Glide through the foliage, and drink beams
Of beauty from its fount and streams.’[7]
Now all is silent. The palace is forsaken, and the gardens deserted. But, happier than our old Scotland, the nightingale is heard among the trees which surround this fairy place; although, according to a Scotch assistant-surgeon, there are nightingales in our Highland homes. The surgeon being asked to describe one, he gave his impression of the lovely songster in these terms:—
‘It’s got a heed like a caat: aboot the beegness of a pigion; and flits aboot at night; and cries, hewt! hewt!’
We could linger no longer among the fine forest of chenars near that beautiful lake, so our camp was broken up, and we reluctantly departed for the Scind Valley. We were fortunate in having the moon to light us on our way. Very beautiful was the lake enshrined among the giant hills. As we moved slowly along, a storm rushed up, sweeping the waters into real waves. The flash of the lightning was incessant, and the roar of the thunder never ceased as it rattled among the mountains. But the storm passed almost as suddenly as it had arrived.
We allowed our boatmen to take us wherever they liked best, only stipulating that we should find ourselves halted in the morning at some suitable camping-ground for breakfast.
Sunbul was the place they selected, and there we breakfasted under the shade of some wides-preading sycamores. There was little variety in our food. We carried with us tea, and a few tins of soup, which we only used on the march. Besides these, my wife had a small store of dainties, which only saw light on special occasions. We trusted for the rest to the fowls and eggs of the country. Potatoes and bread, which were always plentiful, we had to send for to Srinagur. Milk was abundant; but beef we never saw. Bulls and cows being sacred, we might have answered, as the Irishman did, when asked to dinner by Dan O’Connell:
‘Come to dinner, a quiet dinner. Ye’ll get nothing but potatoes and beef.’
‘Bedad,’ answered Paddy, ‘I’ll come. It’s the same dinner I have every day—barrin’ the beef.’
After a two hours’ halt, we proceeded on to Manusbul Lake, passing through a narrow canal, and under a very ancient one-arched bridge.