CONTENTS. (continued 5)

JUNCTION OF INDUS WITH SHAYUK. December, 1847.

To the eastward of the village of Gol the valley of the Indus again becomes a little wider, an open sandy plain extending round the junction of the two rivers. The cultivation round Gol is on a high platform of alluvium; but the road descends, soon after leaving the village, nearly to the level of the river, and continues over the low ground, skirting the mountains of the southern bank, till it reaches the junction of the two rivers, where it turns abruptly to the south, ascending the left bank of the Indus, which runs nearly due north in a narrow rocky ravine. A bluff projecting ridge of granite, sixty or eighty feet high, polished on the surface by aqueous action, and of a brilliantly brown-black colour, so that the nature of the rock is only discoverable by breaking it, here advances close to the river, and is crossed by a steep sinuous path, eked out by flights of steps, with wooden supports, where it would otherwise be impracticable. The Indus is here very narrow and deep, and runs with an extremely rapid current. The path, after crossing this ridge, again descends to the level of the river. Even in this narrow ravine I was surprised to find the fine cream-coloured clay of the lacustrine formation, similar to many of the beds of the same deposit round Iskardo. It was here quite on a level with the river.

INDUS VALLEY. December, 1847.

The mountains rise on both sides of the Indus very abruptly, being almost always precipitous. From the narrowness of the valley the great elevation of these is not seen, and the lesser height of those on the right bank of the Indus, which form the termination of the chain separating that river from the Shayuk, is not brought prominently to notice. For more than two miles, the ravine continues very narrow, and several steep spurs are crossed. It then becomes gradually a little wider, narrow platforms of conglomerate skirting the stream, and changes its direction from nearly due south to south-east. The right bank is stony and unproductive the whole way, but on the left there is one small village, three miles from the junction of the Shayuk, and thence after three miles of desert, a succession of small villages continuing with little intermission on the surface of alluvial platforms as far as Parkuta, at which I encamped. In one of the villages a good many small juniper-trees were seen.

The lacustrine clay formation, though not continuous throughout the whole of this day's march, may be traced in patches, with so little interval that its former continuity cannot be doubted. The spots in which I observed its presence in the narrow ravine were all close to the river, the low level of the road not permitting an extended view of the higher slopes of the mountains. Further up, however, patches were in my subsequent April journey seen at considerable elevations, but in December the slopes were covered with snow to within a thousand feet of the river. In several places the clay formed cliffs, which rose perpendicularly from the Indus, and could be seen to be covered with modern alluvium deposited during floods, just as the ancient rocks are in other places. The clay appeared everywhere extremely fine, without any intermixture of sand or micaceous grains. I saw no appearance of fossils, which I think never occur in the very fine cream-coloured clays, but seem always to accompany more sandy, or at least gritty varieties, as if the influx of a small stream, and probably the proximity of land, were requisite to the existence of testaceous mollusks; while the central part of the lake, in which the very finest clays were deposited, was quite devoid of them.

PARKUTA. December, 1847.

Parkuta is a very large village, three or four hundred feet above the river, occupying both slopes of a deep ravine cut in the thick mass of alluvium by a large stream from the south. The alluvium is scarped towards the Indus, and a low granitic hill, the cause of its accumulation to such a height, just rises above the general surface of the platform. This is covered with a mass of buildings, formerly the residence of the Rajah of Parkuta, a branch of the same family who ruled at Iskardo, and dependent on them while that state remained independent; he has, however, been removed by the Sikhs, and his house is at present untenanted. The village is large, with extensive cultivation, and many fine fruit-trees. Vines are plentiful, climbing over the poplars.

TOLTI. December, 1847.

On the 5th of December my day's journey carried me to Tolti, a distance of twelve miles. The valley continued narrow, and the mountains rose precipitously on both sides. On the early part of the march there were many villages, and much cultivation on the left bank. The village of Urdi, three or four miles from Parkuta, seemed very populous, and extended for a great distance along the river. It was remarkable for an aqueduct supported on pillars of stone, which crossed a ravine immediately above the village. At this spot the cultivation terminated abruptly, and the alluvial platform was for more than a mile, during which space it gradually narrowed by the encroachments of the cliffs, covered with an accumulation of very large granitic boulders, which seemed to have fallen on it from the mountains behind.

KARTASH. December, 1847.

