’”
The fountain or reservoir, and the canal, &c. seem to have been the
work of Shah Jehan, Noor Jehan’s son, or were probably remodelled in
his reign. The inscription referring to them runs also in the Persian
character on a slab of copper:
“Hyan, by order of Shah Jahan, King, thanks be to God, built this
fountain and canal. From these have the country of Cashmere become
renowned, and the fountains aye as the fountains of Paradise.”
“The poet Survashi Ghaib has written the date in this sentence,
viz:—‘From the waters of Paradise have these fountains flowed.’”
July 16.—On the road again at daybreak, with the intention of going to
a place called Kûkûnath, where there were more springs, and which, from
information obtained from the sepoy who accompanied us, was on our road
to Islamabad. However, like most information relative to either
direction or to distance in this country, it turned out to be wrong,
and we accordingly altered our course and made for our old quarters.
Breakfasted under a huge walnut-tree, at a village about six kos off,
and reached Islamabad about one P.M., after a very hot tramp of ten
kos, through groves of sycamore and walnuts, and hundreds and hundreds
of acres of rice-fields, immersed in water, and tenanted by whole
armies of croaking frogs. The people were principally employed in
weeding their rice-crops, standing up to their knees in mud and water,
and grubbing about, with their heads in a position admirably adapted to
give anybody but a native, apoplexy in such a hot sun.
July 17.—In the middle of the night we were awoke by a tremendous
uproar in our wooden habitation, as if some one was crashing about the
boards and panels with a big stick; immediately afterwards something
jumped upon my bed, and with a whisk and a rush, clattered through the
room to F.’s side, over the table, and back again to my quarter. Half
asleep and half awake, I hit out energetically, without encountering
anything of our uninvited guest; and the faithful Rajoo coming in with
a light, I found F. brandishing a stick valiantly in the air,
everything knocked about the room; an earthenware vessel of milk spilt
upon the floor, a tumbler broken, and a plate of biscuits on the table
with marks of teeth in them. This latter discovery was quite a relief
to my mind, for the visitation had a most diabolic savour about it, and
we were just beginning to fancy that there was a slight smell of
sulphur. However, the milk and the biscuits being such innocent food,
we were enabled to fancy that the intruder might have been no worse
than a wild cat, which had frightened itself by breaking, our tumbler,
and had eventually jumped through the window and made its escape. This
interpretation, however satisfactory to ourselves, was apparently not
so to the Q.M.G., and to his dying day he will probably remain rather
doubtful of the kind of company we kept that night.
At sunrise I paid another visit to the ruins of Pandau, or Martund, and
sketched it from the north-east; a view which took in the only columns
of any perfection that remained standing.
Islamabad being, as its name implies, the “abode of Mahomedanism,” I
had set the kotwal to work to procure me a good copy of the Koran.
On returning, however, I found that he had collected together a bundle
of the common editions printed in the Arabic alone, without
interlineations. He assured me, however, that they were rare and
valuable specimens; and I was amused by the old gentleman reading out a
passage in a sonorous voice, following each word with his finger, and
astonishing the bystanders by the display of his erudition; but at the
same time holding the precious volume upside down, and thus failing in
impressing at least one of his audience. In the evening we started
again for Sirinugger.
July 18.—Found ourselves, according to sailing directions, at anchor
this morning, or in other words, tied to an upright stick, at
Wentipore, on the left bank of the river, where there were some old
ruins to be seen.
The architecture we found very similar to the Pandau temple. One
column, however, was left standing, which was more perfect than any we
had seen before.
The ruins consisted of a large quadrangle, with cloisters all round,
and the remains of a temple in the centre; both these were completely
decayed, but the enormous stones piled together in grand confusion
showed that the buildings had been of considerable extent. [14] The
corner stones here alone pointed out the position of the cloisters,
which at Pandau had been in very fair preservation.
About fifty yards from the entrance there were three columns of
different form, sunk in the ground, their capitals just reaching a
little below the surface, and connected by trefoil arches, all in
pretty good preservation.
A few hundred yards down the river we found another large ruin, but in
a more dilapidated state than either of the others. In both, the
designs carved in the huge stones were something similar in
pattern—viz. a female figure, with what appeared to be a long strip of
drapery passing round either arm and descending to the ancles. It was
impossible to decipher the exact device, but the breast and head, in
most instances, were plainly distinguishable.
About three kos from Sirinugger, we stopped at another very extensive
site of Cyclopeian ruins, at a place called Pandreton. Here we found
the most perfect building of any we had met; and for a considerable
distance around were traces of what must have been, in ages past, a
city of some extent.
Among other interesting remains, there was the base of a colossal
figure standing in the midst of a field of cut corn. Only from the
knees down remained, but this block alone was over seven feet high; the
toes were mutilated a good deal, but the legs were in wonderful
preservation. There was also, about half a mile off, an enormous base
of a column, resting on its side, at the summit of a little eminence,
where a considerable amount of mechanical power must have been required
to place it. Its diameter was about six feet; and at some distance we
found the remainder of the column, split into three pieces. It was
about twelve feet long, the lower part polygon, the upper round, and
the top a cone similar in form to the stones dedicated to Mahadeö in
the temples of the Hindoos. The building which alone remained in at all
a perfect state was situated in a sort of pond or tank of slimy green,
and was quite inaccessible without a boat. [15] Sending on the cooking
apparatus and servants, I remained with the smaller boat; and with a
rug and a supply of biscuits, set to work to sketch the ruins. The
operation, however, was not performed without very great difficulty.
Innumerable mosquitoes made the spot their home, and at critical
moments they persisted in settling themselves in the most uncomfortable
positions. The ants, too, took a fancy to my paint-box, and even
endeavoured to carry off some of the colours; so that between the two I
was soon fairly put to flight, and obliged to evacuate the territory.
On consulting my Hindoo authority, Rajoo, on the subject of Cyclopeian
ruins, he tells me that they were built, not by man but by “the gods,”
in the Sut Jûg, or golden age, an epoch which existed no less than
2,165,000 years ago, or thereabouts!
