The next day the rain had luckily stopped, and towards noon the sun came out, and everybody’s dampened spirits cheered up.  We marched that day to Hoopar Pari, making a double march instead of halting at Gurkuch.  Pari means a cliff—­and the camping ground is a horrid little place shut in by high cliffs close to the bed of the river.  There is no village near.  It is a desolate place at the best of times, and when there is any wind blowing, it is like camping in a draught-pipe.

From Hoopar Pari we marched to Gupis.  Gupis is a fort built by the Kashmir troops last year, on the most scientific principle, the only drawback being that it is commanded on all sides, and would be perfectly untenable if attacked by three men and a boy armed with accurate long-range rifles.  Here we picked up Stewart, who was turning catherine wheels at the thought of taking his beloved guns into action.  He expressed a desire to try a few shells on the neighbouring villages, to practise his men in ranging; but as there were objections to this plan, the idea was allowed to drop.  At Gupis we made a raid on the stores in the officers’ quarters and pretty well cleared them out.  De Vismes, who took command, had to get a fresh supply up from Gilgit.

[Illustration:  A “Pari” on the road to Gupis.]

We had a merry dinner that night, provided, I think, by Stewart, who used to get up at intervals and dance a jig at the idea of seeing his guns the next morning—­they were coming on with the second detachment under Peterson.  From Gupis I sent my pony back to Gilgit, as it was useless taking it any farther, as we doubted being able to take animals over the pass, which eventually proved to be impossible.  From Gupis onwards we had to be content with the usual hill track of these countries, good enough for a country pony, but still nothing to be proud of; here we discarded our Government mules, and took coolie transport instead.  The march from Gupis to Dahimal is a long, trying one, up and down all the way.  Cobbe, who was on rearguard, didn’t get in till long after dark.

The village of Dahimal lies on the opposite bank of the river, so we did not cross, but bivouacked on the right bank, where there was some scrub jungle that provided us with wood.  The Pioneers had brought four ducks; they were carried in a basket along with the mess-stores.  Browning-Smith, who ran the messing, got quite pally with these ducks, and as soon as they were let out of their basket, he used to call them, and off they would waddle after him in search of a convenient puddle.  I forget when those ducks were eaten, but I don’t remember them at Ghizr, and am sure they didn’t cross the pass.