As I approached Tolti the valley of the Indus became much more rugged and narrow. A long gentle ascent to a ridge more than a thousand feet above the bottom of the valley, but which dipped abruptly to the river, occupied the latter part of the march. At Tolti the belt of cultivation is very narrow, just skirting the river on very narrow platforms of alluvium, which are irrigated by artificial canals carried with considerable labour between the fields and the mountains. Tolti was the most gloomy village which I had yet seen, the precipitous mountains forming a circle all round it, and almost shutting out the light of day. The bird's-nest fort in the ravine behind the village, perched on the top of a rock (in a most untenable position, though probably well suited for defence against sudden attack), accorded well with the gloomy aspect of the place. The temperature was here considerably lower than in the more open valley, as large patches of snow lay still unmelted in the fields, though four days had elapsed since its fall. At Gol, two days before, it had quite melted. On a bank a mile or two below Tolti, I saw a few trees of Populus Euphratica, just recognizable by a few withered leaves which still remained on the tree.

From Tolti, I made three marches to Tarkata, a small village on the Indus, six miles below its junction with the river of Dras. The general aspect of the valley of the Indus was but little changed in this distance, notwithstanding a very long and remarkable bend of the river above Kartash, in which its direction is to the eastward of north. From Tolti, the easiest road in an upward direction crosses the Indus, and proceeds on the right bank; but to avoid the labour of crossing, I suppose, my guides conducted me by a road on the left bank. On this side, the lower part of the valley is so steep as to be impracticable; and I found it necessary to ascend at once from Tolti on a stony ridge, almost directly away from the river. The ascent was long and fatiguing; the ridge being capped, in the same manner as that above Kunes on the Shayuk, with masses of alluvium. The ridge was more than 1500 feet above the river, and its upper part was covered with snow, through which the path lay for four or five miles, after which it descended very abruptly to the river, which had been in sight almost all the way, generally running among precipitous rocks, but with a few villages scattered at intervals on the northern bank. After regaining the bank of the river, the road was for five or six miles nearly level, passing opposite the village of Kartash, with a fort on a hill. Here still resides the Rajah Ali Sher Khan, the most intelligent of the princes of Balti; though now past the prime of life, he still retains the intelligence and kind hospitality for which he is so deservedly praised by Vigne.

INDUS VALLEY. December, 1847.

Kartash being situated at the northern or lower end of the great bend of the Indus, and in an extremely narrow part of the ravine, is a most sombre-looking place. It is possible, however, that in summer, when the villages are green with cultivation and fruit-trees, the appearance of this and other places may be less gloomy, and that, from having only seen this part of Tibet in the depth of winter, I may be disposed to regard it in too unfavourable a point of view. The abrupt and precipitous rise of the mountains on all sides must undoubtedly tend strongly to modify the summer temperature, which, from the want of rain, and the reflection from masses of bare rock, would otherwise be oppressive. The fort seems to have some good buildings, and to be kept in excellent order, and the village looked extensive and prosperous.

All along the narrow ravine, from Tolti nearly as far as Tarkata, deposits of alluvium were very extensively developed, not only in the valley of the river, but at considerable heights on the ridges. There was, however, I believe, none of the lacustrine clay, as contradistinguished from the coarser alluvium. I speak here with considerable hesitation, as I find with regret that I have not in my notes attended with sufficient care to the distinction between the two, not having at the time sufficiently adverted to their probably different origin. I am now disposed to think that in the narrow ravine above Tolti was situated the barrier which bounded on the east the lake basin of Iskardo, a vast inland sea, which must have extended thence in a north-westerly direction as far as Rondu. This barrier, if my supposition be correct, must have consisted of a mass of coarse drift or alluvium, entirely blocking up the narrow ravine to a height of three thousand feet or more above the present level of the Indus.

The mountains all along this ravine are extremely elevated, the peaks above Kartash (from which a pass leads to Khapalu on the Shayuk) being, I should think, not less than 18,000 feet. The bareness and desolation of their sides exceeded anything I had seen since leaving Iskardo, and quite equalled the most rugged parts of Tibet which I had yet visited. They consisted of large masses of rock, split and fractured in every direction, often very precipitous, without a vestige of soil, and with scarcely the slightest traces of vegetation. Immense tracts, both along the river and on the slopes of the ravines descending from the mountains, were covered with boulders or with angular fragments of rock, strewed irregularly on the surface, or piled in masses one on another. Granite formed the great mass of the mountains, mixed with stratified rocks, which were always highly metamorphic, but extremely variable in appearance, sometimes, though rarely, having the appearance of ordinary gneiss. A singular porphyritic rock appeared (as boulders) along the river in one place only.

