.of icy water; we were piercing a crystal wall. Then it
thundered, and jagged lightning flashes tore open the
sky, on flew the ponies, sliding and skimming over
treacherous surfaces of half-melted snow. I merely
remarked to myself that as many people must have
lived through this before reaching the happy valley, it
would be distinctly unlikely that any special ill-luck
should happen to me. Still it was a comfort when the
halts came, for it is tiresome and difficult to perpetually
hold one s breath. During one of these my driver drew
over his pagri a knitted “ Crimean helmet.”
“ Where did you get that? ” I asked. “ l a m a Sikh,”
he replied (as one would say, “ l a m a king’s son ”). - “ I
helped in the storming of the Sampagha; after that
these warm things were given to us. I am a Sikh, a
brave man, therefore I drive faster than all others on
this road; I have no fear.” I t sounded noble, but
subsequently I wished sometimes for a coward behind
my steeds. As the hours went by, the horses were
frequently changed; each new pair seemed to vie with
the last in wickedness and trickery. At first a little
jibbing or kicking had been the only excitement in
starting; later they could not be persuaded to stir without
administrations of the “ chabuk ” (whip) that would
have filled a member of the S.P.C.A. with horror. Each
new pair required an especial scheme of advancement ;
at one place they had to be prodded from the back, at
another it needed the united efforts of their two grooms,
reinforced by odd loafers, to jerk them forward, some
delighted in a noose flung round a fore leg, and one
unusually large black pony remained immovable in
statu quo till a string round his ear had threatened the
removal of that necessary limb!
About five we reached the last village in Indian
territory, Kohalla, and shivering with cold, sodden with
damp, stiff and aching, managed to crawl to a bungalow
near by, where hot tea and a new cake put some
warmth into me, and nerved me for a small incident
that nearly caused the abrupt termination of the
Kashmir tour before being begun. Our new ponies
did not fancy proceeding in such bad weather, and
jibbed; all the village turned out and pulled, Kochwan
shouted, then the mob tugged; the moment was
imminent when cart and cattle must part company, the
off-pony knew better, he had been in that place before,
wherefore he turned abruptly, removing his most
pressing antagonists by well-directed kicks, and faced me
with a grin. “ See that,” he said, with his wicked eyes,
“ now look at me,” and with a jerk he had festooned
all his light headgear over one eye and dropped the
reins twice round his neck, “ and now see where
you are going.” With a vast pirouette he had his head
well down over the edge of the road, and was preparing
to follow down the steep bank into the whirling, wind-
tossed, swollen river below. Luckily, the onlookers were
prepared; a rush, a noble disregard of life and limb as
they hurled themselves on the practical joker, a strong
push and a long pull together, and both steeds were at
last looking the same way, and with two wild plunges
fled down the hill. “ Shabash” (hurrah!) shouted the
people. “ Shabash,” echoed the driver, clinging to his
reins. I remained silently thbughtful; it did not seem
necessary to shout till we were out of the wood, or
rather across the river, for at the foot of the steep hill,
with a sharp twist, the road was carried over a suspension
bridge with but sketchy barrier between life