The sun set while we were still winding through a
labyrinth of peaks and pits, and the effect of the contrasting red gold
lights and purple shadows in this strange confused landscape was a thing
to be remembered.
We rolled and bumped into Pindi at 8 P.M., having travelled nearly 1000
miles during our two days and nights in the train.
Our friends the Smithsons were on the platform waiting to receive us and
welcome us as strangers and pilgrims in an unknown land. They have only
remained here to meet us, and they proceed to Kashmir to-morrow, sleeping
in a carriage in the quiet backwater of a siding, to save themselves the
worry of a desperately early start to-morrow morning.
The direct route into Kashmir by Murree is impassable, the snow being
still deep owing to a very late spring following a severe winter. This
will oblige us to go round by Abbotabad, so I wired to my friend General
Woon to warn him that we propose to invade his peaceful home.
_Sunday, March 26._--We stayed a couple of days at Pindi, in order to make
arrangements for transporting ourselves and our luggage into Kashmir. The
journey can be made _via_ Murree in about a couple of days by mail tonga,
but it is a joyless and horribly wearing mode of travel. The tonga, a
two-wheeled cart covered by an arched canvas hood and drawn by two
half-broken horses, holds a couple of passengers comfortably, who sit
behind and stare at the flying white ribbon of road for long, long hours,
while the driver urges his wild career.
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