About two miles west of Tarkata, the Indus resumes its more usual direction, and, at the same time, its valley becomes somewhat more open, the mountains, without any diminution of elevation, receding considerably from the river. Their lower slopes present a very different aspect from those in other parts of the Indus, being composed not of primitive rock, but of a soft and almost incoherent sandstone, alternating irregularly and without any definite order with boulder conglomerate, and fine clay. These beds, which are very extensively developed on both sides of the river, around the village of Tarkata, for some distance in both directions, attain a thickness of at least six or seven hundred feet. They are, however, very irregular, forming a succession of ridges separated by deep ravines or gullies, on the sides of which fine sections of the strata are generally exposed, showing them to be uniformly horizontal, and to consist of a great many alternations of sand, clay, and drift. Above Tarkata, very fine clays were abundant.

SOFT SANDSTONE ROCKS. December, 1847.

The sandstone, of which a greater part of these curious deposits consists, is formed principally of coarse grains of quartz, which only cohere very slightly, and easily crumble under pressure. It is quite similar in appearance to the sandstone which occurs on the summit of the rock of Iskardo, differing only in being very much more extensively developed than that is, and in being associated and alternating with the very fine clays resembling those which occupy the lower levels of the valley of Iskardo. The sandstones of Tarkata did not appear to be fossiliferous, nor did I, in the slight examination I was able to give them, discover any shells in the fine clays in this neighbourhood. The general similarity, however, of these deposits to the lacustrine clays of the Iskardo valley, makes it nearly certain that their origin is similar, while the association of the sandstones and the fine clays in the neighbourhood of Tarkata, renders it probable that I am right in assuming the arenaceous beds of the summit of the rock of Iskardo to be lacustrine.

FLOATING ICE. December, 1847.

Ever since leaving Iskardo, the weather had been very unsettled, but no more snow had fallen. The sky had been pretty generally overcast with light clouds, and during the day the wind had almost invariably blown down the river, generally with great violence, and, especially in the narrowest parts of the valley, in furious gusts, against which it was most laborious to make any progress. The mornings had been always frosty, but the temperature rose in the middle of the day several degrees above 32°. On the 8th of December, a sudden increase of cold seemed to take place, the temperature not rising above the freezing-point. Large cakes of ice, which appeared early on the morning of that day, floating down the river, indicated an evident commencement of very severe weather in the upper part of its course, and the descent of such masses of ice, in cakes of from one to ten feet in diameter, tended very much to lower the temperature of all parts of the river to which they extended. The elevation of Tarkata I found to be 7800 feet above the sea.

The road from Iskardo to Kashmir leaves the valley of the Indus at the junction of the river of Dras, and follows the course of that river almost to its source. The lower part of the valley of Dras is a deep and narrow rocky ravine, bordered by precipices of granite, which are so steep that the bottom of the valley is quite inaccessible. In passing from the Indus into the valley of Dras, the road crosses the granitic spur which separates the two rivers, at an elevation of about 2000 feet above the Indus, ascending to this height very rapidly along a steep spur, which recedes almost in a perpendicular direction from that river. From the shoulder of this ridge, which was elevated probably about 10,000 feet, the course of the Indus was visible for some distance above the junction of the river of Dras. It appeared to be hemmed in very closely by rocky mountain spurs. A good many patches of fine lacustrine clay were in sight, on both banks.

VALLEY OF DRAS. December, 1847.

From the same ridge, the view up the Dras valley was very remarkable. The river of that name, which formed many deep pools and was partially frozen, ran at the bottom of a deep gorge. On the right bank opposite to where I stood, a sheer precipice rose nearly to a level with my eye. Between the ridge on which I stood and the next in succession up the Dras valley, an open and shallow valley, everywhere strewed with enormous blocks of granite, sloped gently till it approached the brink of the almost perpendicular cliffs which overhang the Dras river. Crossing this open valley, and the low spur beyond it, I encamped at a small village called Ulding Thung, situated at the point of junction of the Dras river, with a considerable tributary descending from the west.

This little village occupies the gentle slope of a hill-side, but I encamped at the lowest part of it, which was a small level plain surrounded by a number of giant boulders, resting on the upper edge of a very steep slope, and evidently, I think, of glacial origin. They were quite angular, and not less than from twenty to thirty feet in length.