This view of the matter increases the interest of the ruins immensely,
besides being very complimentary to the style of building practised by
“the gods” in that age.
The Hindoo ages are four, and we are believed to be at present in the
last of the four, of which 5,000 years have been already accomplished.
The names and duration are as follows, viz:—Sut Jûg, 1,728,000 years;
Treth Jûg, 1,296,000 years; Dûapûr Jûg, 864,000 years; and Kul Jûg.
432,000 years. This makes the present age of the world to be about
3,893,000 years!
About five P. M. I reached Sirinugger, and found the advanced guard in
possession of one of the bungalows. Spent the night in a succession of
skirmishes with innumerable fleas, who appeared to have been out of
society for a considerable time previous to our arrival. Up to this
moment I fancied that I knew something of the natural history of the
race, having studied them and fought with them and slept with them in
their happiest hunting grounds. Greek fleas, Albanian fleas, Tartar
fleas, Russian fleas, I had combated on their own soil, but never
before was I put to such utter confusion. All night long the enemy
poured in upon me, and several times during the action was I forced to
leave the field and recruit my shattered forces outside in the
moonlight. As day dawned, however, I fell upon the foe at a certain
advantage, and managed at last to get a few hours of sleep.
July 19.—Made an expedition to the small lake to see a building which
we were informed was built by the Puree, or fairies—the Peri of
poetical licence.
After a sharp struggle up a steep hill, under a hot sun, we reached the
building; but, to all appearance, the fairies had less to do with the
edifice than a race of very indifferent engineers. It was evidently the
remains of a hill fort, built of stones and mortar, and with nothing
wonderful in its construction whatever. It was tenanted by buffaloes
and a few natives; and having seen specimens of both before, we took
our departure again rather in a bad humour with both the fairies and
their partisans.
In the plain below we found the remains of Cyclopeian ruins in an
enormous block of stone, part of a column.
July 22.—Started this evening in the direction of the water-lake in
further search of ancient ruins.
July 23.—Found ourselves at daybreak among the mosquitoes in a little
stream about two kos from Patrun. After breakfasting, we started for
the vicinity of the ruins. As usual, in the villages we passed through,
we found traces of cut stone doing duty as washing-stones, or corners
of walls, &c; and at Patrun we found rather a fine old ruined temple,
something similar in style to those towards Islamabad. [16] It was
surrounded at some distance by trees, which had tended apparently to
preserve the building, for the stone carvings were clearer and less
decayed by time than any others we had seen. Being caught here in a
heavy rain, we had a scamper for our boats, and after a wet journey,
reached Sirinugger about eight P.M.
July 26.—Finding ourselves rather tired of Sirinugger, and with no
other books than Hindostanee to beguile the time, we resolved upon an
expedition across the mountains into the regions of Little Thibet.
Began preparations by hiring twelve coolies, at thirteen shillings each
per mensem, and a mate or head man to look after them. Increased our
stock of ducks to twelve, and otherwise added to our necessary stores,
and completed the arrangements for a move.
To-day a number of arrivals and departures took place, and the whole
settlement was in a state of excitement and confusion. Boatmen swarmed
about in rival application for employment, while all the rascals in the
place seemed to have assembled together for the occasion: those who had
bills, wanting to get them paid; and those who were either lucky or
unfortunate enough to have none, wanting to open them as soon as
possible with the new comers. What with these and pistol practice and
rifle shooting from upper casements across the river, in order to
expend spare ammunition, the European quarter was a very Babel all day
long, and we were not sorry to escape the turmoil and get under weigh
to new scenes as soon as possible.
About dusk we embarked in two large boats with Rajoo, the cook, and the
bhistie, the other servants remaining behind, much to their delight, to
take charge of spare baggage, &c. left in the bungalow. One of the
Maharajah’s army also accompanied us, a rough-and-ready-looking sepoy
irregular, whose duty it was to ferret out supplies and coolies, &c.
during our march, and at the same time, perhaps, to keep a watch over
our own movements and desperate designs. Passed the night under gauze
fortifications, the disappointed mosquitoes buzzing about outside in
myriads, and striving hard to take a fond farewell of their much-loved
foreign guests.
By strange sounds from the direction of my companion’s quarters, as if
of smacking of hands, &c., I was led to infer that they had partially
succeeded in bidding him good-bye. I, however, luckily escaped without
receiving even as much as a deputation from the enemy, and slept in
happy unconsciousness of their vicinity.
PART IV.
LITTLE THIBET.
July 27.—About six o’clock this morning we found ourselves at anchor
under the mountains at the northern extremity of the lake, and at the
mouth of a dashing river of ice-cold water, into which we lost no time
in plunging. On mustering our forces after breakfast, we found that our
possessions required fourteen coolies for their transport. Our own
immediate effects took four, viz. bedding two, guns one, and clothes,
&c. one; the kitchen required four more; tent one, charpoys one,
servants’ reserve supply of food one, brandy, one, plank for table and
tent poles one, and last though not least, the twelve ducks took up the
services of the fourteenth all to themselves. The rest of our train
consisted of the faithful Rajoo, who came entirely at his own request
to see a new country, the two servants, the sepoy, and the coolie’s
mate, who was to act as guide, carry small matters, and make himself
generally useful. After a most affectionate parting with our boatmen,
Messrs. Suttarah, Ramzan, Guffard, and Co., we started on our new
travels at about ten A.M. under a broiling sun. After several halts
under shady chestnuts, groves of mulberry, &c., and passing by a gentle
ascent through a lovely country, we came to our first encamping ground,
at Kungur, and pitched our tent under a chestnut grove, considerably
hot and tired by our first march, after all the ease and comparative
idleness we had of late been enjoying in the valley. Here we saw the
first of the system of extortion which goes on among the government
authorities and the people; for after the paymaster to the forces had
settled with the seven coolies who were not in our permanent employ,
not being able to take all as we had originally intended, they
assembled round us, and complained most dolefully of the smallness of
their pay. The sepoy, who appeared a most pugnacious customer, cuffed
some of them, and made desperate flourishes at others with a big stick,
and seemed altogether so anxious to prevent, as he said, the
“cherishers of the poor,” from being inconvenienced by the “scum of the
earth,” that we suspected something wrong, and on inquiring,
ascertained, that out of the amount due to the seven, viz. one rupee
five annas, or about two shillings and eightpence, the organ of
government had actually stopped eight annas, or one shilling. The
mistake we soon rectified, much to the delight of the “scum of the
earth,”—who had certainly earned their three annas, or fourpence
halfpenny per man, by carrying our impedimenta eight kos under a hot
sun,—and equally to the disgust of “the organ” who handed over the
difference with a very bad grace indeed, and was rather out of tune for
the rest of the day. Our hearts being expanded by this administration
of justice, we proceeded to a further act of charity, and emancipated
our twelve ducks from their basket, into a temporary pond constructed
for them by the bhistie, where they dabbled about to their hearts’
content, and soon forgot the sorrows of the road in a repast of meal
and rice.
