The road was of course extremely bad,
and the long ascent to Uri very hard upon our willing little nags. Of
course they have had a remarkably easy time of it lately, as we have been
limited to very short stages, and they are in excellent hard condition, so
that we felt it no great hardship to ask them to do forty-two miles:
albeit to drag a heavy landau containing five people and a good deal of
luggage for that distance, with a rise of over 2000 feet, is a heavy
demand upon a single pair of horses!
The scenery was very fine as we toiled up the gorge, in which Uri stands
on a plateau over the river and guards the pass into Kashmir valley.
The ruins of an ancient fort rose on the near edge of the little plain.
The Jhelum tore through a rocky gorge far below, and a dark semi-circle of
mountains stood steeply up, their cloud-hidden summits giving fleeting
glimpses of snow and precipice and pine-clad corries as the sun now and
again shot through the clinging vapours.
The dak bungalow of Uri, white and clean, was most attractive, and I
should imagine the place to be charming in summer, but as yet the short
crisp turf is still brown from recent snow, and although hot in the sun,
which now began to shine steadily, it was extremely cold in the shade,
while lunch (or should I say "tiffin"?) was being got ready. I strolled
over to the post-office to find--as usual--another urgent wire from
Smithson several days old, beseeching me to secure my pass for Astor at
once.
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