chamber, a small corner of which I had occupied in the
hillside, where, without trouble and without cost, the
lights had been hung out nightly, the carpet swept and
washed, where the air was always fresh, and the perfumes
strong and invigorating. Early next morning,
very early, every one was afoot, for the certainty of our
march being a hot one was an inducement to get it over
as soon as possible, and after an unsatisfactory breakfast
of stewed tea and smoked toast, I demanded my
pony. Then there was scuffling and evasion—a suggestion
that it had not been really expected I would ride,
as my habit was to walk. Finally, as I grew stern, a
shaggy white thing was produced — ewe - necked,
ungroomed, and bearing, in ridiculous disproportions
to the breadth of its back, a tiny man’s saddle, bare,
uncompromising, not even a native one, which would
have afforded some grip for the knee.
On almost any other march in Kashmir I would have
risked a cross seat, but the gay Srinagar world was just
beginning to move up to Gulmerg, and I dared not;
as I did actually meet the Resident and his party in all
the state of “ official progress,” I was thankful not to
have given way to an impulse of comfort. Somehow or
other, I accomplished the twenty-three miles—my
destination was a long way on the other side of Srinagar
—sitting sideways on that minute and slippery triangle
of leather. The first shy nearly sent me to leeward, also
a curious habit of tacking that my mount had whenever
advancing on an object that displeased him, and which
was very disconcerting. Practice is everything, and as
I was petrified with my cramped position, even that
became less trying, and finally, even if I had wished, I
could not have come off, so thoroughly had I grown to
my unpleasing saddle.
The sun was trying and my head ached from the
glare and the bump gained in my unlucky glissade, and
it was with a vast relief I saw before me, towards two
o’clock, pretty Gupcar with its picturesque bungalows
and shady plantations. Half of the value of roughing it
is the enjoyment of easeful comfort afterwards, and
that afternoon beneath shady walnuts, with many
cushions in place of the unreposeful saddle, will long remain
to me a synonym of luxury! The house itself was
typically Kashmirian—pretty in design, full of repose,
ornamental and tasteful, every part, of course, leaked
when it rained, and none of the windows or doors could
be tightly closed—such trifles do not enter into a native’s
scheme of existence. If it is warm, doors and windows
must be open, and when it is cold, what easier than to
roll up in homespuns and furs, and hedge round the
shivering body with “ kangars ” of hot charcoal! What
is time, exactitude, punctuality'? say they; merely a triad
of annoyances invented by Sahibs and their folk wherewith
to worry poor “ naukar log ” (serving people).
Living that life of dolce far niente by the beautiful Dal
Lake, the Takht-i-Suleiman high above, the Pir Pan jal
still lightly crowned by snows, time even to me became a
thing of no importance, one day was as another, “ like
beads in careless teller’s hands, the hours dropped unconsidered
by.” My luggage was despatched, with the
vague assurance that if it did not arrive in ten days at
Pindi, it would be there in a fortnight, provided always
cart and car tents were not tumbled down the river
bank. My seat was booked for "a mail tonga, or “ some
other tonga,” provided there ivas room, and I began to
collect those of my orders that the merchants had
thought fit to complete.
R