With the Connaught Rangers

by Edward Herbert Maxwell

The canal is about a mile long, and then you emerge into the clearest water of this most picturesque lake. In the shallow parts the lotus abounds, the leaves of which are very long and of great diameter. We saw on our left an elevated table-land, at the foot of which is the village of Manusbul. Near this hamlet are the ruins of Bádsháh Bágh, an old palace built by Jehángir for his wife, the lovely Nourmahal. On the right, a low range of hills extends from high mountains. We landed and paid a visit to the guardian of the lake, a very holy fakeer, with a gentle, good expression of face, who is spending his life digging himself a grave. When we were there, he had tunnelled out some fifty feet, and as he was then a man in the prime of life, if he is still alive, he must have burrowed a long way in. Whatever fruit happens to be in season in the valley at the time of a visitor’s advent, this holy man will give it in greater perfection than it can be procured anywhere else.

The mosquitoes were very troublesome here, so we embarked again, and floated away over the clear deep water of the lake, and finally arrived at Ganderbul, where our horses awaited us. We encamped for the night in a tope of fine trees, and next morning continued our march up the Scind Valley. The river Scind was still in flood, and two bridges had been swept away, and the waters were over the lower path, so we decided to proceed to Noonur, which is only three miles from Ganderbul, and there to halt. The distance being so short, we thought it better to walk, and never did a march seem longer than this one. There was no shade, and we were on a narrow path in the midst of rice-fields. The sun beat down piteously on the marshy ground, from which exhaled a stifling air. At length we arrived at Noonur, which is a pretty, English-looking village, nestling among fruit-trees and chenars. Our four tents were pitched under the shade of one of these nobles of the forest. The horses were picketed at a little distance off, near a walnut-tree, and a tiny stream of clear and sparkling water ran past our encampment. Here we were regularly beset by ‘shikarries,’ the gamekeepers of the valley.

We had reached the bear country. I selected one of these men, a nice-looking fellow, who had only one ‘chit,’ or letter of recommendation, but that one was most satisfactory, the writer testifying to all that was said in favour of ‘Jan of Kangan.’ On being asked for his other ‘chits,’ he said they were left in his home in the mountains—‘But surely,’ he added, ‘that was sufficient;’ and so he was engaged, and we were spared the continual announcement, ‘A shikarrie waits.’ Our new gillie made himself useful, bringing us any amount of unripe mulberries. M’Kay also went off into the woods, and returned with basketfuls of cooking pears and apples. We remained at Noonur some days—quiet, dreamy, unremarkable days.

One morning our honest gamekeeper was brought before me like a prisoner, guarded by three other greatly roused shikarries. They salaamed most respectfully, and inquired if the sahib had engaged this man, the prisoner, as ‘Jan of Kangan.’ He was not the said Jan of Kangan, for Jan of Kangan was the man who now addressed ‘your royal highness, the provider of the poor.’ This fellow was a common coolie, who had stolen Jan’s ‘chit’—here were the others to prove what he had said was not true. The false Jan was speechless, and had nothing to say. He had not the ready wit of an Irish soldier-servant I once had, whom I found telling a most palpable falsehood. On being afterwards accused by me of saying what was not true, be drew himself up to military attention and said, ‘Plase, sir, I lost my prisince of mind.’

The only drawback to Noonur was an excessively holy fakeer, who appeared at unexpected moments, gesticulating furiously, evidently perfectly mad. The Cashmerians looked on him with intense respect, and our servants told us that the Maharajah had begged the holy man to come and live with him, and had offered him beautiful presents, but the fakeer had refused his highness’s offers, and had thrown the gifts in his face.

We had not had any rain for a week, so the Tickedar was summoned, and coolies ordered. Bitterly cold it was at half-past three in the morning, as we felt our way out of the tent ropes, and we were only too glad to walk and keep our blood circulating. When day broke, we had fairly entered the Scind Valley, in which we overtook numbers of flat-faced, Chinese-looking coolies, all laden, travelling generally in the employment of some merchant back to Ladâk.

At first the path was good, but we were soon in difficulties. The river had carried away one part of the track, and in others the water had overflowed and then receded, leaving a most slippery road. So there was nothing for it but to ride our horses into the river, the Scind, which had covered the whole of the low ground. At last we had to retrace our steps, clamber up the mountain-side, and hit off another approach to the bridge. Many misgivings assailed us when about a mile from where our guide told us was Kangan. We saw what was evidently a sahib’s horse grazing, and its syce squatting on the bank opposite to us. We asked him why he was there. He did not dare to face the waters, he said, so he was waiting till the river subsided, or till his sahib returned. On we rode beside the foaming torrent to a place where it widened into three branches. The chokedar called a halt; we had arrived at the bridges. There were two very rapid rivers to cross, which we had to do by wading, and then the main body was bridged. A native went first, and, although the waters surged around him, he was able to hold his own against the tide.

So we followed on our horses. Having crossed in safety the two branches, we then came to the bridge, a pile of loose stones on either side, round which the waters madly rushed. It supported a frail ladder, turfed over in some places, the sods kept down by heavy stones that weighed the trembling structure down to the waves. However, M’Kay must have got over, for there was no trace of her, and our advance-guard of coolies and servants had also certainly managed to get across. We dismounted, and handed the nags to their respective syces. Nila climbed the pile of loose stones supporting the bridge like a cat, and fearlessly followed the syce over the troubled waters, hopping over holes in the neatest possible fashion. But Silver Tail, more impetuous, made a rush at the stone-work, to the vast alarm of his syce, who saw the near approach of a watery grave, and held on with all his might to his charger’s head, shouting for assistance. But at length they both got over all safe. My wife held on to one end of a stick, while the chokedar had the other end firmly grasped in his hand. She landed all right from this swaying structure, which had no parapet, and through which the furious flood was plainly visible beneath.

In my opinion the dogs gave us most trouble in our efforts to get over this rickety structure. We were all rejoiced when we were assembled on the Kangan side of the river, and, when everything was fairly over the bridge, we continued on our way to where our tents were pitched under the shade of some walnut-trees, and where M’Kay was ready to receive us with the welcome ‘doctor.’

The valley of the Scind is narrow, but the scenery is very grand and beautiful. On each side rose lofty mountains whose summits were covered with snow, and whose precipitous sides are clothed with forests of deodars. Lower down chestnut, sycamore, and walnut-trees take the place of those giant firs. Villages surrounded by cultivated land are sprinkled here and there on the banks of the river; fruit-trees afford a welcome shade, and the green carpet of grass a pleasant place on which to pitch the wanderer’s camp. We enjoyed our luncheon very much, for in honour of the occasion my wife produced some of her most precious stores, and we had among other dainties a Stilton cheese and a bottle of milk punch; so we decided to devote the remainder of the day to rest and quiet enjoyment under the shade of a huge walnut-tree.