July 28.—Marched at six A.M., and after proceeding about a kos found
that we were in for a regular wetting. Our path lay through a
beautifully wooded ravine with precipitous mountain peaks appearing
ahead in every direction: these, however, were soon shrouded in
impenetrable mist, which gradually gathered in about us, and proceeded
to inspect us in a most searching and uncomfortable way.
The road however, though beautiful, was by no means a good one, and it
was in many places difficult work to keep one’s feet in the wet slush,
over wooden bridges, or along the side of a dashing torrent which kept
us company, and which seemed to be labouring just now under an unusual
degree of temporary excitement, in consequence of having had too much
to drink. We had arranged to breakfast on the road, but the rain made
us push on, and on reaching the vicinity of our halting-place, we
stopped to inspect the condition of our garments, and to satisfy
ourselves as to our future prospects in the matter of dry changes of
raiment. On opening our small reserve, of which the mate had charge, I
found that sad havoc had been made in the precious articles we had been
so hopefully depending upon for comfort and consolation at the end of
our soaking march. The last efforts of our generally rather useless
dhobie had been brought to bear upon our present equipment. The massive
brass smoothing-iron and its owner had alike done their best to start
us creditably in life with the only clean linen we were likely to
behold for many weeks, and now nothing remained of the first instalment
of these spotless results, but a wringing mass of wet and dirty linen.
The sun, however, coming out opportunely to our assistance, we made the
best of our misfortune by spreading out our small wardrobe to the
greatest advantage in its rays. Our guide, who by the way appeared to
know nothing whatever about the path, proceeded to unroll his turban,
and divesting himself of his other garments, took to waving his entire
drapery to and fro in the breeze, with a view to getting rid of the
superfluous moisture. Leaving him to this little amusement, in which he
looked like a forlorn and shipwrecked mariner making signals of
distress, I repaired to a torrent close by, and after a satisfactory
bathe in the cold snow water, and very nearly losing the whole of my
personal property in the rushing stream, donned the few dry articles I
was possessed of, and proceeded to pick out our camping ground. We
fixed it among the scattered cottages of the little village of
Gûndisursing, and while waiting for the main body, stayed our appetites
with the few apricots we managed to discover on the already rather
closely picked trees.
Got breakfast at two P.M. just as the rain began to come down upon us
again. The supplies procurable here were flour, milk, fowls, and eggs;
butter, however, was not forthcoming.
July 29.—Marched early after enjoying a drier night than I had
anticipated from the look of the evening and the fine-drawn condition
of our tent.
Our road continued up a beautifully wooded and watered valley, and
reaching a gorge in the mountains, about five kos from our start, we
halted at a log hut a little way beyond a wooden settlement dignified
by the name of Gûgenigiera.
Here we had a bathe in the rushing snow torrent, a curious combination
of pain and pleasure, but the latter considerably predominating,
particularly when it was all over.
After breakfast we sent the coolies on again, intending to halt three
kos off; however, on reaching the ground, they unanimously requested to
be allowed to go on to the village of Soonamurg, the halting-place
shown on our route. It was altogether considerably over a Sabbath-day’s
journey, being nine kos of a bad mountain-path; but as no supplies
whatever were procurable short of it, we held on our course. After
leaving our halt, the path led us close to the torrent’s edge, and the
gorge narrowing very much, we were completely towered over in our march
by gigantic peaks of rock, blocks of which had come down from their
high estate at some remote period of their existence, and now occupied
equally prominent though humbler positions in the torrent’s bed below.
Occasionally they presented themselves in our actual path, and at one
place we found that our course was blocked completely, the inaccessible
mountain side descending precipitously to the torrent, and leaving us
no option but to take to the water, roaring and boiling as it was. Our
guide went first with great deliberation and groping his way with a
stick, and after an ineffectual attempt to scale the rock above, F. and
I also unwillingly followed his example. The water was piercingly cold
as it swept against us, and the pain was so great that we were glad to
blunder over as quickly as possible, without taking very much trouble
about picking our steps. After passing this in safety we came suddenly
upon a band of hill-men with their loads, from Thibet; they were the
first natives we had encountered, and wild and weird-looking savages
they appeared as they congregated about us, gibbering to each other in
their astonishment at our sudden appearance. With them, was a
strange-looking bullock, with long black mane and tail, and hind
quarters like a horse, which they apparently used for carrying their
merchandize. To-day we passed the first snow since leaving the valley,
although in the distance there was plenty of it to be seen.
Nothing could exceed the beauty of the view as we approached our
intended halting-place. Having crossed the torrent by a wooden bridge,
the mountains we had been winding through showed out in all their
grandeur, while above us, inaccessible peaks, with sharp and fanciful
projections, nestled their mighty heads among the fleecy clouds, which
hung about after the recent rains. In advance again, other mountain
ranges rose behind each other, clothed on their southern faces with
delicate grass up to the point where the snow lay lightly on their
rocky top-knots and hid itself among the clouds. From the bridge, a
rustic structure of entire pine-trees, we passed through an upper
valley carpeted with the brightest soft green pasturage, until we
reached the usual little cluster of dilapidated wooden tenements which
constitute a village in these mountains. This was Soonamurg, and
crossing another bridge, formed of two single giant pines, we came to a
halt and pitched our camp close to a huge bank of snow on the river’s
brink. What with our halt, and the badness of the path, we did not
arrive until five P.M., and as the sun set, the spray from our snowy
neighbour began to wrap its chilling influence about us, and we were
glad enough to invest ourselves in some thick cashmere wraps of native
manufacture, which we had hitherto considered merely as standbyes in
case of extraordinary cold on mountain tops.
