Chapter 3

JULY 20th.--I halt at Salpore, awaiting the arrival of my Sirdar dandy coolie, an intelligent, useful, Kashmiree man, whom I engaged to continue with me as a servant at Baramula, and gave him four days leave to visit his home, arranging that he should rejoin me here. I lie under the shade of the wide spreading walnut trees, inhaling the fragrant breeze, and enjoying perfect quietude and repose. All is so grand and peaceful, that my heart swells with holy thoughts of praise and gratitude to the Almighty Creator, and while gazing on one of the fairest portions of his great work I find myself unconsciously repeating the glorious psalm "O come let us sing unto the Lord." It would indeed be a hard heart and a dull spirit that did not rejoice in the scene, and acknowledge the power and magnificence of its maker. I see around me this garden of Kashmir where every tree bears fruit for the use of man, and every shrub, bright flowers for his enjoyment. Enclosed and guarded by "the strength of the hills" (a noble sentence which never never before so forcibly impressed me) and covered by the purest of blue skies. All nature seems to say to me "To-day if ye hear his voice, harden not your hearts," and surely the "still small voice" is speaking, and can be heard by those who will heed it, and have the heart to feel and the soul to rejoice in the strength of their salvation. The memory of the beautiful duett in "Haydn's Creation," when newly made Adam and Eve unite in praising God and extolling his wonderful works comes freshly before me. Now, something akin to this must have crossed the mental vision of the grand old Maestro when he wrote; and its calm glorious music well accords with my present state of mind.

JULY 21st.--A pleasant stroll of ten miles before breakfast to Koomerial along the level valley, through shady groves of apple, pear, green-gage, peach, and mulberry trees, and forests of cherry trees drooping with the weight of their golden blushing fruit. I have not seen any vines in the Solab. Koomerial is a very small place, and I had a little difficulty in getting supplies. I ought to have gone three miles further to a large village; but I'll go there to-morrow, and then return to Alsoo in two marches. A native came to me with the toothache, begging assistance, but the tooth required extracting and I could do nothing for him. Pitched under a walnut tope--the climate delicious, like a warm English summer, but it is rather hot in my small tent in the middle of the day; so I have my Charpoy put outside in the shade and lie there smoking my pipe and thinking. I have spoken of the beauties and pleasures of the Solab, but I must not omit mention of its annoyances, flies and mosquitoes, by day the flies abound and cause much irritation to any exposed part of the body. I do hate tame flies, flies that though driven away twenty times elude capture, and will pertinaciously return to the same spot--say your nose--until one is driven nearly mad with vexation. At dusk the flies return to roost, and then myriads of mosquitoes emerge from their hiding places, and make night hideous with their monotonous hum and blood-thirsty propensities. I do not find chepatties so bad as I expected, indeed I rather like them, but then my boy makes them excellently well, using soda in their composition. The process of manufacture is not pleasant--the flour is made into a paste, and then flattened and consolidated by being thrown backwards and forwards from one hand to the other, though one may avoid seeing this, it is difficult to escape hearing the pit-pat of the soft dough as it passes rapidly between the Khitmutgars extended, and I fear not always clean fingers, it is then toasted, brought in hot, and you may eat it dirt and all. But travellers must not be too particular, and so long as your food is wholesome, eat and be thankful. But here comes my dinner, with the chepatties I have just seen prepared, and which sight suggested the foregoing lines. Chicken for breakfast, chicken for dinner, chicken yesterday, chicken to-morrow, _toujours_ chicken, sometimes curried, sometimes roasted, torn asunder and made into soup, stew or cutlets, or with extended wing forming the elegant spatchcock, it is still chicken; the greatest and rarest change being that it is occasionally rather tender. I have had chicken soup and roast fowl for dinner, the chicken in the soup as stringy as hemp, the fowl as tough as my sandal, and with so large a liver that I doubted whether the bird had not met with a violent death. I like fowl's liver, it is my one _bonne bouche_ during the day, but these startled me, and after straining my teeth on the carcase, I gladly swallow the soft mouthful. Oh! English readers, you who have never wandered far from your native shores and who esteem chickens a luxury to put on your supper table at your festive gatherings, come to India and surfeit on your dainties, you will see it calmly collecting its daily food unsuspicious of danger, then comes the rush and loud clacking as it flies pursued by the ferocious native, ending with cries of despair and the fluttering and hoarse gurgle of its death throes, in half an hour Murghi will be placed before you hot and tempting to the eye but hard as nails to the touch; they are cheap in this part of the world. I pay one anna (or three halfpence) for a chicken, or two annas for a full grown fowl.