On the slope of the hill above my encampment at Ulding, the lacustrine clay formation again occurred in great quantity. It was a very fine impalpable clay, without fossils, and was here (as is not uncommon elsewhere) dug out by the inhabitants for the purpose of extracting its salt, which is obtained in a state of brine by simply washing the clay with water. The elevation of this clay formation was probably a good deal more than 8500 feet, but not greater than that of many of the hills and patches of similar deposit around Tarkata in the valley of the Indus.

At daybreak on the morning of the 18th of December I found that between three and four inches of snow had fallen during the night. It had ceased snowing at that time; and during the day, which was stormy and often very cloudy, no more fell. There was a good deal of thaw during the day, and towards evening the snow, except in sheltered spots, was nearly melted. My day's journey was about ten miles, to the village of Hardas, on the left bank of the Dras river; passing about two miles before the end of the march the river of Kargyl or Pashkyum, a very large stream which descends from the south-east. During the earlier part of this day, the road was extremely bad. It descended from Ulding abruptly to the level of the Dras river, to cross at its point of junction a large tributary whose source is in the eastern slopes of Deotsu. A succession of steep ascents and descents followed for four or five miles, throughout which distance the ravine through which the river ran was narrow and precipitous and quite without villages. Further up, the valley widened a little, the mountains rose less steeply, and left narrow strips of level ground along the margin of the stream.

SNOW STORM. December, 1847.

Very early on the morning of the 11th of December, it began again to snow, and continued with little intermission throughout the day. I marched ten miles to Karbu, crossing the river three miles above Hardas, and keeping on the right bank during the remainder of the day. I could see that the valley was wider than the day before, but the incessant snow made the appearance of the country undistinguishable. The margins of the stream were occasionally fringed with bushes of poplar and willow. Karbu is a village high up a steep lateral valley, with scattered groves of juniper on the sides of the hills above the cultivation. By evening the depth of snow was about fifteen inches.

On the 12th of December, after marching five miles through a heavy fall of snow to the village of Tashgang, crossing the river by a wooden bridge close to the village, a violent storm of wind and snow-drift, blowing directly down the valley, compelled me to halt for the night. The snow-storm continued till about eight P.M., when the weather cleared, and the night was clear and starlight. Next morning, the weather continuing fine, I was able to proceed to Dras. The depth of snow had increased to about two feet; and the labour of progressing through this depth of untrodden snow was much increased by the shortness of the steps of the porters, treading exactly after one another, so as to form pits in the snow, not more than a foot apart, and alternately on the right and left.

DRAS. December, 1847.

I reached the Sikh fort at Dras, which was distant eleven miles, about two o'clock; the road was pretty level and the valley open, with low hills on either hand. The depth of snow increased as I advanced, and was three feet in the plain round the fort. Here I was greeted by the most unwelcome tidings, that my advance so far was fruitless, the pass in front being blocked up with snow. For this I was quite unprepared, having been led to believe that the road to Kashmir in this direction was always open, and no hint having been given me at Iskardo that my delay there might in the least prevent my reaching Kashmir. The heavy snow-fall of the last three or four days seemed to have been something quite unusual; and it had accumulated, as I was told, on the pass to a depth which quite precluded all possibility of a passage for many days to come.

Notwithstanding all these assurances, I should certainly have tried to advance at least as far as Maten, had I not found at Dras one of the principal inhabitants of Kargyl, who had returned the day before from that place, after attempting in the morning to advance towards the pass, which is ten miles further on, and being stopped by finding the snow ten and twelve feet deep, and quite soft. After the assurances of this traveller, I should not have been justified in taking so many porters across the pass, supposing them to have acceded to my wishes to make the attempt; I therefore very reluctantly gave up the idea of proceeding.

It then became a question what I should do. It might and would probably be many weeks before the pass would be practicable for loaded men. To have remained at Dras so long would have been impossible. The demands of my party for fuel were found very difficult to supply, even for a day, the faggots of brushwood, which alone are there available, being soon consumed, and, therefore, unwillingly parted with; I therefore resolved to return to Iskardo, and remain there till the return of spring should enable me to resume my travels, and to visit the district further down the Indus, before crossing into Kashmir.

RETURN TOWARDS ISKARDO. December, 1847.