According to general report, however, we only reach the foot of the
mountains to-morrow. This sounds well, considering that we have been
ascending steadily for three days, and have left huge avalanches of
snow beneath us, not to mention the mountains which we traversed on the
Peer Punjal side before even entering the Valley of Cashmere at all.
At Soonamurg, where we had been warned that there were no supplies, we
found large herds of sheep and goats. The people, however, were not at
all inclined to sell them, and we had some trouble in getting hold of a
couple of fine fat sheep from them, for which we paid, what was here
considered a high price, viz. two rupees, or four shillings each. We
also enlisted the temporary services of two hairy, horny goats, which
are to accompany us for the next three marches as portable dairies, no
supplies being procurable on the road. Butter and milk are both
forthcoming here in abundance, and occasionally rice is to be got.
Penetrated with the freshness of the mountain air and the freedom of
our vagabond life, we came unanimously to the conclusion that we had
made a wise exchange from the far niente dolces of Sirinugger, and
passed a vote of general confidence in the expedition.
July 30.—The wind this morning blew bitterly cold over the snow and
into our tent, rendering the operation of turning out rather more
unpopular than usual.
Got off, however, about six, and had a fine bracing march over a grassy
valley among the mountains. After about four kos, the sun began again
to assert his supremacy, and, in conjunction with the cold of the
morning, rather took liberties with our faces and hands. About half-way
we came upon the merry ring of axes among the trees, and found a party
of natives constructing a log-house for the benefit of travellers
towards Ladak. Pitched our camp in a wild spot at the foot of the
mountains, bathed in the snow water, and had a sheep killed for
breakfast.
One of the live stock died this morning: an unfortunate hen had been
sat upon by the ducks, and the result was asphyxia, and consignment to
the torrent.
July 31.—Finished up the month by a difficult march of four and twenty
miles, encamping at Pandras about eight P.M. and no longer at the foot
of the mountains. Immediately on leaving our halting-place we commenced
the ascent of a steep glacier, and for upwards of four miles our path
lay entirely over the snow: so dense and accumulated was it, that even
when the sun came out and burned fiercely into our faces and hands,
there was no impression whatever made on its icy surface.
The glacier was surrounded on all sides by peaks of perpetual snow,
while parts of it were of such ancient date that, ingrained as it was
with bits of stick and stones &c., it bore quite the appearance of
rock. The path was in some places so indistinct, that on one occasion I
found myself far ahead of the rest of the party, and approximating to
the clouds instead of to the direction of Ladak. About five kos on our
journey we halted to let the kitchen come up, and had our breakfast on
the snow in the company of a select party of marmots. The little
creatures appeared to live in great peace and seclusion here, for they
let us up, in their ignorance of fire-arms, to within thirty yards of
them before scuttling into their habitations. They were all dressed in
blackish brown suits of long thick fur, and considering that they live
in snow for at least eight months out of twelve, they appeared not the
least too warmly clothed. As we went by they used to come out and sit
up on their hind legs, with their fore paws hanging helplessly over
their paunches, while, with a shrill discordant cry, they bid us
good-morning and then hurried back to their houses again. Not having
our rifles handy they escaped scot free, otherwise we might have
borrowed a coat from one of them as a reminiscence of the country.
After another kos or two we began to get clear of the glacier; but
occasionally we came upon enormous masses of snow jammed up on either
side of the torrent, the action of the water having worn away the
centre. The path gradually led us through rocky passes, over torrents
spanned by snow among the magnificent mountain range; and although the
march was, rather long for a hill country, we found no fault with it
until about the last three kos, when it was getting late in the day,
and although fast becoming hungry, we saw no immediate prospect of
getting anything to eat.
The last few kos we find invariably longer than their fellows; one kos
by description, at this stage of the proceedings, being generally equal
to two in reality. Asking a native, how far we are from a
halting-place, is invariably answered in one of two ways: either thoree
door, not very far, or nuzdeek, close. Thoree door means generally
about four miles, while nuzdeek may be translated five at least. A kos
too, which ought to be from one and a half to two miles, means here
anything between one mile and seven. Delaying as much as possible, to
let our servants up, we reached Pandras at last, and found all the
inhabitants turned out to see our arrival; they were dressed in long
woollen coats and sheepskins, and looked something between Russians and
Tartars, with a strong flavour of the Esquimaux, as depicted by Polar
voyagers. As the sun went down it became bitterly cold, and we found
the natives even, shuddering under the influences of the snowy wind,
which, setting in from the mountains, appeared to blow from all points
of the compass at one and the same time. What the village of Pandras
must be in mid-winter it is hard to imagine, so covered with snow as
the mountains around it are even in August, and so bleak and so barren
the valley in which it is situated.
In spite of the cold, we astonished the entire swaddled population by
taking off our clothes, and bathing in a little crystal stream close
by: two operations, in all probability, which they themselves had never
perpetrated within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, This feat
accomplished, we were much astonished by the arrival of a rara avis, in
the shape of a British traveller, from the direction of Ladak. He
turned out to be an officer of the Government survey, now being carried
on in the mountains, and we took the opportunity of deriving from him
all the information we could, relative to the prospect before us. He
strongly recommended us to go to the monastery of Hemis, beyond Ladak,
and also to the Lakes, but the latter would appear to be beyond the
limits of our time. The only natives we had met during our unusually
long march to-day, were four hairy-looking savages from the interior,
from whom, after much difficulty, I succeeded in purchasing an
aboriginal tobacco-pouch, flint, and steel, all combined in one, paying
for the same about three times its actual and local value, viz. two
rupees. They were dressed in long woollen coats, with thick bands of
stuff rolled round their waists; and all four had bunches of yellow
flowers stuck in their caps, and pipes, knives, tobacco-pouches, &c.
hung round their girdles. Their shoes were of the Esquimaux pattern,
the soles sheepskin, coming up all round the front of the foot, where
they were joined by woollen continuations—shoes, socks, and leggings,
being thus conveniently amalgamated into one article of apparel.
