It must be difficult for the keepers to know to whom the different horses belong. Most of them are the property of the Maharajah, but some are not. I suppose they have a distinguishing mark.
The Resident of Cashmere, Colonel Cracroft, was most prince-like in his ideas of hospitality. No one could be more courteous and kindly than were both he and his wife. They endeavoured in every way to promote our amusement and good-fellowship. A hearty welcome was given to everyone who was bid to their hospitable board. Cricket was established as well as archery; polo was also greatly patronised.
Time flew gaily among the woods and flowers of Gulmurg. It was a pretty sight to see the care-takers of the innumerable mares and foals call their horses home at the fall of day by the sound of a long-prolonged cry which the guardians gave. A stampede ensued, and from hidden nooks and glens numbers of mares gallopped towards the man whose voice they knew. Some moved with a long stride, while others cantered quietly, followed by their little foals. From our green hill it was amusing to note the different manœuvres these wild horses went through. They formed up in troops, and changed front in a compact form. The place to which they had been called was not enclosed, but was at the entrance of the valley, and no straggling was allowed, owing to the dread of wild beasts. One day I saw a great number of vultures collected in the valley immediately in front of our position; with my glasses I could see that a poor little foal had died, and that its carcase was being devoured by these horrid foul scavengers of the East; but my disgust can be imagined when through the same glasses I saw Polly, the pug, enjoying herself quite as much as the gorged carrion crows. If there was not a row soon established at that detestable feast, it was not the fault of our servants, for the Gascon captain, chokedar, and syces, led on by M’Kay, charged down among these festive guests. Polly was seized, and washed, and rubbed, and if anyone had been ill, and wanted castor oil, Polly, if she could have spoken, would have informed any inquirers where most of the bottle had gone to. Polly was a very greedy little animal. At a croquet-party given by General Dunsford at Peshawur we were all deeply engaged showing our science at that now obsolete game, when, happening to turn round, I saw the pug on the table, surrounded by strawberries and sugar, which she did not appreciate, but up to the eyes in a large jug of cream, which had been provided by our hospitable host for his guests.
On a knoll in the valley, across the clear running stream, a little church, constructed of deodars and green branches, had been erected. Here every Sunday a small congregation assembled, and it was very touching to join in the service in this far-off beautiful land. The clergyman was chaplain to the 79th Highlanders, and he took great interest in his little church in the vale.
We were going one Sunday to the morning service, when we passed on the way a young horse with a broken leg, a very pitiable sight. The poor animal was trying to hobble along, its fore leg, which was broken, hanging powerless. The poor beast was evidently suffering great agony. A message was sent off at once to the native in charge at Gulmurg, but his answer was that he had received no hookem to destroy the horse. So Colonel Macpherson, of the Ghoorkas, took the case into his own hands, and the suffering animal was shot. The Hindoos are very careless about animal suffering though they avoid taking their lives. I have often seen at Cawnpore a worn-out camel lying all alone near the river Ganges, a small supply of food beside the forsaken beast. It is impossible to imagine a picture of desolation more complete than the dying camel alone on the river’s bank.
We made many excursions from Gulmurg, once to the range of mountains one thousand feet above our valley. The path was very steep, but we were rewarded when in about two hours we arrived at Killun, another plateau above Gulmurg. But our route was higher up, and we passed banks covered with every kind of wild flowers. The breeze was cold as it came over the ice. The view of the valley and the distant Thibetian mountains was very splendid. Beneath us was green Gulmurg, with its white tents dotted here and there. Above us were glaciers and perpetual snow. In a shaded nook near the frozen stream we established our bivouac; a pâté de foie gras, together with some black bottles, was placed in the snow, and, in due time, we enjoyed a luncheon fit for a king. One of our party naïvely remarked that after luncheon in these high altitudes the ground seemed to rise towards him. We had no attendants with us, so we helped ourselves. Gipsy life, like campaigning, makes servants forget the required polish of every-day life.
In 1858, the Rangers marched into Lucknow. A brother-officer and myself were dining with the Commissioner, Sir R. Montgomery. My friend was seated between the hostess and another lady, and was making himself very agreeable, delighted to be in ladies’ society again, after wandering about the country for months in pursuit of rebels. Dinner over, dessert was discussed, when, to my friend’s dismay, his servant, who had been campaigning with his master, stole gently behind his chair, and, with great care, placed beside his plate an old black cutty pipe and a ‘screw of cavendish,’ wrapped up in a piece of old newspaper.
The murg of Killun is too high up to be frequented as a camping-ground; supplies are very difficult to be got, everything having to be carried up from the bazaar which the Resident had got established for the necessaries of life at Gulmurg. Rain is more frequent there than lower down. But, all the same, it is a capital place for a picnic. We often dined with the Resident and his wife, whose camp was pitched high up on the green hill which overlooks on one side Gulmurg, and on the other the Happy Valley. Our departure after dinner on dark nights was remarkable, and like a triumphal procession. The ‘Gascon captain’ and the ‘Chokedar’ were both in attendance with blazing flambeaux of pine wood, which burn like lamps, owing to the liquid turpentine which they contain. One preceded us, armed to the teeth, while the other followed, with his head all wrapped up to keep out the cold air. Occasionally a difference of opinion arose between the rival light-bearers as to the correctness of the path to pursue. The ponies usually decided the question by taking a line of their own, and the joyful welcome of our four dogs proved that the log-fire we had been making for was the right one. We were struck by the absence of small birds. The woods are silent during the day, but at night large owls scream with a weird and mournful sound.
Much as we were enjoying our life at Gulmurg, we felt, if we were thoroughly to explore the Valley of Cashmere, there was no more time to linger; so reluctantly the order was given to strike tents and to move on. We returned to Srinagur for a few days before starting again on another expedition. Great part of our time was passed in Summad Shah’s shawl-room, where we chose some beautiful shawls for friends at home and for my wife. Nothing combines lightness with warmth so perfectly as a chuddar—there is no more comfortable dressing-gown than a choga, the ordinary dress of a better-class native. Of course, we had an immense deal of bargaining to go through, but we had a fair idea of what we ought to give both for shawls and dressing-gowns. On the true Cashmerian principle of no business transaction being possible without ‘backsheesh,’ the chief man of our boat’s crew anxiously, and apparently as a matter of course, watched our purchases, he being entitled to a percentage on the same, and so also was my bearer. My wife, too, claimed that a something should be thrown in with the shawls, and Summad Shah presented her with a pretty silk many-coloured, hand-worked table-cover. I think all parties were satisfied.