CLUB OF NORTHERN INDIA, MURREE, IN SNOW.
By 7 o'clock, however, we were once more rolling along in dripping rain, with the everlasting but somewhat monotonous roar of the river Jhelum below us, so that it was a decided relief to stop for breakfast, even at an inn like that at Chagoti, where I could hardly mount the slippery steps that lead up to the entrance, benumbed as I was by wet and cold, and cramped from several hours of the same position, for the constant downpour prevented any stretching of legs when changing horses at the various stages. In somewhat heavier rain we journeyed on through slush and mud, and arrived at Baramula about sunset. It was my intention to have embarked here at once on to one of the river boats and reach Srinagar as quickly as possible. But darkness and rain, and an inviting light from the adjacent dak bungalow dissolved these plans, and I was soon ushered inside by a Kashmiri, by name Mahomed Malik. This man was to be our cook on the expedition; he was armed with several letters of recommendation, amongst others from Curzon and Littledale, and had doubtless travelled over a great portion of Asia, and we vainly congratulated ourselves on having managed to pick up a servant with so much experience. I was struck, too, by his pleasant appearance, his quiet yet quick and business-like way of doing things, little knowing at the time that he had at heart no real intention of accompanying us, but merely of buying the articles required for our expedition, and persuading us to buy a great many unnecessary ones, in order to reap a small fortune from the transaction.
VIEW TOWARDS FIFTH BRIDGE, SRINAGAR.
From experience gained on this trip and on others, I prefer servants of all descriptions, with the exception of guides pure and simple, to be men who have made no previous journeys. Although the possession of letters explaining what good men they have been on previous journeys is a useful recommendation, still it can never guarantee what they will be like. Many of them, after receiving liberal and well-deserved pay for their services, become inflated with their own importance and vainly think that no expedition can manage without them. Besides, men of this description are far more expensive articles than the fresh and keener man, anxious to make his first essay. It is hardly worth while, too, to quote the proverb about the fish and the sea. The following morning, I found myself being towed up the river towards Srinagar, fairly sheltered from the incessant rain by the matting that forms a roof to these boats, or doongas, as they are locally called. The water was thick and brown, no view of the famous snow-capped peaks or pine-clad mountains could be seen, all was obscured in damp dreariness, and my thoughts fled back to those I had left to enjoy the sunny plains below. Nor was there any more inducement on the morrow to slip out from between the blankets and admire the wonderful scenery of these parts. I continued to prolong the night until my boat was suddenly boarded by one of the chief agents of Srinagar, a member of the Sumud Shah family, so renowned for their Jewish appearance and ways, and for their partiality in buying and selling all kinds of goods, and for lending or borrowing money to any amount in any shape or form. There was a second invader, a moment afterwards, by name Ramzana, who was a chapliwalla, or seller of chaplies, which are shoes made of leather and straps, and are worn by most sportsmen who shoot in Kashmir; besides these he sold everything that man's imagination could conceive as being made of leather, but, it should be added, of an inferior kind. They brought with them some large brass plates loaded with white almonds, sweets, and dried currants, and placing them beside my bed as a friendly initiative to business, began to ramble on, with beaming faces, about the superiority yet cheapness of their own goods, and of their eternal willingness to provide me and my friends who might come to Kashmir with them, at all places and at all times.
