A Holiday in the Happy Valley with Pen and Pencil by T. R. Swinburne

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A HOLIDAY IN THE HAPPY VALLEY WITH PEN AND PENCIL

BY

T. R. SWINBURNE

MAJOR (LATE) R.M.A.

WITH 24 COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS

1907

[ILLUSTRATION: THE JHELUM AT SRINAGAR]

"_Over the great windy waters, and over the clear crested summits,
Unto the sea and the sky, and unto the perfecter earth,
Come, let us go_!"

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK

TO

"JANE"

PREFACE

I observe that it is customary to begin a book by an Introduction, Preface,
or Foreword. In the good old days of the eighteenth century this generally
took the form of a burst of grovelling adoration aimed at some most noble
or otherwise highly important person. This fulsome fawning on the great
was later changed into propitiation of the British public, and unknown
authors revelled in excuses for publishing their earlier efforts.

But now that every one has written a book, or is about to do so, I feel
that my apologies are rather due to the public for not having rushed into
print before. I have really spared it because I had nothing in particular
to write about, and I confess I am somewhat doubtful as to whether I am
even now justified in invoking the kind offices of a publisher with a view
to bringing forth this literary mouse in due form!

No admiring (if partial) relatives have hung upon my lips as I read them
my journal, imploring me with tears in their eyes to waste not an instant,
but give to a longing world this literary treasure. I have no illusions as
regards my literary powers, and I do not imagine that I shall depose the
gifted author of _Eoethen_ from his pride of place.

I claim, however, the merit of truth. The journal was written day by day,
and the sketches were all done on the spot; and if this account--bald and
inadequate as I know it to be--of a very happy time spent in rambling
among some of the finest scenery of this lovely earth, may induce any one
to betake himself to Kashmir, he will achieve something worth living for,
and I shall not have spilt ink in vain.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. INTRODUCTORY

II. THE VOYAGE OUT

III. KARACHI TO ABBOTABAD

IV. ABBOTABAD TO SRINAGAR

V. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF SRINAGAR

VI. OUR FIRST CAMP

VII. BACK TO SRINAGAR

VIII. THE LOLAB

IX. SRINAGAR AGAIN

X. THE LIDAR VALLEY

XI. GANGABAL

XII. GULMARG

XIII. THE FLOOD

XIV. THE MACHIPURA

XV. DELHI AND AGRA

XVI. UDAIPUR

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE JHELUM AT SRINAGAR (Frontispiece)

A SOLUTION OF CONTINUITY

A SRINAGAR BYE-WAY--EARLY SPRING

ON THE JHELUM--EARLY SPRING

THE BUND SRINAGAR--EARLY SPRING

THE DAL

IN THE NISHAT BAGH

THE PIR PANJAL FROM ALSU--MORNING

ON THE DAL--SUNSET

NATIVE BOATS

PANDRETTAN

KOLAHOI

LIDARWAT

THE RAMPARTS OF KASHMIR

GANGABAL

HARAMOK

A TARN ABOVE TRONKOL

ON THE CIRCULAR ROAD, GULMARG

IN SRINAGAR--TWILIGHT

SRINAGAR FLOODED

HARI PARBAT--EVENING

NANGA PARBAT FROM KITARDAJI

MIXED BATHING (UDAIPUR)

UDAIPUR

MAP OF KASHMIR

A HOLIDAY IN THE HAPPY VALLEY

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION

A journey to Kashmir now--in these days of cheap and rapid locomotion--is
in nowise serious. It takes time, I grant you, but to any one with a few
months to spare--and there are many in that happy position--there can be
few pleasanter ways of spending a summer holiday.

It would be as well to start from England not later than the middle of
March, as the Red Sea and the Sind Desert begin to warm up uncomfortably
in spring. Srinagar would then be reached fairly early in April, and the
visitor should arrange, if possible, to remain in the country until the
middle of October. We had to leave just as the gorgeous autumn colouring
was beginning to blaze in the woods, and the first duck were wheeling over
the Wular Lake.

