CHAPTER XII.THE RESIDENT OF CASHMERE.
GOND—OFFICER OF THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS—A STATE PRISONER—OUR GASCON CAPTAIN—SILVER TAIL—M’KAY ON EASTERN MOUNTAIN SCENERY—THE WALLOOR LAKE—PALHALLAN—OUR CHOKEDAR—TAKEN FOR WANDERING JUGGLERS—VALE OF GULMURG—OUR CAMPING GROUND—A FAVOURITE EXCURSION—HOSPITALITY OF THE RESIDENT OF CASHMERE—POLLY THE PUG—CALLING THE MARES HOME—HINDOOS AND ANIMAL SUFFERING—EFFECTS OF CAMPAIGNING ON SERVANTS.
GOND—OFFICER OF THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS—A STATE PRISONER—OUR GASCON CAPTAIN—SILVER TAIL—M’KAY ON EASTERN MOUNTAIN SCENERY—THE WALLOOR LAKE—PALHALLAN—OUR CHOKEDAR—TAKEN FOR WANDERING JUGGLERS—VALE OF GULMURG—OUR CAMPING GROUND—A FAVOURITE EXCURSION—HOSPITALITY OF THE RESIDENT OF CASHMERE—POLLY THE PUG—CALLING THE MARES HOME—HINDOOS AND ANIMAL SUFFERING—EFFECTS OF CAMPAIGNING ON SERVANTS.
CHAPTER XII.
We left Mamur and encamped at Gond, intending to proceed to Sonamurg, but I did not feel at all well, so we had to give it up. The scenery had become wilder and grander at every turn round each rugged cliff, and then the mountains seemed to close entirely, so that there was apparently no possibility of getting further on, till a turn of the path led us to where the valley widened into a green enclosure. On our way we got lots of apricots, the trees being fairly weighed down with their yellow load.
Gond is a very wild place. Our tents were pitched close to a brawling stream that clamoured so loudly as it hurried past to join the Scind that we could hardly hear ourselves speak. My wife, accompanied by the dogs, proceeded alone forabout five miles up the valley. She brought back a glowing account of glorious combinations of mountain, wood, and river. The intense stillness of the place imparted a feeling of solemnity to the scene. While my wife was on her way a figure appeared, at first wholly unrecognisable, face burned red, and hair a perfect thatch, dress indescribable. This was an officer of the Connaught Rangers. How amazed I was when my wife returned to our camp with this singular-looking being. He had been to Leh, and was full of stories of his adventures. He had walked thirty miles that day. As he had left his servants behind, we made an impromptu bed for him in our spare tent. He told us he had seen a state prisoner at a fort called Tillet, a man tall in height, cramped up in an iron cage where he could not sit upright. My friend measured this cruel prison, and, as far as I remember, his conclusion was that it was only four feet high, and narrow in proportion. The poor man had been immured there for years. At the time of the death of Gholab Sing (the father of the present Maharajah) the prisoner plotted to raise another branch of the family to the throne, his intentionbeing that the prince who now reigns was to have been slain. The plot was discovered, and the unhappy author of it was condemned to a life-long incarceration in an iron cage. It is so long ago since the story was told on the valley of the Scind river by this wandering Ranger, that now my written description of the event seems quite tame; but at the time his portrait of the unfortunate wretch he had seen, and the measurement of the cage which he had marked on his stick, made us all thrill with horror, and we made a fresh inroad on the fluids in my wife’s stores. I hope my friend had no difficulty in getting off his boots, as I might have chaffed him as I was once chaffed myself.
In the Crimea, during the last winter there, my old friend and comrade, Nat Steevens, and I built, with the aid of one of the Rangers, named Hopkins, a very good man, ‘a moighty foin house,’ consisting of two rooms, divided by a very thin partition. Nat resided in one room, while I was possessor of the other. Nat said to me one morning:
‘I always can tell when you have been dining out.’
I innocently inquired, ‘How?’
‘Because,’ said Nat, ‘I can hear you say to your servant, on your return from one of those festive parties, “Schnopkins, pull off my boots!â€â€™
We had great difficulties in procuring any food, and at length I had to send in to Srinagur, to Baboo Mohas Chander, requesting him to give me a Sepoy orderly, to get us supplies. After his arrival, we did better; for we got what there was to be had—small, half-fed sheep—but we had to pay double for everything, owing to our new attendant. I do not believe the peasants gained by the change; for our ‘Gascon captain,’ as we named him, was a great swaggerer, and pocketed most of the money himself.
