March 11th.—Just able to creep about. Captain A⸺ drove me to see the tomb of Aboo, a very fine one near the prison at Meerut: its history I forget, and I was too ill to attempt to sketch it.
Thence we drove to the tomb of Pīr Shāh, near the gate of the city. It is in ruins; the verandah that once ornamented it has fallen to the ground. The tomb is peculiar, the dome has only been raised two feet and so finished: this has been so left purposely, that the sunshine and the dews of heaven may fall on the marble sarcophagus of the saint who sleeps within the building. Around the tomb are a number of the graves of the faithful. Perhaps the exertion of taking a drive made me ill again; and the relative with whom I was staying not admiring this return of fever, determined to take me instantly to the hills.
CHAPTER LIII.
DEPARTURE FOR THE HILLS.—LANDOWR.
First View of the Snowy Ranges—Saharanpūr—Mohunchaukī—An Adventure—The Keeree Pass—Rajpūr—Motī—The Gūnth—Hill-men—A Jampan—Ascent to Landowr—Hill Flowers—Purity of the Air—View of the Himalaya—The Khuds—Mussoorī—Rhododendron Trees—Mr. Webb’s Hotel—Curious Soap—The Landowr Bazār—Schools in the Hills—Cloud End—The White Rhododendron—Storm in the Hills—Hill Birds—Fever in the Hills—Newlands—Death of Major Blundell.
1838, March 16th.—We drove out twenty miles, to the place where the palanquins awaited us, travelled dāk all night, found a buggy ready for us at the last stage, and reached our friend’s house at Saharanpūr the next morning by 8 A.M. On the road, about five o’clock in the morning, I was much delighted with the first view of the snowy ranges; I never anticipated seeing mountains covered with snow again, and, as I lay in my palanquin, watching the scene for miles, breathing the cool air from the hills, and viewing the mountains beyond them, I felt quite a different being, charmed and delighted. Mr. and Miss B⸺ received us very kindly; and I had the pleasure of meeting an old friend, Captain Sturt, of the engineers;—the man whose noble conduct distinguished him so highly, and who was shot during the fatal retreat of the army in Afghānistan. In the evening we visited the Botanical Garden; it is an excellent one, and in high order; some tigers were there, fiercely growling over their food, several bears, and a porcupine. The garden is well watered by the canal, which passes through it. The Governor-General broke up his camp at Saharanpūr, and quitted, with a small retinue, for Mussoorī, the day before we arrived.
14th.—We took leave of our friends, and resumed our dāk journey at 4 P.M.; during the night we passed Lord Auckland’s camp, which was pitched in a very picturesque spot at Mohunchaukī: the tents, the elephants, and the camels formed beautiful groups among the trees, and I stopped the palanquin a short time to admire them. We passed through a forest,—or sāl jangal, as they call it,—in which wild elephants are sometimes found, and met with a little adventure: a tiger was lying by the road-side; the bearers put down the palanquin, waved their torches, and howled and screamed with all their might: the light and noise scared the animal,—he moved off. I got out of the palanquin to look at a tiger au naturel, saw some creature moving away, but could not distinguish what animal it was; the bearers were not six feet from him when they first saw him; it was a fine, clear, moonlight night. The jangal looked well, and its interest was heightened by the idea you might now and then see a wild beast. A number of fires were burning on the sides of the hills, and running up in different directions; these fires, they tell me, are lighted by the zamīndars, to burn up the old dry grass; when that is done, the new grass springs up, and there is plenty of food for the cattle; the fires were remarkable in the darkness of the night. For some miles up the pass of Keeree, our way was over the dry bed of a river; on both sides rose high cliffs, covered with trees; the moonlight was strong, and the pass one of great interest; here and there you heard the noise of water, the pleasing sound of a mountain stream turning small mills for grinding corn, called Panchakkī. In the morning we arrived at the Company’s bungalow at Rajpūr.
Rajpūr is situated at the foot of the Hills: I was delighted with the place; the view from the bungalow put me in mind of Switzerland. We went to Mrs. Theodore’s hotel, to see her collection of stuffed birds and beasts; a complete set costs 1600 rupees (£160). At the bottom of the valley between the Hills I heard the most delightful sound of rushing waters: taking a servant with me, I went down the steep footpath, irresistibly attracted by the sound, and found the mountain rill collected into a mill-dam, from which, rushing down, it turned several mills; and one of the streams was turned off into the valley, forming the little cascade, the sound of which had attracted me. How bright, clear, cold, and delicious was the water! Being too unwell to bear the fatigue of climbing the hill, I sent for a hill-pony, called a gūnth; he was brought down; the little fellow never had a woman on his back before, but he carried me bravely up the sheep-path, for road there was none. Motī, the name of the handsome gūnth, is an iron-grey hill-pony,—more like a dwarf-horse than a pony; he has an exceedingly thick, shaggy mane, and a very thick, long tail;—the most sure-footed sagacious animal; he never gets tired, and will go all day up and down hill; seldom fights, and is never alarmed when passing the most dangerous places. Give your gūnth his head, and he will carry you safely. Horses are dangerous,—even the most quiet become alarmed in the hills. Captain S⸺ bought this gūnth at the Hurdwar fair; he came from Almorah, cost 160 rupees (£16); and 300 rupees have been refused for him.
The following history was related to me concerning the gūnth:—Colonel P⸺, to whom the animal was lent, took him to the Snowy Ranges; “In some pass, by some accident, the gūnth fell down a precipice, and was caught upon an oak tree. There he swung; one struggle would have sent him to the bottom, and to certain death; he never moved. Colonel P⸺, who was walking at the time, got some people, who descended to the place where the gūnth hung, dug out a standing-place in the side of the hill, just big enough to hold the pony, and contrived to get him off his tree into the spot: the gūnth was so much alarmed, that they left him to recover from his fright on this spot the whole night; and the next morning got him up the precipice in safety to the road.” Any horse would have struggled and have been killed; these gūnths appear to understand that they must be quiet, and their masters will help them. He is a queer-tempered little fellow; he kicked my sā’īs over one day, and always kicks at me if I attempt to pat him; but he carries me capitally: nevertheless, he is “vicious as he is little[29].”
The whole day I roamed about Rajpūr; the Paharīs (the Hill-men), who had come down to bring up our luggage, were animals to stare at: like the pictures I have seen of Tartars,—little fellows, with such flat ugly faces, dressed in black woollen coarse trowsers, a blanket of the same over their shoulders; a black, greasy, round leather cap on their heads, sometimes decorated all round their faces with bunches of Hill-flowers, freshly gathered; a rope round their waists. Their limbs are stout, and the sinews in the legs strongly developed, from constantly climbing the Hills. They are very honest and very idle; moreover, most exceedingly dirty. Such were the little Hill fellows we met at Rajpūr.