The climate of Kashmir is fairly similar to that of many parts of Southern
Europe. There is a good deal of snow in the valley in winter. Spring is
charming, the brilliant days only varied by frequent thunderstorms--which,
however, are almost invariable in keeping their pyrotechnics till about
five in the afternoon. July and August are hot and steamy in the valley,
and it is necessary to seek one of the cool "Margs" which form ideal
camping-grounds on all the lofty mountain slopes which surround the valley.

Gulmarg is the most frequented and amusing resort in summer of the English
colony and contingent from the broiling plains of the Punjab. Here the
happy fugitive from the sweltering heat of the lower regions will find a
climate as glorious as the scenery. He can enjoy the best of polo and golf,
and, if he be not a misogynist, he will vary the 'daily round' with
picnics and scrambles on foot or on horseback, in exploring the endless
beauty of the place, coming home to his hut or tent as the sun sinks
behind the great pines that screen the Rampur Road, to wind up the happy
day with a cheery dinner and game of bridge. But if Gulmarg does not
appeal to him, let him go with his camping outfit to Sonamarg or
Pahlgam--he will find neither polo nor golf nor the gay little society of
Gulmarg, but he will find equally charming scenery and, perhaps, a drier
climate--for it must in fairness be admitted that Gulmarg is a rainy
place. Likewise his pocket will benefit, as his expenses will surely be
less, and he will still find neighbours dotted about in white tents under
the pine trees.

Towards the middle of September the exodus from the high 'Margs' takes
place--many returning sadly to Pindi and Sealkote--others merely to
Srinagar, while those who yearn after Bara Singh and Bear, decamp quietly
for their selected nullahs, to be in readiness for the opening of the
autumn season.

Thus, from April to October, a more or less perfect climate may be
obtained by watching the mercury in the thermometer, and rising or
descending the mountain slopes in direct ratio with it.

It is quite unnecessary to take out a large and expensive wardrobe. Thin
garments for the Red Sea and Indian Ocean, such as one wears in a fine
English summer, and for Kashmir the same sort of things that one would
take up to Scotland. For men--knickerbockers and flannel shirts--and for
ladies, short tweed skirts and some flannel blouses. The native tailors in
Srinagar are clever and cheap, and will copy an English shooting suit in
fairly good material for about eleven rupees, or 14s. 8d.! One pair of
strong shooting boots (plentifully studded with aluminium nails) is enough.
For all mountain work, the invaluable but uncomfortable grass shoes must
be worn, and both my wife and I invariably wore the native chaplies for
ordinary marching. Foot-gear for golf, tennis, and general service at
Srinagar and Gulmarg must be laid in, according to the traveller's fancy,
in England.

Underwear to suit both hot and cold weather should be purchased at
home--not on any account omitting cholera belts.

Shirts and collars should be taken freely, as it is well to remember that
the native washerman--the well-abused "Dobie"--has a marvellous skill in
producing a saw-like rim to the starched collar and cuff of the newest
shirt; while the elegant and delicate lace and embroidery, with which the
fair are wont to embellish their underwear, take strange and unforeseen
patterns at the hands of the skilled workmen. It is surprising what an
effect can be obtained by tying up the neck and sleeves of a garment,
inserting a few smooth pebbles from the brook, and then banging the moist
bundle on the bank!

The arrangement of clothing for the voyage is rather complicated, as it
will probably be necessary to wear warm things while crossing Europe, and
possibly even until Egypt is reached. Then an assortment of summer
flannels, sufficient to last as far as India, must be available. We were
unable to get any washing done from the date we left London, on the 22nd
of February, until we reached Rawal Pindi, on the 21st March. Capacious
canvas kit-bags are excellent things for cramming with grist for the
dobie's mill.