August 1.—On the road a little later than usual, all hands being tired
after yesterday’s exertions. The path to-day lay among huge boulders of
rock, which had come down as specimens from the mountains above, and
after a short march of five kos, we reached Dras, a little assemblage
of flat-roofed houses, with a mud fort about half a mile from it, in
the valley. This was built with four bastions and a ditch scarped with
paving-stones, which surrounded it on all sides except one, where it
was naturally defended by the torrent. On the road we passed a curious
bridge, built entirely of rope manufactured from twigs of trees. The
cables thus formed were swung across the torrent, from piles of loose
stones, in a most scientific way, though not one calculated to inspire
confidence in any traveller with weak nerves who might have to trust
himself to its support. It appeared, nevertheless, a most serviceable
structure, and was decidedly picturesque. At Dras we were able to get
all supplies except fowls.
August 2.—Having a long and up-hill march before us, we were up and
dressed by moonlight. Outside the village, we came upon two curious old
stones, standing about six feet high, upright, and carved in the way we
had already seen at the ruins of Pandau and elsewhere. These stones
were of irregular form, and carved on three sides, and the designs,
though much worn, were distinctly traceable. They represented,
apparently, a male and female figure, standing about five feet high,
and surrounded by three smaller figures each. Like all the other
sculptured figures we had seen, they were innocent of clothes, with the
exception of the rope, or very scant drapery, which ran across their
ancles and up either side to the shoulders.
Leaving these, we passed through a wild and rugged valley among the
mountains, cultivated in patches, and watered by numerous little
sparkling crystal streams. At short intervals, there were little
settlements of mud huts, built, Tartar fashion, one on top of another,
and peopled by a few miserable-looking natives, who appeared, in their
woollen rags, to be cold, even in the middle of this summer’s day. The
few travellers we met during our march were flat nosed, heavy-looking
creatures, with Chinese skull-caps and pig-tails, and were employed in
conveying salt to Cashmere, packed in bags of woven hair, and laden on
cows and asses as weird and strange-looking as their owners. About five
kos off, we called a halt for breakfast, and reached Tusgam about four
P.M.
Here we found a few Arbor Vitæ, and other shrubs, in bad health, the
first of the tree species we had encountered since ascending the
glacier.
August 3.—Struck our camp at sunrise, and crossing the torrent, which
still accompanied us, descended the Pass by a slight decline. During
the day we passed through numerous gorges, studded with giant masses of
rock, and bounded on all sides by rugged and inhospitable mountains. We
only saw one village, and that some way off the road—Kurroo, the guide
called it. Breakfasted under an overhanging rock on the mountain side,
just where our path was, hemmed in by the torrent, and were disturbed
during our repast by several volleys of stones which rattled down over
us from above. They were set free by the melting of some large masses
of snow, which, being covered with sticks and dirt, we had not noticed
when we chose our breakfast parlour so close to their uncomfortable
proximity. To-day we met more salt-carrying parties—uncouth-looking
savages in pig-tails, speaking a language that not one of our party
could understand. We also encountered an original-looking gold-washing
association of five, who were wending their way towards the snow with
their wooden implements. They were all also weighted with bags of
grain, to keep them alive during their search. Their labour consists in
sifting the fine sand which comes down in the snow-torrents, charged
with minute particles of gold; and the proceeds, from the appearance of
“the trade,” would not seem to be very great. They say it amounts only
to a few annas a day, but would probably not allow to the full amount
for fear of being taxed.
At our breakfast-halt we saw the most primitive specimen of a smoking
apparatus probably ever invented. It consisted of a dab of mud stuck in
a hole of a tree, about five feet from the ground. Two small sticks,
inserted in this from above and below and then withdrawn, had evidently
served to form the smoke passage; while the bowl as evidently had been
fashioned by the simple impression of a Thibetian thumb, the whole
forming, for the use of needy travellers, as permanent and satisfactory
a public pipe as could well have been devised. It had just been in
requisition before we passed, for a small quantity of newly-burned
tobacco lay in the bowl; and a fresh patch of clay on the mouthpiece
had probably been added, either in the way of general repairs or by
some extra-fastidious traveller, who preferred having a private
mouthpiece of his own. After rather a severe march through rocky
mountain gorges, we reached Chungun, a little oasis of about five acres
of standing barley, with three or four flat-roofed houses dotted about
it in the usual Tartar style of architecture. It also boasted four
poplar-trees, standing in a stiff and reserved little row, evidently in
proud consciousness of their family importance among such rugged,
treeless, iron mountains.
It was altogether a refreshing little spot for a halt, after the savage
scenery we had marched through; and pitching our camp in it, we were
not long in introducing ourselves to the little brawling stream of
clear cold water to which it owed its existence.
August 4.—Started this morning in a mountain mist. Just outside the
village we passed the scene of the fall of an avalanche, which gave one
some faint idea of the enormous forces occasionally at work among these
mountains. It had taken a small village in its path, and over the place
where it had stood we now took our way, among a perfect chaos of masses
of rock, and uptorn earth, trees, &c. The whole ground was torn and
rent, as by the eruption of volcanoes or the explosion of enormous
magazines of powder. Passing this, our path continued to descend the
gorge until about two kos from Chungun, when another torrent came down
to join its forces to the one we were accompanying; and leaving our old
companion to roar its way down to join the Indus, we proceeded up the
valley in the society of our new friend. Passing a series of little
villages nestled among the rugged rocks, we crossed the stream by a
tree bridge and causeway, to the Fort of Kurgil, where, after a long
consultation, we breakfasted. The differences of opinion between the
guide and the rest of the natives as to the distance of a village
ahead, where milk and supplies were forthcoming, were so wide, some
saying three kos, others six, &c., that we finally determined upon
getting some breakfast before deciding the true distance for ourselves.