We had to cross the Scind river twice, on our return journey, to enable us to get to a better path than the one we came by, and we met with no mishaps till we reached a tributary of the river. It came brawling down from the mountains, a goodly sized stream. My wife was walking, and Silver Tail, with the side-saddle on, was being led by the syce. They came to a rickety bridge, where the impetuous pony, asusual, made a rush. The syce checked him, but down went Silver Tail into the water, and rolled twice over in the flood! The knowing rascal seemed rather to enjoy it, and swam to a shallow place, where he coolly began to drink, allowing the alarmed syce to catch him. Not a scratch was on him, nor was the little demon strained in the least. My wife’s saddle was, of course, very wet, but uninjured.
We arrived early at our camping-ground at Mannur, and M’Kay started off on an expedition up a mountain at the back of our tents. It towered up many thousand feet, and from its summit a view could be obtained over the ridge on the other side of the Scind Valley, right away to Srinagur, Gulmurg, and Baramoula.
It was some hours before M’Kay rejoined us. We had seen her, through my glasses, climbing steadily on; and, when she returned, her account of the splendour of the panorama she must have gazed on was short and pithy.
‘There was nothing to be seen at the top but more mountains, and villages. As to the wonderful height, there was not a mountain of thelot to be compared in size, or anything else, with the mountains at the back of my father’s house in Sutherlandshire.’
The heat in the valleys was becoming oppressive, so we determined to move up to higher ground. We turned our steps, in the first place, towards Srinagur, there to make all arrangements for a protracted expedition. Baboo Mohas Chander strongly recommended us to retain the services of the Sepoy, so the Gascon captain remained with us. We left Srinagur by boats on a lovely moonlight night, and drifted down the Jhellum with little aid from our crew. The tinkling sound of zitaras, mingled with laughing voices, came on the breeze, and added to our enjoyment as we floated along, inhaling the perfume from the flowers in the gardens on the banks of the river. The grim old temples, black with age and decay, were softened in the moonlight, and the squalid wooden houses appeared almost cheerful as seen in that sweet evening hour.
In the morning, we entered the Walloor Lake, and crossed over to our landing-place at Palhallan. The mosquitoes were more voracious thanusual, and positively attacked our mosquito-nets in millions, but, baffled in their attempts to come through, they howled outside. From Palhallan we walked to Wangan, where the horses met us, they having come round by land. Our Gascon captain was in great force, and swaggered about, trying to get coolies. His moustache had an extra curl, and he proved—by his overbearing ways—a great addition to our importance, as every article of food was charged nearly double to us. Our other retainer was a chokedar, full of conceit, and what the Americans callbounce. When we landed at Palhallan, this man buckled on his sword, and swung my gun, in its leather-case, over his shoulder, arming himself also with a long pole, on which he fixed an old Union Jack belonging to me; and marched with pompous gravity in front of our party, greatly to our amusement, but not much to our edification.
As we passed through a village, the little naked children rushed forth clapping their hands and shouting: ‘Ho! tomasha wallah. Ho!’ To be taken for a party of travelling jugglers increased the delight, but not the dignity of the wanderers. Before daylight the march was begun, and whenmorning broke we had left the low land, and were beginning the ascent of the real mountains. A slight shower brightened everything. The note of the cuckoo, so home-like and sweet, the fir-trees refreshed by the rain, the balmy, bracing morning air, all made our hearts rejoice. We toiled up through pine forests, among which were many fine deodars blasted by lightning. We arrived in due time at Baba-murchi, where we were met by two of my brother officers, who were looking out for us, and welcomed us with the intelligence, ‘We have breakfast ready for you,’ a most satisfactory meeting. Need I say how we appreciated the meal provided for us by these two kind friends, one of whom now rests in his grave in India; but we were longing for news of the outside world, not having met anyone in our brief halt at Srinagur. They told us of rumours of disturbances among the hill tribes near Peshawur, always an anxious report for officers on leave, as, if anything serious breaks out, it means recall to the plains. However, the air of Cashmere makes one look on the bright side of things, and it was with wills resolved thoroughly to enjoy our holiday as longas it lasted that we got on our horses and proceeded on our way.
For two or three miles our road continued ascending through pine forests, but at length, like
‘Lord Lovel’s brier-er-r,It couldn’t get high-er-r,’
‘Lord Lovel’s brier-er-r,It couldn’t get high-er-r,’
‘Lord Lovel’s brier-er-r,It couldn’t get high-er-r,’
‘Lord Lovel’s brier-er-r,
It couldn’t get high-er-r,’
so we began the short descent to the Vale of Gulmurg. Gulmurg means the ‘meadow of flowers,’ and in few places in the world except Cashmere could such a pleasant spot be found.
