broken spans of the old bridge. Strange voices filled the
air yelling to the demons of the stream, and the quiet
night was transformed into pandemonium. Dark
shadows passed rapidly across the low-lying fields
terrified flocks of ponies fleeing for shelter to the village
looked like grim wraiths, the wind rolled the vaporous
mist across the open, and then the whole world was
blotted out in an unnatural wall of dark cloud, and I
felt myself the only living thing in the world whirling to
destruction. °
Slowly the minutes sped their way, the burden of the
sad surroundings oppressed us with a heavy weight
useless to guess what was taking place a few yards
away, hopeless to try and assist others who might be
even m worse plight than myself; heavily, drearily time
passed waiting for the sun to rise again and light the
stricken scene. The second storm had lasted far
longer than the first, and the wind had only just
ceased its wild cries and menaces when the sun rose
with stormy splendour, and a ravaged world slowly began
to settle to a day of salvage and re-adjustment.
Anxious as I was to reach Srinagar before the evening
having an important engagement there, I hardly dared
to suggest a start m face of the possibility of a repetition
of the night s storm, for there was a long stretch of
low, unsheltered meadows, and then the open Anchar
.Lake to cross, before I could reach the safety of the
narrow city waterways. Earth and sky were strangely
blended together m a veil of vapour that moved in
layers ragged and broken at the edges over the marsh
lands forming fantastic figures, or combining to screen
with thick mist all outlook. Though the sky was still
threatening there had been no repetition of the storm
by breakfast time, and I made up my mind to risk
moving rather than waste another day amid such
uninteresting surroundings, and ordered my men to
start. This they were most loth to do. The Kashmiris
are proverbially the most cowardly watermen in the
world, the want of keels to their boats increasing their
sense of insecurity in the always uncertain weathers
on their lakes. For some time they refused to stir, and
it was only my threat of sending a telegram to Srinagar
to order another boat to convey me and my belongings
that brought them to their senses, and at last, the men
having securely fastened all loose gear, tied firmly the
chuppars, and taking two extra men on board, we commenced
our slow progress down. The all-enveloping,
vapoury mist, as if torn from its parent cloud, left
floating overhead by the stem power of the wind,
moved on with us, cutting us off from all the world. I
could scarcely see the men towing on the bank; I was
a pilgrim in the land of shadows, ferried by an invisible
Charon! When we reached the Anchar Lake the
weather had improved, the sky was brighter, and the sun
was reasserting its sway, dragging up to his court again
the mass of cloud that had been an unwilling visitor
of our cold climes, and though I knew the men were
nervous by the desperately brisk way they threw themselves
on to the paddles, I did not fear any further storm
for the time being. However, I was glad of the spur to
their energies, and the quick motion was soothing as I lay
back noting the countless flowers that ornamented this
pretty marshy swamp. White water lilies, like queens at
their ease, floated amid their dark foliage, a host of tall
forget-me-nots waited, courtier-wise, upon them, while
pretty white arrowheads, always a little anxious and