Passengers—­at least first-class passengers—­were not numerous, and Major Twining and I had no difficulty in securing two compartments—­one for our wives and one for ourselves.

An Indian first-class carriage is roomy, but bare, being arranged with a view to heat rather than cold Two long seats run “fore and aft” on either side, and upon them your servant makes your bed at night.  Two upper berths can be let down in case of a crowd.  At the end of each compartment is a small toilet-room.

It was unexpectedly chilly at night, and Twining and I were glad to roll ourselves up in as many rugs and “resais” as we could persuade the ladies to leave to us.

[1] A big deal case which we unpacked at Srinagar proved to contain a
    “life-sized” work-table.  The package holding our camp beds and bedding,
    having a humbler aspect, had been sent to Bombay and cost as a world
    of worry and expense to recover!

CHAPTER III

KARACHI TO ABBOTABAD

This morning we awoke to find ourselves rattling and shaking our way through the Sind Desert—­an interminable waste of sand, barren and thirsty-looking, covered with a patchy scrub of yellowish and grey-purple bushes.

I can well imagine how hatefully hot it can be here, but to-day it has been merely pleasantly warm.

Jane and I were deeply interested in the novel scenes we passed through, which, while new and strange to us, were yet made familiar by what we had read and heard.  The quiet-eyed cattle, with their queer humps, were just what we expected to see in the dusty landscape.  The chattering crowds in the wayside stations, their bright-coloured garments flaunting in the white sunlight—­the fruit-sellers, the water-carriers, were all as though they had stepped out of the pages of Kim—­that most excellent of Indian stories.

And so all day we rattled and shook through the Sind Desert in the hot sunlight till the dust lay thick upon us, and our eyes grew tired of watching the flying landscape.

In the afternoon we reached Samasata junction, where the Twinings parted company with us, being bound for Faridkot.

Sorry were we to lose such charming companions, especially as now indeed we become as Babes in the Wood, knowing nothing of the land, its customs, or its language!

Henceforward, Sabz Ali shall be our sheet-anchor, and I think he will not fail us.  His English is truly remarkable, so much so that I regret to say I have more than once supposed him to be talking Hindustani when he was discoursing in my own mother-tongue.  But he certainly is extraordinarily sharp in taking up what I and the “Mem-sahib” say.

He presented to me to-day a remarkable letter, of which the following is an exact copy.  I presume it is a sort of statement as to his general duties:—­

“To the MAGER SAHIB.