In arranging for luggage, it should be borne in mind that large trunks and
dress boxes are inadmissible. From Pindi to Srinagar everything must be
transported by wheeled conveyance, and, in Kashmir itself, all luggage
must be selected with a view to its adaptability to the backs of coolies
or ponies. In Srinagar one can buy native trunks--or yakdans--which are
cheap, strong, and portable; and the covered creels or "kiltas" serve
admirably for the stowage of kitchen utensils, food, and oddments.

The following list may prove useful to any one who has not already been
"east of Suez," and who may therefore not be too proud to profit by
another's experience:--

1. "Compactum" camp-bed with case, and fitted with sockets to take
mosquito netting.

2. Campaigning bedding-bag in Willesden canvas, with bedding complete.

3. Waterproof sheet.

4. Indiarubber bath.

If shooting in the higher mountains is anticipated, a Wolseley
sleeping-bag should be taken.

5. Small stable-lantern.

6. Rug or plaid--light and warm.

7. Half-a-dozen towels.

8. Deck chair (with name painted on it).

We had also a couple of Roorkhee chairs, and found them most useful.

9. A couple of compressed cane cabin trunks.

9_a_. The "Ranelagh Pack" is a most useful form of "luggage."

10. Camp kit-bag.

11. Soiled-linen bag, with square mouth, large size. This is an
excellent "general service" bag, and invaluable for holding boots, &c.

12. Large "brief-bag," most useful for stowing guide-books, flasks,
binoculars, biscuits, and such like, that one wants when travelling, and
never knows where to put. Our "yellow bag" carried even tea things, and
was greatly beloved. Like the leather bottel in its later stage, "it
served to put hinges and odd things in"!

13. Luncheon basket, fitted according to the number of the party.

The above articles can all be bought at the Army and Navy Stores.

14. A light canvas box, fitted as a dressing-case.

Ours were made, according to our own wishes and possessions, by Williams,
of 41 Bond Street. The innumerable glass bottles, so highly prized by the
makers of dressing-cases, should be strictly limited in number. They are
exceedingly heavy, and, as the dressing-case should be carried by its
owner, the less it weighs the more he (or she) will esteem it.

15. A set of aluminium cooking-utensils is much to be recommended. They
can easily be sold on leaving Kashmir for, at least, their cost price.

16. Pocket flask. This may be of aluminium also, although personally I
dislike a metal flask.

17. Umbrella--strong, but cheap, as it is sure to be lost or stolen.
There are few things your native loves more than a nice umbrella, unless
it be

18. A knife fitted with corkscrew and screwdriver; therefore take two,
and try to keep one carefully locked up.

19. Pair of good field-glasses.

I took a stalking telescope, but it was useless to my shikari, who always
borrowed my wife's binoculars until she lost them--or he stole them!

20. Hats. It is obviously a matter of taste what hats a man should take.
The glossy silk may repose with the frock-coat till its owner returns to
find it hopelessly out of date, its brim being a thought too curly, or its
top impossibly wide; but the "bowler" or Homburg hat will serve his turn
according to his fancy, until, at Aden, he invests in a hideous, but shady
"topee," for one-third of the price he would pay in London; and this will
be his only wear, before sunset, until he again reaches a temperate
climate. Ladies, who are rightly more particular as to the appearance of
even so unlovely a thing as a sola topee, would do well, perhaps, to buy
theirs before starting. Really becoming pith helmets seem very scarce in
the East!

After sunset, or under awnings, any sort of cap may be worn.

21. Shirts and collars are obviously matters of taste. A good supply of
white shirts and collars must be taken to cope with the destruction and
loss which may be expected at the hands of the dobie. Flannel shirts can
be made easily enough from English models in Srinagar.

22. Under-garments should be of Indian gauze for hot weather, with a
supply of thicker articles for camping in the hills.

Cholera belts should on no account be omitted.

23. Socks, according to taste--very few knickerbocker stockings need be
taken, as putties are cheap and usual in Srinagar.