The long, narrow green valley, on whose sweet grass many mares and foals were grazing, is traversed by a clear stream of pure water. On each side of the valley are high broad banks, on which grow lofty deodars. On one side the bank goes up, still covered with pines, till it joins the hill behind it, and then it rises upward and upward till it reaches the line where the snow always lies. In snug nooks above the valley were to be found various tents.
Gulmurg is the most favourite resort for the less adventurous visitors to Cashmere. It was a pretty sight, for the encampments were many,and each one had some decoration, either of arbours or flags, to enliven the scene.
We had some difficulty in finding a good camping-ground, for a rather large terrace was required, not only for our own accommodation, but also for our retainers and the ponies. At last we were satisfied. For some time we had ample occupation in arranging our gipsy camp. Our tents were cosily pitched beneath some giant deodars, more than sixty feet high. It occurred to the syces, both good men, whom I had had in my service for long, that the ponies might be led down the valley to enjoy a good feed of grass. It was an unlucky thought, for no sooner did the nags find themselves in the neighbourhood of the mares than, casting decorum to the winds, they squealed, and kicked, and pranced most gallantly. The men held on to their charges as long as they could, but at last I saw the discomfited grooms prostrate on the ground, and our excited horses tearing away after the long-tailed denizens of the valley. It was next day before they were recovered. By many a bite and cut, we saw that their advances had not been too well received.
When night came, the scene was very picturesque.The large fires, always lit, near every camp reminded me of old campaigning days. We had our huge log fire, and the moon rose soft and silvery from behind the dark woods, a bright gleam occasionally piercing the gloomy darkness of the thick forest, which loomed grandly between us and the cloudless sky. It is like a dream recalling these pleasant hours, for the inevitable discomforts are all forgotten, and memory reproduces the bright side alone.
One of our favourite excursions was to the end of the valley by which we had come in, and then into the woods, along a narrow path through lordly pines, to an open vista made by the Resident. The view was very beautiful; the far-off mountains were often hid in mist, but sometimes at sundown the lofty Hurra-Mukh showed his snowy head, and the clouds faded away like a veil lifted from his god-like brow. Then the magnificent ice-clad giant, flushed in the rosy sunset glow, quickly shrouded himself again in a covering of impenetrable clouds. Beneath us was the green plain, through which the broad Jhellum shone like a band of silver, and the Walloor Lake seemed but very small indeed.Villages were dotted here and there. In the far distance a gleam of light showed Srinagur’s Fort and the golden-roofed palace glistening in the sun’s departing rays.
Our constant companion was a large Thibetian dog—poor fellow, he always kept at a respectful distance, but followed us on all occasions, fascinated by our lady pack of canine charmers. He appeared to have no master, and we were told that he was the self-constituted guardian of the mares, which graze everywhere at Gulmurg, against the wild beasts that prowl down from the heights above. We liked the shaggy old dog, which never came too near; but one day we missed him, and were told that this honest old watch had been shot, so his troubles were over.
It must be difficult for the keepers to know to whom the different horses belong. Most of them are the property of the Maharajah, but some are not. I suppose they have a distinguishing mark.
The Resident of Cashmere, Colonel Cracroft, was most prince-like in his ideas of hospitality. No one could be more courteous and kindly than were both he and his wife. They endeavoured in every way to promote our amusementand good-fellowship. A hearty welcome was given to everyone who was bid to their hospitable board. Cricket was established as well as archery; polo was also greatly patronised.
Time flew gaily among the woods and flowers of Gulmurg. It was a pretty sight to see the care-takers of the innumerable mares and foals call their horses home at the fall of day by the sound of a long-prolonged cry which the guardians gave. A stampede ensued, and from hidden nooks and glens numbers of mares gallopped towards the man whose voice they knew. Some moved with a long stride, while others cantered quietly, followed by their little foals. From our green hill it was amusing to note the different manœuvres these wild horses went through. They formed up in troops, and changed front in a compact form. The place to which they had been called was not enclosed, but was at the entrance of the valley, and no straggling was allowed, owing to the dread of wild beasts. One day I saw a great number of vultures collected in the valley immediately in front of our position; with my glasses I could see that a poor little foal had died, and that its carcase was being devoured bythese horrid foul scavengers of the East; but my disgust can be imagined when through the same glasses I saw Polly, the pug, enjoying herself quite as much as the gorged carrion crows. If there was not a row soon established at that detestable feast, it was not the fault of our servants, for the Gascon captain, chokedar, and syces, led on by M’Kay, charged down among these festive guests. Polly was seized, and washed, and rubbed, and if anyone had been ill, and wanted castor oil, Polly, if she could have spoken, would have informed any inquirers where most of the bottle had gone to. Polly was a very greedy little animal. At a croquet-party given by General Dunsford at Peshawur we were all deeply engaged showing our science at that now obsolete game, when, happening to turn round, I saw the pug on the table, surrounded by strawberries and sugar, which she did not appreciate, but up to the eyes in a large jug of cream, which had been provided by our hospitable host for his guests.