The village Hundas was another most perfect little oasis. It was only
about five or six acres in extent, under the frowning mountain, and was
terraced and planted in the neatest and most economical way imaginable.
The fields were beautifully clean, and were quaintly adorned in many
instances by huge blocks of rock from the mountain above, bigger
considerably than the whole of the houses of the village put together.
Leaving Kurgil, we made a sharp ascent, and crossed a plateau bounded
by some extremely curious formations of rock and sandstone.
The mountains appeared to have been reared on end and cut with a knife,
as if for the especial benefit of geologists in general, although the
hues of their many-coloured strata were calculated to attract even the
most ungeological mind by their brightness. Descending from this
plateau, we came to a pass dotted with three or four little villages,
wooded with poplars, and adorned with a few shrubs of different kinds.
Here every available inch of ground which the grudging rocks bestowed
was cultivated, although all around, the mud-built native huts were
broken down and deserted, in such numbers as to give the idea of an
Irish settlement whose inhabitants had transplanted themselves to
America. At the last of these little villages, called Pushkoom, we
pitched our camp, the retainers taking a fancy to the place from the
promise it gave of abundant supplies.
August 5.—Made our first day’s halt, and enjoyed it considerably—not
the least of its advantages being the immunity it gave us from being
torn out of bed at grey hours in the morning. The rest of the force
also appreciated the day of rest, and made themselves comfortable after
their fashion under our grove of trees.
In the afternoon I ascended the mountain opposite to reconnoitre and
inspect the curious formation of strata, which formed the principal
feature of the place.
The ascent I found at first to be over a soft crumbling small stone,
resembling ashes, but of various colours, and in distinctly-marked
strata. These were generally of pinkish red and grey, and from them in
large masses, rose enormous blocks of concrete, in all manner of forms
and shapes, some like towers and fortifications, and others standing
out boldly by themselves, worn by the weather into holes and ridges.
After a considerably difficult ascent, from the crumbling nature of the
stones, I reached the summit of the mountain, and climbing a concrete
monster which capped it, had a magnificent survey of the mountain
ranges and country around. In every direction the eye rested on snowy
summits, and the wind from them fell coolly and refreshingly after the
toil of ascent under a hot sun.
Returning through the village, I found the natives hard at work
collecting their crops of wheat and barley, and stowing them away,
generally upon the flat tops of their houses. They seemed altogether a
peaceful, primitive race; but, although their ground appears in
first-rate order, they themselves are uncultivated and dirty in the
extreme. The ladies, I am sorry to say, are even rather worse in this
matter than the gentlemen. The female costume consists generally of
robes of sheep and goat skins thrown across the shoulders; while a long
tail of twisted worsted plaits, looking like a collection of
old-fashioned bell-ropes, forms the chief decoration. This is attached
to the back hair, and hangs down quite to the heels, where it
terminates in a large tuft, with tassels and divers balls of worsted
attached to it. On a hill overhanging the village were the remains of a
mud fort, which had been pulled down by Gûlab Singh in one of his
excursions to Thibet, with a view to bringing the inhabitants to a
proper sense of their position, and enforcing the payment of his
tribute.
The number of battered and deserted huts about the village is accounted
for by the erratic habits of the people, which induce them never to
stay long in one set of houses, but to flit from one side of the valley
and from one settlement to another as the fancy strikes them. That the
large increase of the flea population among such a race, however, may
have something to do with their restlessness, seems more than probable.
Except when impressed for government employ, they seldom leave the
vicinity of their villages, and one old gentleman told me he had never
been even as far as a place called Lotzûm, which is only two kos off!
The religion seems to be a mixture of Buddhism and Mahomedanism—the
latter on the decrease as we get farther into the country.
The dress assimilates to the Chinese—pig-tails and little skull-caps
being the order of the day. We obtained here good supplies of cow’s
milk, butter, &c., and among other things, some peas. These enabled us
to celebrate our Sunday’s dinner by a “duck and green peas,” and never
since the first invention of ducks could a similar luxury have been so
thoroughly appreciated.
August 6.—Started early again, and marched five kos, through the little
half-deserted settlement of Lotzûm to the village of Shergol, where we
halted for breakfast. Here we found ourselves fairly among the
Buddhists, and saw an entirely new description of monuments connected
with religion, from anything we had yet encountered. The most striking
objects were a series of tomb-like buildings, without entrances, and
adorned on all sides by the most hideous effigies, rudely executed in
coloured mud. [17]
Some of these were men, depicted in bright red on a yellow ground, with
horrible staring countenances; others women, adorned with numberless
necklaces and other ornaments; besides these, there were peacocks,
griffins with human arms, deer, &c., and all in the most flaring
colours and the very rudest designs.
In the perpendicular face of a rock beyond was a very curious
monastery, or abode of the Lamas. It was built completely in the rock,
and was reached by a natural cavity on the face of the stone.
Jutting out from the upper part, balconies had been erected overhanging
the precipice, and these were decorated with red copings, spotted with
white. From the fact of only one of our party knowing the language, it
was difficult to ascertain from the natives the history of this curious
abode, but they gave us to understand that it was the home of their
Lamas, or spiritual preceptors. Here we met another of the race of
wandering Englishmen, who was wending his way back to the valley. He
was returning from a shooting tour, was all alone, and appeared to have
had very hard work indeed of it, if his face and hands and generally
dilapidated appearance might taken as a criterion. Not being quite in
such light marching order ourselves, we were able to ask him to
breakfast, and from his ready acceptance and the entire justice he did
to our offer, I don’t think he could have had anything to eat for a
week.
