By noon all was ready, and amid the rattle and jingle of many harness
bells and the salaams of the domestics, we bowled out of Baramula, and set
forward down the valley of the Jhelum.
CHAPTER XV
DELHI AND AGRA
The journey down was uneventful, and quite unlike the journey up, when we
had been briskly occupied in dodging landslips for days. A good road,
white and dry, and sloping steadily downward; a good pair of ponies,
strong and willing; a roomy landau, wherein Hesketh--still suffering from
his fall at Drogmulla--could stretch himself in comparative comfort,
combined to bring us to Kohala this afternoon in a state of excellent
preservation. Here we crossed the bridge, which brought us to the right
bank of the river--from Kashmir to British territory.
Kohala is the proud possessor of one of the very worst dak bungalows yet
discovered. This seems disappointing when stepping under the folds of the
Union Jack full of high hope and confidence.
Climbing up through a particularly noisome bazaar to the bungalow, I was
met with the information that it was already full. I said that was a pity,
but that room must be found for my party.
Room was got somehow, a dak bungalow being an extraordinarily elastic
dwelling. Hesketh was stored in a little tent. I lodged in the dining-room,
and Jane took up her quarters in a sort of dressing-room kindly given up
by a lady, who bravely sought asylum with a sister-in-law and a remarkably
strong-lunged baby.
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