My return journey, being from a severe to a milder climate, was sufficiently agreeable. At first a succession of bright and clear days reduced the temperature very much. The thermometer fell to zero in the mornings, and the frost throughout the day was intense. I was no longer able to inhabit my tent, which I had continued to occupy up to the period of my arrival at Dras, where, in the Sikh fort, I found, rather to my surprise, a room, with a fire-place and chimney, allotted for my accommodation by the kindness of the commandant. In descending again towards the Indus, I took shelter in the villages, occupying, if possible, a cow-house in preference to one used by the inhabitants. The houses are generally built of waterworn stones, without cement, but plastered with mud outside and inside. The roofs are flat; the rafters are unsawn trees or branches of poplar, covered with willow twigs, over which is laid a thick coating of mud. A hole in the centre of the roof serves for a chimney, the fire being made in the centre of the floor. In some of the poorer villages the houses were less elaborate, consisting merely of wattle-work of willow twigs, covered with a thin coating of clay.

FROZEN WATERFALLS. December, 1847.

In the open plain below Dras I observed many withered stems of Prangos, the celebrated Umbelliferous plant so much valued by the inhabitants of Dras as a food for their sheep, still bearing ripe seeds. Juniper, too, was common, even along the bank of the stream. As I descended the river, I found that a very few days had made a great change in the temperature. The river was everywhere hard frozen, and all the little streams which ran down the mountain-sides were coated with a thick shell of ice. More than once I saw a waterfall with a covering, perhaps a yard in thickness, of clear blue ice, under which the little streamlet could be distinctly seen. At Ulding, though the cold was severe, I found the ground partially free of snow, so that the amount of fall, at that distance from the central chain of mountains, had been quite insignificant.

On the 19th of December, on which day I regained the valley of the Indus, it was again snowing heavily, after an interval of exactly seven days. The river was now entirely frozen over, and so solid, that one of my servants, a native of India, losing his way in the snow-storm, instead of turning to the left on arriving at the Indus, walked across the river to a village on the right bank, without being aware that he had quitted the proper road.

Instead of keeping the left bank of the river, as I had done in my upward course, I crossed it on the ice about three or four miles above the village of Kartash, or Karmang, as it is also called, and kept on the north side till within a mile of Tolti. About two miles below Kartash, there are a succession of rapids in the stream, which extend, without much intermission, considerably more than a mile, and must produce a very considerable change in the elevation of its bed. The river was nowhere frozen between Kartash and Tolti, the stream being too rapid to freeze readily. In crossing to the left bank I made use of a raft of skins, which consisted of a light frame-work of willow rods, six feet square, resting on about a dozen inflated sheep or goat skins. This flimsy contrivance just floated on the water when loaded with three or four people.

ROPE BRIDGES. December, 1847.

At Tolti and at Karmang are the only rope-bridges which I saw on the Indus, above Iskardo. The cables used in their construction are here made of willow twigs, twisted into a thick rope. Seven such ropes on each side are combined to form the parallel lateral cables, about a yard apart, from which the road way of the bridge is suspended. These bridges are perfectly safe, though, from their open structure, rather formidable to those who are not accustomed to use them. The principle on which they are made is the same as one which is in use in all the hill provinces of India, from the Khasya mountains and Butan, as far west as the Indus; but the material differs with each particular locality, cane being used in the most eastern parts, rope (often of grass or Eriophorum) in the Western Himalaya; and in Tibet, where even that material is not available, willow twigs are employed as a substitute.

In many parts of the Indus valley, even in the most rugged and desolate spots, I noticed, occasionally, trees of the Elæagnus and of apricot, growing in rocky places along the river, where it was very evident that they had never been planted. The Elæagnus is always conspicuous, even in mid-winter, in consequence of the withered leaves remaining attached to the tree instead of falling at the end of autumn. Occasionally, no doubt, the occurrence of these trees was due to the former existence of villages in the vicinity of the places in which they were observed, but they also seemed sometimes to occur in places where no cultivation could ever have existed. Their occurrence, however, must, I think, be considered purely accidental: they were too few in number to be regarded as really indigenous; nor is it surprising that these trees, which are so extensively cultivated round all the villages of Baltistan, and so universally used as food by the inhabitants, should occasionally vegetate at a great distance from their usual place of growth.

WINTER AT ISKARDO. December, 1847.