24. Ties--the white ones of the cheap sort that can be thrown away after
use, with a light heart. Handkerchiefs, and a few pairs of white gloves.

25. Sleeping-suits, both thick for camp work and light for hot weather,
should be taken.

26. Dress suit and dinner-jacket.

27. Knickerbocker or knee-breeches, which can be copied in Kashmir by the
native tailor.

Riding-breeches are not in the least necessary unless the traveller
contemplates any special riding expedition. Ordinary shooting
continuations do quite well for all the mounted work the tourist is likely
to do. A pair of stohwasser gaiters may be taken, but even they are not
necessary, neither is a saddle.

A lady, however, should take out a short riding-skirt, or habit, and a
side-saddle.

28. A tweed suit of medium warmth for travelling, and a couple of flannel
suits, will bring the wearer to Srinagar, where he can increase his stock
at a ridiculously low price--about 22 rupees or L1, 9s. 4d. per suit.

29. Boots. Here, again, the wayfarer is at full liberty to please
himself. A pair of strong shooting-boots, with plenty of spare laces and,
say, a hundred aluminium nails, is a _sine qua non_. A pair of rubbers, or
what are known as "gouties" in Swiss winter circles, are not to be
despised. Otherwise, boots, shoes, slippers, and pumps, according to taste.

30. A large "regulation" waterproof, a rain-coat or Burberry, and a warm
greatcoat will all be required.

It is hard to give definite advice to a lady as to the details of her
outfit. Let her conform in a general way to the instructions given above,
always remembering that both Srinagar and Gulmarg are gay and festive
places, where she will dine and dance, and have ample opportunity for
displaying a well-chosen wardrobe.

Let her also take heed that she leaves the family diamonds at home. The
gentle Kashmiri is an inveterate and skilful thief, and the less jewellery
she can make up her mind to "do with," the more at ease will her mind be.
But if she must needs copy the lady of whom we read, that

"Rich and rare were the gems she wore,"

then why not line the jewel-case--or rather the secret bag, which she will
sew into some mysterious garment--with the diamonds of Gophir and the
pearls of Rome?

If the intending visitor to Kashmir be a sportsman who has already had
experience in big-game shooting, he will not need any advice from me
(which, indeed, he would utterly disdain) as to the lethal weapons which
should form his battery; but if the wayfarer be a humble performer who has
never slain anything more formidable than a wary old stag, or more
nerve-shattering than a meteoric cock pheasant rising clamorously from
behind a turnip, he may not be too proud to learn that he will find an
ordinary "fowling piece" the most useful weapon which he can take with
him. If his gun is not choked, he should be provided with a dozen or more
ball cartridge for bear.

If the pursuit of markhor and ibex is contemplated, a small-bore rifle
will be required, but a heavy express is wanted to stop a bear. I had a
"Mannlicher" and an ordinary shot-gun, with a few ball cartridges for the
latter.

Duty has to be paid on taking firearms into India, and this may be
refunded on leaving the country. This is not always done, however, as I
found to my cost, my application for a refund being refused on the quibble
that my guns were taken back to England by a friend, although I was able
to prove their identity.

It is not necessary to take a large number of rifle cartridges out, as it
is exceedingly unlikely that the tyro will be able to shoot all the beasts
allowed him by his game licence.[1] Smooth-bore cartridges of fair quality
can be bought in Srinagar, and I certainly do not consider it worth the
trouble and expense to convey them out from England.

To the amateur artist I would say: Be well supplied with brushes and
paper--the latter sealed in tin for passage through the Red Sea and India.
Colours, and indeed all materials can he got from Treacher & Co., Bombay,
and also from the branch of the Army and Navy Stores there.

Paper is, however, difficult to get in good condition, being frequently
spoilt by mildew.

It is almost impossible to get anything satisfactory in the way of
painting materials in Kashmir itself; therefore I say: Be well supplied
before leaving home.