JULY 22nd.--A little march of three miles to Koopwaddie. I am glad I came here for one or two reasons. In the first place the walk afforded me a nearer and finer view of the head of the valley, surmounted by its high and rugged snow peaks; and secondly, I find I can return from here to Sopoor in two marches instead of going back over the old road. From Sopoor I shall boat to Alsoo. The range which at Lalpore was on the further side of the valley has gradually approached the other hills until now they are only a quarter of a mile apart, and are connected by short low spurs which I crossed this morning. My road to-morrow will be behind the first mentioned range, where another portion of the valley lies. The valley is in fact fork-shaped, intersected by a mountainous ridge which runs from its lower end for about fifteen miles. The two portions then unite and form one valley up to the snows, and Koopwaddie is situated at their junction. The Solab proper is only the eastern arm which is formed into a _cul de sac_ by the mountains, and in which Lalpore stands.

JULY 23rd.--To Chargle ten miles down the western fork of a valley rough and uncultivated by comparison with the Solab. Over a low range of hills with a very steep descent to Chargle standing on the left bank of the Pohroo river. Not finding a good place on that side I forded the river, which is not more than two feet deep, and encamped on smooth green sward under a walnut tope on the other bank. Fine view from the top of the hill of the level valley through which the Pohroo runs, with the broad Jhelum shining like silver in the distance. This plain is laid out in open fields, and lacks trees except round the numerous villages. The surrounding hills too are comparatively bare, and their summits are to-day obscured by the low-lying clouds.

JULY 24th.--A hot and uncomfortable walk of twelve miles on the exposed and uninteresting road to Sopoor. There were but few trees to afford any shade, but there were mulberries bearing ripe fruit, under which you know it is impossible to sit down. From Sopoor to Alsoo (sixteen miles) by boat, slowly driving all day through the tangled weeds and water lilies. At Soopoor I waited for my boy to get what he wanted for my breakfast (which he would prepare on board) and while waiting, a procession of natives came with bells and flags, and something surrounded by curtains and carried under a canopy, but I could not see what it was. It was being fanned vigorously by several men and was no doubt very holy. A large number of men (Mahometans) followed, shouting loudly when the bells were rung, and some of them chanted a slow but not unpleasing melody. They were praying for rain which is rare in this country, and which is now required for the crops. My boy returned bringing with him to my joy a fore quarter of mutton. Stopped at Shukuroodeen for the evening, the wind being too strong to proceed. Those flat bottomed boats with their large heavy awnings are very cranky.

JULY 25th.--Started early for Alsoo. Found my old boat where I had left it, but brought my baggage on board of this one, which I mean to keep to, as the boatman is a much more useful fellow than the other man. He acts as a servant, knows all the places I am going to, including Ummernath, and has many excellent characters from those who have employed him. There was such a scene when my intentions were made known to the other crew, at first with tears and folded hands they supplicated, but when that proved useless they took to cursing and gesticulating, which they continued as their boat moved away and so long as they were within hearing, screaming across the water, making faces, and shaking their fists aloft; the old man was especially violent, it was very laughable. My present crew consists of the man I have mentioned, three good looking young woman, one of whom has the hooping cough, and a variety of children I have not yet made out the different relations to each other. There was lightning and some heavy rain last night (the result no doubt of yesterday's ceremony) and the sky is still gloomy and overcast. On from Alsoo after Chota Hazree or first breakfast to Lunka, a small island, which is only fifty yards square, is thickly covered with pine trees, with trailing grape vines clinging around their boughs, on it stands an old ruin, and fallen pillars and carved stones litter the ground. From a distance it looked very lovely, floating as it were on the bosom of the open waters, but as we neared it an unpleasant odour became perceptible, rapidly increasing to a horrid stench. This proceeded from a colony of natives who were in temporary habitation of the island, and were engaged in catching and drying the fish with which the lake abounds. I landed however, but was soon forced to beat a rapid retreat. Such a mass of all kinds of filth crowded in so small a space, I have never before witnessed. Man is ever the plague spot of the world, where he is not, all is peace, and beauty, with his presence comes contamination and discord. Saw many a whistling seal in one part of the lake. The water soon became contracted into a narrow channel, with a low bank on either side, after travelling a few miles more we reached the broad Jhelum above its entrance into the lake. Remained for the night at Hajun.