He appeared to be a thorough sportsman, and had bagged several head of
large game, which he showed us. They were principally a kind of wild
sheep with enormous heads and horns, each of his trophies being almost
a coolie load in itself. Leaving Shergol, we entered a curious valley
with rocks of concrete standing out like towers and fortifications, and
on the summits of these again, airy-looking habitations with red
streaks adorning them, and entered, as that at Shergol, by holes in the
face of the rock. These were, or had been, the abodes of the Lamas;
numbers of them now however, as well as the mud settlements at their
feet, appeared in ruins, and gave no sign of habitation, beyond having
about them a number of little flags stuck on long poles, which
fluttered about in the breeze. According to the account of our
interpreter, which had to pass from Thibetian into Hindostanee before
it could clothe itself in English, the cause of this dilapidation was
the state of wealth and ambition at which the Lamas had arrived, and
the consequent interposition of Gûlab Singh to take down their pride
and ease them of a little of their wealth, both of which he
accomplished in the style to which he was so partial, by slaughtering
some hundreds of them and reducing their airy habitations to ruins.
At a place called Moulwee we came to a curious block of massive rock
standing close beside the path, with one of the red-topped houses built
into its side. Above this was a colossal figure with four arms, rudely
cut on the face of the rock, and above all was perched an implement,
something after the fashion of a Mrs. Gamp’s umbrella of large
proportions, together with sundry sticks and rags, which seem to be the
common style of religious decoration in these parts.
The figure was about eighteen feet high, the lower extremities being
hidden behind the building at the base of the rock. It resembled in
some measure the sculptures occasionally seen among Hindoo temples, but
no one appeared to know anything whatever of its origin or history.
Close to this there were an immense number of stones collected
together, bearing inscriptions in two different characters, one of
which resembled slightly the Devanagree or Sanscrit. Seeing such a
profusion about, I appropriated one which happened to be conveniently
small, and carried it off in my pocket.
The sun being intensely powerful, we called a halt at a village named
Waka, perched among the rocks, where we found a rattletrap of a
baradurree, which saved us the trouble of pitching our tents. Opposite
to us was a curiously worn mass of concrete mountain, which might
easily have been mistaken for artificial lines of fortification, had
not the scale been so large as to preclude the possibility of any but
giants or fairies having been the engineers. At the head of the valley
there was a fine snow-covered mountain, which helped to keep us cool in
an otherwise excessively hot position. The cook having been rather
overcome by his exertions to-day, we got our dinner at the fashionable
hour of nine P.M.
August 7.—Starting from Waka at cock-crow, we marched up a steep
ascent, through a bleak-looking range of hills, to Khurboo, where we
bivouacked under a tree and got breakfast about noon.
Afterwards, I examined more minutely the inscription on the stones,
which, as we advanced into the country, appeared to increase
considerably in number. They consisted in almost every case of the same
word, containing five letters in one character and six in the other,
though I occasionally there were additional letters, and sometimes,
though very rarely, a stone with a different inscription altogether.
After a good deal of difficulty I succeeded in unearthing a Lama from
the village to help me in my researches, and a strange-looking
dignitary of the Church he turned out to be when he did make his
appearance. He was a bloated and fat old gentleman, dressed in a
yellowish red garment of no particular shape, and looked altogether
more like a moving bundle of red rags than anything else, human or
divine.
Finding that nothing was required of him more expensive than
information, he appeared delighted to show off his learning, and by
means of the sepoy, who was the only one of our party acquainted with
both Thibetan and Hindoostanee, I ascertained that the words carved
upon the stones were “Ûm mani panee,” and meant, as far as I could make
out, “the Supreme Being.” As the old gentleman repeated the mystic
syllables, he bobbed and scraped towards a strange-looking monument
close by, in an abject, deprecatory way, as if in extreme awe of its
presence. [18]
On inquiring the origin of this new structure, which was built of
stones and plaster, and decorated with red ochre, all we could get out
of him was a fresh string of “Ûm mani panees,” and a further series of
moppings and mowings, accompanied by a sagacious expression of his fat
countenance, indicative of the most entire satisfaction at the
clearness of his explanations, and a sense of his own importance as a
Lama and an expositor of the doctrines of Bûddh.
He also explained the only other inscription which I had seen; and
according to the interpretation of the sepoy, it ran thus:—“As God can
do so none other can.” [19]
Not another piece of information could I elicit relative to the
religion beyond the continual “Ûm mani panee, Ûm mani panee!” which our
friend seemed never tired of mumbling; and although the sepoy was, I
believe, considerably more adapted for the extraction of reluctant
supplies of food for our kitchen than for eliciting such information on
the subject of theology as I was in search of, the real cause of
failure was more to be attributed to the extreme ignorance of the
particular pillar of the Church that we had got hold of, than to any
little literary failings of the interpreter. Such were the quantities
of the inscribed stones about this place, that in one long wall I
estimated there must have been upwards of 3,000, and this in a country
where inhabitants of any sort are few and far between, and where none
appear who seem at all capable of executing such inscriptions.
August 8.—Having suffered a good deal yesterday from the heat of the
sun, we started this morning by a bright moonlight, at about half-past
four A.M.
Entering the Pass of Fotoola, we ascended gradually for some five kos,
and reached a considerable elevation, with a good deal of snow lying
about on the mountains. A peak on the right was 19,000 feet above the
sea level, and few of those in our immediate vicinity were under 17,000
feet. From the summit of this pass we descended about three kos to
Lamieroo, without passing a single hut or village on the entire road.
The only natives we encountered were a party of three from Ladak, on
their way to Cashmere, with a couple of fine native dogs, as a present
from the Thanadar to some of his visitors. The pedestrians one
generally meets now are old ladies, carrying conical baskets filled
with sulphur or saltpetre, in the direction of Cashmere, and so shy are
they, that on beholding “the white face” they drop their loads as if
shot, and scuttle away among the mountains, so that, if inclined, we
could seize upon the Maharajah’s munitions of war and carry them off
without difficulty. On reaching the vicinity of Lamieroo, the inscribed
stones became more frequent than ever. They were placed generally upon
long broad walls, the tops of which sloped slightly outwards, like the
roof of a house. Supplies of uncut stones were also in many instances
collected together in their vicinity, as if for the benefit of any
pedestrian who might feel inclined to carve out his future happiness by
adding to the collection. Lamieroo, as its name would seem to imply,
appears to have been a headquarters of the Lamas and their religion. It
contains a curious monastery, or Lamaserai, built upon the extreme top
ledge of a precipice of concrete stone, and at its base (some hundred
feet below) the habitations which constitute the village are also
perched on pinnacles of rock, and scattered about, often in the most
unlikely spots imaginable. Entering the bason formed by the valley in
which this curious settlement is situated, one opens suddenly by an
ascending turn upon the whole scene, and anything more startlingly
picturesque it would be hard to conceive. As the view appears, the
first objects presented are a host of little monument-like buildings,
which line the path and are dotted about in groups of from three to
twelve or fourteen together. They stand about seven feet high, and, as
far as we could make out from the natives, are erected over the defunct
Lamas and other saints of the Buddhist religion, after which they
become sacred in the eyes of the living, and are referred to with
scrapings and bowings and “Ûm mani panees” innumerable. In the
monastery we found twenty Lamas at present domiciled—fat,
comfortable-looking gentlemen they all were, dressed in orange-yellow
garments, and not a bit cleaner than the rest of the natives, nor
looking by any means more learned. Mounting the side of the bill, and
passing under one of the red-ring pillared monuments, we entered the
precincts of the monastery, and threading some very steep and dark
passages in the interior of the rock, were received by a deputation of
Lamas, with the salutation of “Joo, Joo!”
