A Holiday in the Happy Valley with Pen and Pencil | Page 4

that she leaves the family diamonds at home. The gentle Kashmiri is an inveterate and skilful thief, and the less jewellery she can make up her mind to "do with," the more at ease will her mind be. But if she must needs copy the lady of whom we read, that
"Rich and rare were the gems she wore,"
then why not line the jewel-case--or rather the secret bag, which she will sew into some mysterious garment--with the diamonds of Gophir and the pearls of Rome?
If the intending visitor to Kashmir be a sportsman who has already had experience in big-game shooting, he will not need any advice from me (which, indeed, he would utterly disdain) as to the lethal weapons which should form his battery; but if the wayfarer be a humble performer who has never slain anything more formidable than a wary old stag, or more nerve-shattering than a meteoric cock pheasant rising clamorously from behind a turnip, he may not be too proud to learn that he will find an ordinary "fowling piece" the most useful weapon which he can take with him. If his gun is not choked, he should be provided with a dozen or more ball cartridge for bear.
If the pursuit of markhor and ibex is contemplated, a small-bore rifle will be required, but a heavy express is wanted to stop a bear. I had a "Mannlicher" and an ordinary shot-gun, with a few ball cartridges for the latter.
Duty has to be paid on taking firearms into India, and this may be refunded on leaving the country. This is not always done, however, as I found to my cost, my application for a refund being refused on the quibble that my guns were taken back to England by a friend, although I was able to prove their identity.
It is not necessary to take a large number of rifle cartridges out, as it is exceedingly unlikely that the tyro will be able to shoot all the beasts allowed him by his game licence.[1] Smooth-bore cartridges of fair quality can be bought in Srinagar, and I certainly do not consider it worth the trouble and expense to convey them out from England.
To the amateur artist I would say: Be well supplied with brushes and paper--the latter sealed in tin for passage through the Red Sea and India. Colours, and indeed all materials can he got from Treacher & Co., Bombay, and also from the branch of the Army and Navy Stores there.
Paper is, however, difficult to get in good condition, being frequently spoilt by mildew.
It is almost impossible to get anything satisfactory in the way of painting materials in Kashmir itself; therefore I say: Be well supplied before leaving home.
Finally, a small stock of medicines should certainly be taken, not omitting a copious supply of quinine (best in powder form for this purpose), and also of strong peppermint or something of the sort, to give to the native servants and others who are always falling sick of a fever or complaining of an internal pain, which is generally quite cured by a dose of peppermint.
Neither Jane nor I love guide-books; we found however, in Kashmir, the little book written by Dr. Neve an invaluable companion;[2] while Murray's Guide to India afforded much useful information when wandering in that country.
The best book on Kashmir that I know is Sir Walter Lawrence's Valley of Kashmir.
Any one going out as we did, absolutely ignorant of the language, should certainly take an elementary phrase-book or something of the sort to study on the voyage. We forgot to do this, and had infinite trouble afterwards in getting what we wanted, and lost much time in acquiring the rudimentary knowledge of Hindustani which enabled us to worry along with our native servants, &c. No mere "globe-trotter" need attempt to learn any Kashmiri, as Hindustani is "understanded of the people" as a rule, and the tradesmen in Srinagar know quite as much English as is good for them.
[1] See Appendix 1.
[2] _The Tourist's Guide to Kashmir, Ladakh, Skardo, &c._, edited by Arthur Neve, F.R.G.S.




CHAPTER II
THE VOYAGE OUT
It seems extraordinary to me that every day throughout the winter, crowds of people should throng the railway stations whence they can hurry south in search of warmth and sunshine, and yet London remains apparently as full as ever! We plunged into a seething mass of outward-bound humanity at Victoria Station on the 22nd of February, and, having wrestled our way into the Continental express, were whirled across the sad and sodden country to Dover amidst hundreds of our shivering fellow-countrymen.
Truly we are beyond measure conservative in our railway discomforts. With a bitter easterly wind searching out the chinks of door and window, we sat shivering in our unwarmed compartment--unwarmed, I say, in spite of the clumsy tin of