I reached Iskardo on the evening of the 25th of December, and succeeded, without difficulty, in hiring a house sufficiently large to accommodate all my party. As I remained stationary at this place for two months, I was able to make some observations of the thermometer, and to watch the state of the weather during the whole of that period. The elevation of Iskardo above the level of the sea is about 7200 feet. Winter may be said to have commenced on the 28th of November, on which day the first snow fell. From that date, falls of snow recurred constantly at intervals, which varied from two or three days to a week. The earlier falls were very slight, not more than an inch or two in depth, but the quantity gradually increased, until each fall was from four to six inches. The entire depth of the snow in the middle of February, beyond which time the fresh falls were insignificant, was from fifteen to eighteen inches.

After each fall of snow, the weather usually became bright and calm, with a serene cloudless sky. The sun shone out brightly, and was agreeably warm to the feel, while the temperature of the air rose nearly to, or a little above, the freezing-point. In the earlier part of the winter, the snow melted rapidly, and the ground in the open valley was generally nearly free of it before the next fall. After the beginning of January, however, the cold increased, and the snow lay permanently, except on the most sunny slopes. The sun seemed to have much less power, and little thaw took place except on rocks and beaten paths. The diminution in the quantity of snow by evaporation was often considerable.

The greatest cold which was registered at Iskardo was at daybreak on the 8th of February, when Fahrenheit's thermometer stood at half a degree above zero. The mean temperature at sunrise during the whole winter was 19½°, and that at two P.M. 33¾°. The mean temperature during the period from the 28th of December to the 31st of January was 27½°, and from the 1st to the 24th of February 25¾°. The increase of cold was principally by the depression of the night temperature, the mean highest temperature being within a fraction of a degree the same during both periods.

On the first or second day of clear weather after a fall of snow, the temperature in the morning was often very low, with abundant hoar-frost, which, except at such times, was not seen at all. The surface of the plain was covered with a dense fog, which remained till nearly noon before the sun was able to dispel it. On the second or third day the sky would become hazy, the sun being partly obscured by a thin stratum of cloud at a great elevation. During the continuance of this haze, the temperature was always more elevated than when the sky was clear. The hazy weather was once or twice dissipated by violent winds, without any fall of snow on the open plain; but more generally it increased gradually, till the sky was completely and densely overcast, and snow began again to fall, perhaps most frequently during the night.

During the greater part of the winter the snow was invariably in extremely minute grains. It was not till the latter part of February, when spring was rapidly approaching, that large flakes fell. I more than once observed the phenomenon of small quantities of extremely fine-grained snow falling when the sky was quite clear, and the air at the surface of the earth quite motionless. During clear weather very little thaw took place, the cold produced by radiation appearing to counteract the sun's action; at the same time the snow diminished rapidly by evaporation, which was not the case when the sky was overcast.

The fall of snow was evidently much less considerable in the open plain than on the mountains round Iskardo. During the heavier falls, the snow on the steep mountain slopes often slipped downwards. It was but rarely that these avalanches were visible, but the noise of the snow in motion was heard like distant thunder, often many times a day, and the bare spots which it had left could be seen after the snow-storm had ceased. When the weather was settled, the wind was in general very gentle, and blew up the valley of the Indus; during snow-storms it was usually violent, and very irregular in direction. The storms came mostly from the south-west, a moisture-bringing upper current of air from that direction being condensed by the dry and cold north wind.

My collections had accumulated to such an extent, and got into such confusion, during five months of almost incessant travelling, that I was very glad to have an opportunity of devoting some time to their arrangement, and found, without difficulty, occupation for all my time during two months of rest. The snow was never so deep as to prevent me from taking regular exercise, so that I was soon familiar with all the roads in the neighbourhood of the town, and examined the cliffs of clay in every direction in search of fossils, without discovering (as I had some hopes of doing) any mammalian remains. The communication with Le was open all winter; I was therefore able to correspond with Captain Strachey, who, after examining the course of the Indus from the Chinese boundary downwards, was spending the winter there. By his assistance I succeeded in replenishing my store of tea and sugar, both of which were exhausted. The sugar which I procured from Le was very good, and the brick tea, though not superexcellent in quality, was, in the absence of better, quite good enough for use. Other supplies I had no difficulty in procuring at Iskardo, sheep and flour being abundant. The wood supplied for fuel was almost entirely Elæagnus, no wild timber occurring in the country.

