Considering the dismal conditions under which they
have been living for the last couple of days, this is not surprising; so,
with the first promise of an improvement in the weather, we struck camp,
determined to make for the forest bungalow at Doras and obtain the shelter
of a solid roof. Many showers, but no serious downpour, enlivened our
march, and we arrived at the snug little wooden house just in time to
escape a particularly fine specimen of a thunderstorm. The Doras bungalow
seemed a very palace of luxury, with its dry, airy rooms and wide verandah,
all of sweet-smelling deodar wood. The men, too, were thankful to have a
good roof over their heads, and we heard no more of fever.
_Wednesday, May_ 17.--Yesterday it rained without ceasing, until the
valley in front of us took the appearance of a lake--A party of terns,
white above and with black breasts, skirled and wrangled over the "casual"
water. It was still very wet this morning, but as it cleared somewhat
after breakfast, we made up our minds to quit the Lolab and get back to
our boat.
Doras has sad memories for Jane, for here died the "chota murghi," a black
chicken endowed with the most affectionate disposition. It was permitted
to sit on the lady's knee, and scratch its yellow beak with its little
yellow claw; but I never cared to let it remain long upon my shoulder--a
perch it ardently affected. Well! it is dead, poor dear, and whether from
shock (the pony which carried its basket having fallen down with it _en
route_ from "Walnut Camp"), or from a surfeit of caterpillars which were
washed in myriads off the trees there, we cannot tell.
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