We were then ushered with great ceremony into their temple, much to the
awe and consternation of our guides, who apparently expected to see us
as much overcome by the sanctity of the place as they themselves were.
The temple we found a small square room with a gallery round it, from
which were suspended dingy-looking Chinese banners, flowers, &c., and
at one end were about twenty idols of various designs, seated in a row
staring straight before them, and covered with offerings of Indian
corn, yellow flowers, butter, &c. They were for the most part dressed
in Chinese fashion, and in the dusky light had certainly a queer
weird-looking appearance about them, which was quite enough to overawe
our village guide; not being accustomed to such saintly society, he
could hardly raise his eyes or speak above his breath, but stood with
hands joined together and in a supplicating posture, enough to melt the
heart of even the very ugliest of idols. The service (by particular
desire) began by three of the most unctuous of the Lamas squatting down
on some planked spaces before the divinities, and raising a not
unmusical chaunt, accompanying themselves at the same time with a pair
of cymbals, while two large double-sided tom-toms or drums gradually
insinuated themselves into the melody. These were each fixed on one
long leg and were beaten with a curved stick, muffled at the end. The
performance of the cymbals was particularly good, and the changes of
time they introduced formed the chief feature of the music, and was
rather pleasing than otherwise. The service as it drew to a close, was
joined by a duett upon two enormous brass instruments like
speaking-trumpets grown out of all decent proportions; they were about
five feet long, and were placed on the ground during the performance,
and as two of the fattest of the Lamas operated and nearly suffocated
themselves in their desperate exertions, the result was the most
diabolical uproar that ever could have been produced since the first
invention of music.
Not being able to trust the sepoy in such a delicate undertaking, I was
unable to get any information from the Lamas on religious subjects; and
all signs and suggestive pointings, &c. were immediately and invariably
answered by “Ûm mani panee,” so that we left about as wise as we
entered. The most interesting object in the place was a library of
Thibetian books. It consisted of an upright frame divided into square
compartments, each with a word cut deeply into the wood over it, and
containing the volumes. These were merely long narrow sheets, collected
between two boards, also carved on the outside with a name similar to
the one on the shelf. The characters were beautifully formed, and I
tried to purchase a small volume, if a thing about two feet long could
be called so, but without effect. There were about thirty of these
books in the place, ponderous tomes, carefully covered up, and little
read, to judge by the quantity of dust collected on them. They read us,
however, a small portion of one, in a drawling, sonorous tone, and with
no very great facility.
These books, together with a number of rudely-printed papers, of the
nature of tracts, one of which I carried away, containing some of the
characters similar to that on the inscribed stones, appear to have been
printed at Lassa, [20] the capital of Thibet Proper, and from there,
the head-quarters of the religion in these parts, all the musical
instruments and other paraphernalia belonging to the temples are also
sent. One exception, however, I discovered; this was an empty
brandy-bottle, bearing a magnificent coloured label, which certainly
could not have been issued from the Grand Lama’s religious stores. To
the English eye, or rather nose, it had but little of the odour of
sanctity about it; but here it evidently held a high position, and was
prominently placed among the temporal possessions of “the Gods.”
The women here, and those we met on the road during the last two
marches, wore a curious head-dress, differing from anything of the kind
we had before seen. It consisted of a broad band extending from the
forehead to the waist behind, and studded thickly with large coarse
turquoises. These generally decrease in size from the forehead, where
there is a larger turquoise than the others, down to the waist, and
where the hair ends, it is joined into a long worsted tail terminating
at the heels. Some of these bands must be of considerable value, but
the proprietors, although otherwise in complete rags, will not part
with them for any consideration. One lady whom I accosted on the
subject, thought I was going to murder her, and took to her heels
forthwith. In general, however, the fair sex here carefully hide both
their charms and their turquoises behind the nearest rock or the most
convenient cover that presents itself, and vanish like phantoms
whenever they discern a white man in the distance.
The cooking department being delayed by the ascent, we got no breakfast
to-day until one o’clock, unless a drink of milk and a biscuit on
arrival could be called by courtesy a breakfast.
August 9.—Descended from Lamieroo through a precipitous pass for about
three kos and a half, to Kulchee, a tidy little village of fifteen
huts, situated in an oasis of apricot and walnut-trees, the first we
had encountered since leaving Cashmere.
The people here seemed particularly simple and happy among their waving
corn-fields and wild fruit-trees, and they were most anxious to supply
us with apricots and milk, and whatever they could produce. The Gopa,
or head-man of the village, could speak a little Hindostanee, besides
being able to read and write his own language in two characters, and as
he seemed unusually sharp and intelligent, I was very glad to have a
chat with him while waiting for the commissariat to come up. The
character most common on the inscribed stones, and one of those now in
actual use, he told me was Romeeque; the other, the square character on
the stones, is obsolete, and is called Lantza; [21] while a third
character, which was the one he was most conversant with, but which did
not appear upon any of the stones, he called Tyeeque.
His explanation of the stones was, that at the last day a certain
re
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