With the Connaught Rangers

by Edward Herbert Maxwell

M’Kay was much put out when she discovered there were no steamers, and puzzled the coolies by vainly trying to find out from them the wharf from which we were to embark. We had three boats, called dongahs. The one my wife and I occupied, a flat-bottomed boat, with very pointed extremities, was sixty feet long, six broad, and about two feet in depth. A wooden roof, covered with matting, extended about half its length, and other pieces of matting were fastened on to the sides of the wooden frame, which can be closed at night and raised during the day. The crew consisted of a whole family, who lived in the stern part of the boat. The oars were short, with broad, heart-shaped paddles. My wife and M’Kay made our gondola most comfortable. The sides of our cabin were festooned with red and white curtains. In the centre, hanging from the roof, were large mosquito-nets. During the day our camp beds were pushed out of the way, and a table took their place, on which were our books and writing materials. There was room also for an impromptu sofa of cloaks, pillows, &c.

M’Kay had another dongah, which she shared with our dogs, and the third one contained our servants and cuisine. Oh! the delicious sense of repose—after toiling for days among rocks and mountain paths, to feel ourselves resting in quiet and peace! It was sufficient, for a time, just to live, and lazily to look at the merry birds glancing past in the sunlight, and every now and then seeing them drop into the calm waters.

At first we had to cross a broad part of the river, and one of our crew stood in the bows, and with a pole pushed us along, while the remainder, in the stern, propelled us with the heart-shaped paddles. We soon reached the opposite bank, when most of the family jumped out on the path, and towed us by a long line, and so we glided past green pastures, in which hundreds of mares and foals were quietly grazing, past sedgy pools, where numerous herons arose before us. They had no fear, these royal birds, protected by the Maharajah, as a heron’s plume is a token of nobility.

‘When day had hid his sultry flame

Behind the palms of Baramoule,’[4]

we reached the town of Sopoor, which is built on both sides of the river, and joined together by a bridge resting on wooden pillars. Innumerable wild ducks skimmed past us, and the large mahseer rose to the flies which hovered over the mirror-like water during the still evening hour.

Before sunrise next day, we had left our moorings at Sopoor, and, shortly after, entered the Walloor Lake. It is the largest lake in Cashmere, and the Jhellum flows through it. The boatmen are very superstitious about crossing the lake. Offer them any amount of backsheesh, they will not attempt to enter it after the sun has set. The Walloor is often visited by storms and sudden squalls, and the flat-bottomed boats, with their heavy top-hamper, are not suitable for a gale of wind. So we entered the lake after sunrise. The mosquitoes were innumerable. I sat out on the prow of our boat to get a shot at the wild fowl, which crossed and recrossed before our gondola, and the mosquitoes covered my hands with white lumps and blood; for they are easily killed, and are powerful blood-suckers.

The lake is choked up in many places by reeds and morass. Where the boats pass on their passage to Srinagur the whole surface of the water is covered with water-lilies. The scene was fairy-like. High towering around us were mountains tipped with snow, while green pastures encircled the lake. In the far distance, in our front, the fort of Srinagur rose proudly on the horizon, like the Acropolis of Athens, while on our left the heights above Manisbul Lake marked the entrance to that lovely spot, and in the hazy distance on our right, could just be seen the glaciers which show where Gulmurg, the ‘Field of Flowers,’ nestles, a green valley among the snow-clad hills. In the evening, we entered Shadipore, ‘The Place of Marriage,’ where the Scind river effects a junction with the Jhellum.

A Hindoo temple on a solid block of masonry is shaded by a chenár. Tradition says that this tree, which is situated in the middle of the river, never grows. The boatmen drew up our squadron to leeward of a large barge not laden with violets, so we insisted on being taken to some other place. We were accordingly moved to a fine open space, and moored to a post sunk deep in the mud.

My wife’s favourite pug jumped out of M’Kay’s boat at the first place where we halted, and now was nowhere to be seen. A great hunt ensued, and we were beginning to despair of her recovery when the little black-faced beauty made her appearance quite unconcerned. My wife was very fond of this troublesome pet, which had most endearing ways, but, like all her breed, was very selfish and exacting, her mistress often being compelled to sacrifice her own comfort to that of her favourite ‘Polly,’ a name bestowed on her in remembrance of the very kind donor, who was wife of the Commissioner of Peshawur.