Finally, a small stock of medicines should certainly be taken, not
omitting a copious supply of quinine (best in powder form for this
purpose), and also of strong peppermint or something of the sort, to give
to the native servants and others who are always falling sick of a fever
or complaining of an internal pain, which is generally quite cured by a
dose of peppermint.

Neither Jane nor I love guide-books; we found however, in Kashmir, the
little book written by Dr. Neve an invaluable companion;[2] while Murray's
_Guide to India_ afforded much useful information when wandering in that
country.

The best book on Kashmir that I know is Sir Walter Lawrence's _Valley of
Kashmir_.

Any one going out as we did, absolutely ignorant of the language, should
certainly take an elementary phrase-book or something of the sort to study
on the voyage. We forgot to do this, and had infinite trouble afterwards
in getting what we wanted, and lost much time in acquiring the rudimentary
knowledge of Hindustani which enabled us to worry along with our native
servants, &c. No mere "globe-trotter" need attempt to learn any Kashmiri,
as Hindustani is "understanded of the people" as a rule, and the tradesmen
in Srinagar know quite as much English as is good for them.

[1] See Appendix 1.

[2] _The Tourist's Guide to Kashmir, Ladakh, Skardo, &c._, edited by
Arthur Neve, F.R.G.S.

CHAPTER II

THE VOYAGE OUT

It seems extraordinary to me that every day throughout the winter, crowds
of people should throng the railway stations whence they can hurry south
in search of warmth and sunshine, and yet London remains apparently as
full as ever! We plunged into a seething mass of outward-bound humanity at
Victoria Station on the 22nd of February, and, having wrestled our way
into the Continental express, were whirled across the sad and sodden
country to Dover amidst hundreds of our shivering fellow-countrymen.

Truly we are beyond measure conservative in our railway discomforts. With
a bitter easterly wind searching out the chinks of door and window, we sat
shivering in our unwarmed compartment--unwarmed, I say, in spite of the
clumsy tin of quickly-cooled hot water procured by favour--and a
gratuity--from a porter!

The Channel showed even more disagreeable than usual. A grey, cold sky,
with swift-flying clouds from the east hung over a grey, cold sea, the
waves showing their wicked white teeth under the lash of the strong wind.
The patient lightship off the pier was swinging drearily as we throbbed
past into the gust-swept open and set our bows for the unseen coast of
France.

The tumult of passengers was speedily reduced to a limp and inert swarm of
cold, wet, and sea-sick humanity.

The cold and miserable weather clung to us long. In Paris it snowed
heavily, and I was constrained to betake myself in a cab--"chauffe," it is
needless to remark--to seek out a kindly dentist, the bitter east wind
having sought out and found a weak spot wherein to implant an abscess.

At Bale it was freezing, but clear and bright, and a good breakfast and a
breath of clean, fresh air was truly enjoyable after the overheated
sleeping-car in which we had come from Paris.

It may seem unreasonable to grumble at the overheating of the "Sleeper"
after abusing the under-heating of our British railways. Surely, though,
there is a golden mean? I wish neither to be frozen nor boiled, and there
can be no doubt but that the heating of most Continental trains is
excellent, the power of application being left to the traveller.

The journey by the St. Gotthard was delightful, the day brilliant, and the
frost keen, while we watched the fleeting panorama of icebound peaks and
snow-powdered pines from the cushions of our comfortable carriage.

The glory of winter left us as we left the Swiss mountains and dropped
down into the fertile flats of Northern Italy, and at Milan all was raw
chilliness and mud.

Nothing can well be more depressing than wet and cheerless weather in a
land obviously intended for sunshine.

We slept at Milan, and the next day set forth in heavy rain towards Venice.
The miserable ranks of distorted and pollarded trees stood sadly in pools
of yellow-stained water, or stuck out of heaps of half-melted and
uncleanly snow.

No colour; no life anywhere, excepting an occasional peasant plodding
along a muddy road, sheltering himself under the characteristic flat and
bony umbrella of the country.