JULY 26th, Sunday.--Moved on in the morning to Manusbul, a small lake connected with the river by a canal. This lake is about three miles long and one mile wide, it is very deep in the middle, and said by the natives to be unfathomable. In one of the Hindoo Legends we are told a story of a holy man who spent all his life endeavouring to make a rope long enough to reach to the bottom, and failing, at length threw himself in and was never seen again. My boatman to give me an idea of its depth, dropped in white pebbles which could be seen for a long time sinking in the clear green water, until they gradually disappeared from sight. I longed to take a plunge into the cool fluid, and Ungoo evidently read my wish in my looks, for he proposed that I should gussul or bathe. The presence of three women however proved too much for my modesty, and I refrained, although I have no doubt that had I not done so their feelings would not have been in the least outraged. Very handsome water lilies (lotus) on the surface of the lake, the flowers being of a delicate pink colour with a yellow centre, and as large as the crown of a man's hat. At the further extremity, a high hill rises from the edge of the water. A stream is artificially conducted along its face at a height of about fifty feet, and the surplus water escapes in several pretty little cascades, by the side of one of them grow some noble chenars. The bottom of the lake around the edges is very uneven, and covered with a dense growth of mynophillum spicatum, on which planorbus and other molluces graze and tiny fry pick their invisible atoms of food. The elegant shape of this plant with its branching and finely cut leaves, and the inequalities of the ground remind me of the pine-clad hills in miniature. A brilliant king-fisher took the gunwale of the boat as the "base of his operations," and I amused myself all the morning, by watching him catch fish; when one approached the surface he descended with a splash which I imagined would have driven every fish far away, emerging quickly and very seldom without a capture, which he turned head downwards and swallowed alive and whole, then looked round with a laughable air of self-satisfaction. When the fish was a size too large to be trifled with, he first polished it off by rapping its head on the boards. It is now sunset, and that bird is still feeding, and probably the day will end without deciding whether his appetite or his capacity is the larger. A native brought me a dish of excellent apricots and mulberries--the mulberries especially good, and my garden is celebrated for the best peaches in Kashmir.

JULY 27th.--Up the Jhelum again, past Sumbul with its deodar bridge (similar to the others described with this exception, that the footway appears to be built in imitation of the roof of a house sloping on either side from a high central ridge, not the best form of bridge I have seen, but variety is charming) to the entrance of the Scind river, where a chenar stands in the middle of the stream, protected by a square block of masonry. Tradition says this tree never grows. Near it is a small island over grown with trees. Here we left the Jhelum and pursued the course of the Scind which soon contracted into a narrow and rapidly flowing river, its water derived from the snows, being very cold. It was slow work rowing against the strong current, but we presently emerged into a great lake entirely covered with high rushes except where a winding channel was cut for the boats, and here progression was slower still as the rope had to be abandoned, and the pole called into requisition, so that it was nearly dark when we reached Ganderbul. Passed a number of men wading in the water up to their necks, and spearing the ground with poles armed with a single barbed spike. Although this seems an insane way of attempting to catch fish, their boat was well laden with a small species of trout, and I saw several drawn from the water impaled and wriggling upon the sharp point. Sreenuggur seen in the distance at the extremity of a mountainous spur, with the Fort and Soloman's Throne, standing upon two elevated rocks. Within a few miles of Ganderbul the lake became clear, and presented a fine expanse of water, but with so many shallows, that our course was very tortuous. Having travelled twenty miles, we are now only five miles from Manusbul. Ganderbul stands at the opening of the Scind valley, but it was too late to take any observations when I arrived; so I must wait until my return.

JULY 28th.--A march of nine miles up the valley to Kungan, taking with me as before only four coolie loads of baggage; my boatman accompanies me. Met Scott, of the 88th, three or four miles from Ganderbul, the first European I have seen since the 12th. This is a narrow and beautiful valley, down which the Scind river rushes foaming and roaring. Its waters are icy cold and its colour also seems to partake of its snowy origin, for it is white, not only with foam, but the water itself in small quantities is as though it had come out of a milky jug. Grand hills stand on either side, and up the valley I occasionally got glimpses of high and rugged snow peaks. Several natives came to me with different ailments, I gave them rough directions whereby to benefit, but what they wanted was a gift of medicine (of which I have none.) They fancy every Englishman is an adept in the art of healing, and that English physic especially Tyrnhill's Pills, possesses magical powers.

