October 9.—Left our camp very early, and had a sharp ascent up the mountains. A considerable descent again, brought us to the village of Mehra, where we pitched our tents, once more within sight of the territories of India.
October 10.—Marched into Dunna, our last halting-place in Cashmere. It is situated nearly at the summit of the frontier range of hills, and commanded a most extensive view of the mountains of Cashmere and Cabul, besides those on the Indian side.
October 11.—Took a last fond glance towards “the valley,” and descended by a very steep and difficult path to the river Jhelum, which forms the boundary between the two territories. Here a couple of queerly-shaped, rudely-constructed boats, with two huge oars apiece, one astern and one at the side, formed [[279]]the traveller’s flying bridge. Into one of these the whole of our possessions and coolies, &c. were stowed, and we commenced the passage of the stream.
This we managed by, in the first instance, coasting up the bank for several hundred yards, and then striking boldly into the current; and it was amusing to see our well-crammed boat suddenly drawn into the rapid stream and whisked and whirled about like a straw, while a nice calculation on the part of the skipper, and a good deal of rowing and shouting on that of the sailors, enabled us to touch the opposite shore not very far below the point from which we had started. One last lingering look at Cashmerian ground, a step over the side, and we were once more standing upon the territories of Queen Victoria, and in the burning land of India—happily, however, still six days’ journey from the Plains.
October 12.—Marched up the spur of the Muree Hill to Dewul, where we found a room in a mud fort converted into a halting-place for travellers, reached by a series of break-neck ladders, and looking very much like a cell in a prison, with its two chairs and clumsy wooden table. Here we found a little amusement in the arrival of the Chota Sahib, or “small gentleman,”[[280]]—otherwise the Assistant Civil Commissioner of the district,—to review the fort and its dependencies. On the first tidings of his approach, the Thanadar immediately turned out the entire garrison, consisting of twelve military policemen, called “Burqundaz,” or “Flashers of lightning!” These soon appeared in their full dress of crimson turbans and yellow tights, and, shouldering their “flint-locks,” proceeded to perform a series of intricate evolutions, by way of practice for the rapidly-approaching inspection. When the great little man did arrive, there was, we thought, a good deal of irregularity among the troops, such as laughing in the ranks and treading on toes, &c. However, the only point the inspecting officer dwelt upon was the absence of uniformity in dress, caused by the deficiency of two pairs of yellow tights among the lightning flashers, otherwise he appeared perfectly satisfied, and all went off well. After his review he invited himself to our dinner-party, and honoured our repast with the further addition of a kid stew. He turned out to be one of the ex-Company’s officers, a subaltern of eighteen years’ service, fifteen of which had been spent away from his regiment on the staff. He was with his corps, however, when it mutinied, and escaped without much difficulty. The unfortunate [[281]]colonel of the regiment, finding that none of his men would shoot him, had done so with his own hand. He gave it as his opinion that the cartridges were the cause of the mutiny; but allowed that his regiment was in a bad state of discipline some time before, and that all the native corps were known to be disaffected years before the event occurred, both by the officers present and those absent upon staff employ. Altogether, after the Chota Sahib had thoroughly discussed both the mutiny and the dinner, we were left under the impression that there was quite sufficient cause for the disaffection of the Bengal army without ever arriving at the vexed question of greased cartridges at all.
October 13.—Marched early into the Hill Station of Muree. Not being yet quite in walking trim, I had pressed a mule into the service, who carried me in good style as far as the entrance to the town. Here, however, he seemed suddenly to remember that we had each a character to support, and, stopping short, he utterly refused to budge another step. Not being willing even to be led, I finally abandoned him to his own devices, and walked on to the Commandant’s bungalow, where I found my companion already hospitably received, and comfortably [[282]]seated at breakfast, discussing kidneys and beefsteaks, and such like unwonted delicacies of the Muree season.
After getting somewhat over the novelty and discomfort of being again in a house with doors and glass windows, and other inconveniences, we sallied out to inspect the station.
Like its confrères of the Hills—Simla, Kussowlie, &c. Muree was a prettily-situated little settlement, with houses scattered about entirely according to the freaks and fancies of the owners, and with utter disregard of all system whatever. The Mall was a fine one, and its gaily-dressed frequenters, in jhampans and palkees, &c. were of the unmistakeable stamp of Anglo India in the Hills. Two or three of the ladies, however, were bold enough to walk, and looked none the worse for being divorced from their almost inseparable vehicles, and unattended by their motley crowd of red, and green, and variegated bearers.
October 14.—Spent a quiet day among the hospitalities of Muree, and became gradually accustomed to city life. Going to church seemed rather a strange process, and the building itself was but a bad exchange for the grander temples which we had frequented for so many Sundays. [[283]]
October 15.—Laid our dak by doolie to Lahore, and, with our hospitable entertainer to guide us, started at five P.M. by a short cut, to meet our new conveyances.