At six we had not got far on our way, and at ten we were but
level with Pandrettan, barely three miles from Srinagar as the crow (that
model of rectilinear volition) flies.
I was busy painting all the forenoon, and failed to note the sluggish
steps of our coolies, but in the afternoon it was borne in upon us that if
we wanted to reach Avantipura that night, as we had arranged, a little
acceleration was necessary.
Then the trouble began. The coolies were bone-lazy, the admiral and
first-lieutenant were sulky, and the weather was stuffy and threatened
thunder--the conditions were altogether detrimental to placidity of
temper.
By sunset we had the shikari, the kitchen-maid, and the sweeper on the
tow-rope, and even the great and good Sabz Ali was seen to bear a hand in
poling. Much recrimination now ensued between Sabz Ali and the Admiral,
and the whole crowd made the air resound with Kashmiri "language," every
one, apparently, abusing everybody else, and making very nasty remarks
about their lady ancestors.
At 10 P.M. I got four more coolies from a village, apparently chiefly
inhabited by dogs, who deeply resented our proximity, and at 2 o'clock
this morning we reached the haven where we would be--Avantipura.
This morning I discharged the Srinagar coolies and took a fresh lot, who
pull better and talk less.
How differently things may be put and yet the truth retained. Yesterday we
reclined at our ease in our cosy floating cottage, towed up the lovely
river by a picturesque crew of bronze Kashmiris, the swish of the passing
water only broken by their melodious voices.
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