JULY 29th.--To Toomoo, six miles, a shorter march than I intended, for they told me at Kungan that Toomoo was twelve miles distant. However, when I arrived, the temptation to stop was too strong to be resisted. In marching one gets very weary about the sixth or seventh mile, but this passes off, and you can then go on comfortably for almost any distance, provided you resist the first feelings of fatigue, and do not give way to it, as I have done to-day. The mountains are now huge towering masses, rising thousands of feet above the valley; they have lost all smoothness of outline, and their upper portions are bare and rough, cragged, and pine clad. Instead of having merely whitened peaks, snow fields extend down the sides. The scene is one of wild majestic grandeur. What tremendous agonies in past ages must have been employed to produce such vast upheavals. One cannot help contemplating with awe the possibility of the world again becoming violently rent and shaken to its foundations by the forces which though now comparatively inert, still exist beneath us and occasionally give sad proof of their undiminished power. In the present day the slow but continued action of this subterranean power is in some parts perceptible (as in South America) and we have no guarantee that it may not suddenly acquire increased energy, and overwhelm our fairest lands with a run too terrible to be imagined. Stinging nettles abound here, of the tall sort that grow so rankly on old earth heaps and in dry ditches. I placed my hand among them, delighted to be stung again by English friends; the sensation is so far preferable to mosquito bites. Besides it took me back to "childhood's happy hours," when with bramble torn breeches and urticarious shin, I forced the hedges, apple stealing--I have stolen apples to-day for a tart which is now baking--robbed the trees of them for they are no man's property. Just above here on the other side of the valley is a very perfect crater (of course extinct) for there are now no volcanoes in the Himalayas. Its lips are rugged and serrated like the teeth of a saw, and form a very perfect circle I cannot tell the depth of the basin, but on the further side I can see that the edge rises perpendicularly to a considerable height, and at the bottom of it I just got a glimpse of a steeply sloping floor. On its exterior are deep grooves containing strong blocks, which at this distance appear to show by contrast of colour their igneous origin, but I cannot speak positively on this point. My Bheistie to whom I gave three days leave to visit his family, came in saying he had walked one hundred miles. He does not look any the worse for it.

JULY 30th.--Another short march of five miles to Soorapra, a small village around which stand several enormous hills, half obscured by clouds, for it is a thoroughly wet day, drizzling rain having fallen ever since my arrival. It is very cool and pleasant, but I have got up too far and am now in the rainy region, so to-morrow I shall retrace my steps, three or four marches would take me over the Himalayas into Ladâk. This would be an interesting trip, but there still remains much for me to see in Kashmir, and I have not time to do both. Passed another, but smaller and less perfect crater. Some natives brought a young black bear, which they had just caught to show me. It was no larger than a good-sized dog, but had very long sharp claws; its expression was anything but ferocious. A dense pine and walnut forest extends down one of the hills to the verge of the village. I was strolling in that direction, not a hundred yards from the huts--before the arrival of my baggage--when two men ran after me and begged me to come back on account of the number of tigers there. I imagined they meant leopards, but on making enquiries I find cows are carried away, which could not be done by leopards. This would be a good ground for the sportsman, but no Europeans come here as it is off the regular track up the valley. I crossed the river this morning by a ricketty bridge built of a couple of firs, on which logs were loosely laid, leaving the main road which runs along the other or right bank. Just behind my tent a stream of deliciously cold and transparent water issues from the hill side; a rough sort of shed is erected over it, and the water is conducted a short distance in a wooden trough, from the end of which it falls to the ground. It is the custom in Kashmir to build over the springs and esteem them holy. No mosquitoes up here, delightful prospect of a good night's rest.

JULY 31st.--Back to Kungan in one march, but did not encamp on the same ground as before, as I found a better place by the side of the river. I have been thinking all the morning about my future career, whether I shall obtain the appointment in the Guards that I have applied for, (my application has by this time reached England) if not, what will they do with me when I get home, or shall I remain in the army? These questions have been running in my head and occasionally a more delicate one obtruded. Shall I marry, and if so, when and whom, and here, where all my thoughts are revealed, I must needs confess that now at twenty-nine years of age, I begin to weary of single blessedness, and long for a fair, loving, and loveable companion. Now my gentle lady reader, here is a chance for you, if you are content with honest love without adoration, faithfulness without romance; for my romantic days have passed. I have learnt the sober realities of life, and among them the truth of God's declaration that it is not good for man to be alone. The _Saturday Review_ in recent articles, "The Girl of the Period, &c.," holds out a poor prospect for the would be benedict, and I fear there is much truth in the assertion that the majority of our young women are husband hunting, that they make matrimony their one great object, and will condescend to any means whereby to attain the personal independance given them by that position, that these marriages without love, only prompted by selfish considerations, are followed by a total neglect of all wifely duties--nay more, that even maternal care and tenderness have nearly ceased to exist. It is a sad picture, and sternly drawn. The well-known power of the paper is put forth in its highest degree, and withering sarcasm, and bitter contempt accompany its stern reproofs. Yet there is a final wail of despair at the unlikelihood of any change for good being effected. This evil like most others is of our own making. We men no longer marry while young, but when middle-aged or with grey hairs beginning to show, a man desires a wife, he will most likely choose one five and twenty years his junior. The girl often marry thus because she cannot get a husband of her own age, and a very few years lost will doom her to perpetual spinsterhood. It is necessarily a marriage without love, a lucky one if there be respect. Girls have learnt that it is useless to bestow their affections where nature would have them, and and it is scarcely a matter for surprise that they should in consequence endeavour to repress them altogether. Moral for my own use. Marry while I am young, or not at all.