[1] Robertson’s India, Appendix.

CHAPTER IV

ABBOTABAD TO SRINAGAR

Dismal tidings came in of floods and storms on the Hassan Abdal road.  The river had swollen, and both men and beasts had been swept away while trying to cross.  Undeterred, however, by such news, even when backed by warnings and persuasions from our friends, we set forth in the rain yesterday morning.  The prospect was not cheerful—­a grey veil of cloud lay over all the surrounding hills, here and there deepening into dark and angry thunder-clouds.  The road was desperately heavy, but the General had most kindly sent on a pair of mules ahead, and, with another pair in the shafts, our own nags took a holiday as far as Manserah.

The weather grew worse.  It rained very heavily and thundered with great vigour, and as we straggled up the deeply-muddied slope to the dak bungalow at Manserah we felt somewhat low; but we did not in the least realise what was before us!

Our road had lain through fairly level plains, with low cuttings here and there, where the saturated soil was already beginning to give way and fall upon the road in untidy heaps; but this did not foreshadow what might occur later.

At Manserah we met Hill and Hunt, two young gunners, en route for Astor.  They left in a tonga soon after we arrived, and we did not expect to see their speedier outfit again.

Being pressed for time, we only had a cup of cocoa, and then hastened on our dismal career.

The road grew steeper, winding over some low hills, but we could not see very much, as the whirling cloud masses blotted out all the view.  By-and-by it bent towards a pine-clad hill, and began to ascend steeply.  By this time we were very wet, as we had to walk up the hills to ease the horses.  The scene was extraordinary, as the great thunder-clouds boiled up and over us—­tawny yellow, and even orange in the lights, and dull and solid lead colour in the depths.  The distance was invisible, but gleams now and again revealed, through the drifts of rain, wide stretches of cultivated land lying below us, and a ragged forest of pines piercing the mist above.

Dripping, we walked by our wet horses up to the top of the pass, hoping for a swift and easy descent on the farther side to Ghari Habibullah, where we intended to sleep, as we had given up all idea of being able to get on to Domel.

Presently the horses were pulled up sharply as a ton or two of rock and earth came crashing upon the road in front of us.

More fallen masses encumbering the way farther on made us feel rather anxious, until, on rounding a corner, we found the whole road barred by a huge mass of rock and soil.

It was blowing hard, the stormy wind striking chill and bleak through the bending pines; it was raining in torrents; it was 5 P.M., and we were still some six miles from the haven where we would be; so, after a short and utterly ineffectual attempt to get the carriage past the obstacle, Jane and I set off to walk down the hill and seek help.