At Peschiera we had promise of better things. The weather cleared somewhat,
revealing ranges of white-clad hills around Garda.... But, alas! at Verona
it rained as hard as ever, and we made our way from the railway station at
Venice, cowering in the coffin-like cabin of a damp and extremely draughty
gondola, while cold flurries of an Alpine-born wind swept across the Grand
Canal.

Sunshine is absolutely necessary to bring out the real beauty of Italy.
This is particularly the case in Venice, where light and life are required
to dispel the feeling of sadness so sure to creep over one amid the signs
of long-past grandeur and decaying magnificence.

On a grey and wintry day one is chiefly impressed by the dank chilliness
of the palaces on the Grand Canal, whose feet lie lapped in slimy water;
the lovely tracery of whose windows shows ragged and broken, whose stately
guest-chambers are in the sordid occupation of the dealer in false
antiques, and whose motto might be "Ichabod," for their glory has departed.

It is five-and-twenty years since I was last in Venice, and I can truly
say that it has not improved in that long time. The loss of the great
Campanile of St. Mark is not compensated for by the gain of the penny
steamer which frets and fusses its prosaic way along the Grand Canal, or
blurts its noisome smoke in the very face of the Palace of the Doges.

Well! A steady downpour is dispiriting at any time, excepting when one is
snugly at home with plenty to do, and it is particularly so to the unlucky
traveller who has to live through half-a-dozen long hours intervening
between arrival at and departure from Venice on a cold, dull, wintry
afternoon.

The sombre gondola writhed its sinuous course and deposited us all forlorn
in the near neighbourhood of the Piazza San Marco. Splashing our way
across, and pushing through the crowd of greedy fat pigeons, we entered
the world-famous church. I know my Ruskin, and I feel that I should be
lost in wonder and admiration--I am not.

The gloom--rich golden gloom if you will--of the interior oppresses me; it
is cavernous. A service is being held in one of the transepts, and the
congregation seems noisier and less devout than I could have believed
possible. My thoughts fly far to where, on its solitary hill, the noble
pile of Chartres soars majestic, its heaven-piercing spires dominating the
wide plain of La Beauce. In fancy I enter by the splendid north door and
find myself in the pillared dimness softly lighted by the great window in
the west. This seems to me to be the greatest achievement of the Christian
architect, noble alike in conception and in execution.

There is no means of procuring a cold more certain than lingering too long
in a cold and vault-like church or picture gallery, so we adjourned to the
Palazzo Daniele, now a mere hotel, where we browsed on the
literature--chiefly cosmopolitan newspapers--until it was time to start
for Trieste.

The journey is not an attractive one, as we seemed to be perpetually
worried by Custom-house authorities and inquisitive ticket-collectors! If
possible, the wary traveller should so time his sojourn at Venice as to
allow him to go to Trieste by steamer. The Hotel de la Ville at Trieste is
not quite excellent, but 'twill serve, and we were remarkably glad to
reach it, somewhere about midnight, having left Milan soon after seven in
the morning!

Trieste itself is rather an engaging town; at least so it seemed to us
when we awakened to a fresh, bright morning, a blue-and-white sky overhead,
and a copious allowance of yellow mud under foot!

There were various final purchases to be made. Our deck chairs were with
the heavy luggage, which the passenger by Austrian Lloyd only gets at Port
Said, as it is sent from London by sea; so a deck chair had to be got,
also a stock of light literature wherewith to beguile the long sea hours.

A visit to our ship--the _Marie Valerie_--showed her to be a
comfortable-looking vessel of some 4500 tons. She was busily engaged in
taking in a large cargo, principally for Japan, and she showed no signs of
an early departure. Her nominal hour for starting was 4 P.M., but the
captain told us that he should not sail until next morning. So we
descended to examine our cabin, and found it to be large and airy, but
totally deficient in the matter of drawers or lockers.

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