On a knoll in the valley, across the clear running stream, a little church, constructed of deodars and green branches, had been erected. Here every Sunday a small congregation assembled,and it was very touching to join in the service in this far-off beautiful land. The clergyman was chaplain to the 79th Highlanders, and he took great interest in his little church in the vale.
We were going one Sunday to the morning service, when we passed on the way a young horse with a broken leg, a very pitiable sight. The poor animal was trying to hobble along, its fore leg, which was broken, hanging powerless. The poor beast was evidently suffering great agony. A message was sent off at once to the native in charge at Gulmurg, but his answer was that he had received nohookemto destroy the horse. So Colonel Macpherson, of the Ghoorkas, took the case into his own hands, and the suffering animal was shot. The Hindoos are very careless about animal suffering though they avoid taking their lives. I have often seen at Cawnpore a worn-out camel lying all alone near the river Ganges, a small supply of food beside the forsaken beast. It is impossible to imagine a picture of desolation more complete than the dying camel alone on the river’s bank.
We made many excursions from Gulmurg, once to the range of mountains one thousand feetabove our valley. The path was very steep, but we were rewarded when in about two hours we arrived at Killun, another plateau above Gulmurg. But our route was higher up, and we passed banks covered with every kind of wild flowers. The breeze was cold as it came over the ice. The view of the valley and the distant Thibetian mountains was very splendid. Beneath us was green Gulmurg, with its white tents dotted here and there. Above us were glaciers and perpetual snow. In a shaded nook near the frozen stream we established our bivouac; apâté de foie gras, together with some black bottles, was placed in the snow, and, in due time, we enjoyed a luncheon fit for a king. One of our party naïvely remarked that after luncheon in these high altitudes the ground seemed to rise towards him. We had no attendants with us, so we helped ourselves. Gipsy life, like campaigning, makes servants forget the required polish of every-day life.
In 1858, the Rangers marched into Lucknow. A brother-officer and myself were dining with the Commissioner, Sir R. Montgomery. My friend was seated between the hostess and another lady, and was making himself very agreeable, delightedto be in ladies’ society again, after wandering about the country for months in pursuit of rebels. Dinner over, dessert was discussed, when, to my friend’s dismay, his servant, who had been campaigning with his master, stole gently behind his chair, and, with great care, placed beside his plate an old black cutty pipe and a ‘screw of cavendish,’ wrapped up in a piece of old newspaper.
The murg of Killun is too high up to be frequented as a camping-ground; supplies are very difficult to be got, everything having to be carried up from the bazaar which the Resident had got established for the necessaries of life at Gulmurg. Rain is more frequent there than lower down. But, all the same, it is a capital place for a picnic. We often dined with the Resident and his wife, whose camp was pitched high up on the green hill which overlooks on one side Gulmurg, and on the other the Happy Valley. Our departure after dinner on dark nights was remarkable, and like a triumphal procession. The ‘Gascon captain’ and the ‘Chokedar’ were both in attendance with blazing flambeaux of pine wood, which burn like lamps, owing to the liquid turpentinewhich they contain. One preceded us, armed to the teeth, while the other followed, with his head all wrapped up to keep out the cold air. Occasionally a difference of opinion arose between the rival light-bearers as to the correctness of the path to pursue. The ponies usually decided the question by taking a line of their own, and the joyful welcome of our four dogs proved that the log-fire we had been making for was the right one. We were struck by the absence of small birds. The woods are silent during the day, but at night large owls scream with a weird and mournful sound.
Much as we were enjoying our life at Gulmurg, we felt, if we were thoroughly to explore the Valley of Cashmere, there was no more time to linger; so reluctantly the order was given to strike tents and to move on. We returned to Srinagur for a few days before starting again on another expedition. Great part of our time was passed in Summad Shah’s shawl-room, where we chose some beautiful shawls for friends at home and for my wife. Nothing combines lightness with warmth so perfectly as a chuddar—there is no more comfortable dressing-gown than a choga,the ordinary dress of a better-class native. Of course, we had an immense deal of bargaining to go through, but we had a fair idea of what we ought to give both for shawls and dressing-gowns. On the true Cashmerian principle of no business transaction being possible without ‘backsheesh,’ the chief man of our boat’s crew anxiously, and apparently as a matter of course, watched our purchases, he being entitled to a percentage on the same, and so also was my bearer. My wife, too, claimed that a something should be thrown in with the shawls, and Summad Shah presented her with a pretty silk many-coloured, hand-worked table-cover. I think all parties were satisfied.