The Thannadar of Iskardo, who is the deputy of Maharajah Gulab Singh of Kashmir, is the governor of all Balti, but he rules by means of native Mahommedan chiefs or rajahs. In some instances, where no opposition was made to the Sikh invasion, the former ruler was allowed to retain his position; in other cases a change was made. At Iskardo, Mahommed Shah, the present Rajah, had been an exile in Kashmir, from being on bad terms with his father. He is a feeble and sickly young man, without the energy of his father, M. Vigne's host in Iskardo. The inhabitants of Balti, though Tibetan in language and appearance, are all Mahommedans, and differ from the more eastern Tibetans of Le (who call themselves Bhotias, or inhabitants of Bhot) by being taller and less stoutly made. Their language, I am told, differs considerably from that of Le, but only as one dialect differs from another.

CHAPTER IX.

Leave Iskardo for Rondu—Insurrection in Gilgit—Koardu—Kamar—Enter narrow part of Indus valley—Difficult road—Range of mountains south of Indus—Description of Rondu—Thawar—Avalanches—Alluvium—Swing bridge—Villages—Juniper—Pinus excelsa—Rocks—Vegetation—Return to Iskardo—Agriculture of Balti—Game of Chaugan—Chakor hunting—Shigar valley—Journey towards Kashmir—Dras valley—Karbu—Dras fort—Maten—Cross pass into Kashmir—Baltal—Valley of Sind river—Sonamarg—Gagangir—Gond—Gangan—Ganderbal—Enter main valley of Kashmir—Town of Kashmir—Description of Kashmir—Lacustrine formation—Trap hills—Lake—Climate—Vegetation.

It was not till the 25th of February that the approach of spring was sufficiently decided to permit me to make a move with any chance of fair weather. On that day I started from Iskardo, with the intention of making eight or ten days' journey down the Indus in the direction of Rondu. The district of Rondu may be understood to comprise the whole of the narrow part of the Indus valley, from the western end of the Iskardo plain to the great bend of that river, where it assumes a southerly direction. It is only during the winter season that the route along the valley of the Indus is much frequented, as it is quite impracticable for horses, and so very bad even for travellers on foot, that the road over the passes towards Hasora is always preferred in summer. At the season of my journey I had no option, the passes being still covered with heavy snow.

KOARDU. February, 1848.

Unfortunately for my objects, the inhabitants of Gilgit had since the beginning of winter been in a state of open insurrection, and had besieged the garrison placed by Gulab Singh in one of the forts of the valley. Attempts had been made by the Thannadar of Iskardo to send a force to their relief, but the garrison of that place was too weak to enable him to detach more than a very small portion of it; and the forced levies of Balti men, collected in all the districts of the country, had evidently no desire to fight against the more active inhabitants of Gilgit and the robber tribes of the higher valleys of Hunza and Nagyr. Large parties of fifty and a hundred were continually arriving during the winter at Iskardo, and were as soon as possible despatched towards the disturbed country; but the greater number of them, I was told, managed to desert, and to return to their villages, or to hiding-places elsewhere, long before the detachment arrived at the end of its journey.

Crossing the Indus in the ferry-boat, a little below the rock of Iskardo, my road lay along the north bank of the river, through extensive tracts of cultivation. There was much less snow on the surface of the fields in the village of Koardu, the first through which I passed on the north bank, than in the town of Iskardo, owing to the more favourable exposure. The villagers were busy sprinkling a thin layer of earth over the snow to hasten its melting. This village, which is about five miles distant from Iskardo, is backed by very high masses of clay conglomerate and clay, forming very irregular, often precipitous banks, resting on the ancient rocks behind. From Iskardo these beds are very conspicuous, but in the village itself only a very small portion can be seen at a time.

KAMAR. February, 1848.

West of Koardu, a ridge of mica-slate, containing abundance of garnets, advances close to the river, which here runs on the northern side of the valley. The road up the valley skirts the base of this projecting spur, and then passes over level platforms for about four miles. The level tracts were still covered with snow, but in rocky places, and on all slopes facing the south, the ground was quite bare. Four miles from Koardu I passed the very large village of Kamar, the fields rising in terraces one behind another on a steeply sloping platform, which skirts the plain for nearly two miles. Behind the village, the same system of conglomerate and clay-beds, as at Koardu, rises in steep banks.

About a mile beyond Kamar, which is the last village on the north side of the Iskardo plain, the valley of the Indus contracts very suddenly, the mountains closing in upon the river. The beds of lacustrine clay extend without any diminution to the end of the open valley, and are covered, when close to the mountains, by numerous boulders of all sizes, many of which are of great dimensions. The fine clay at the termination of the open plain appears to underlie a great mass of boulder conglomerate, which is continued into the narrow part of the river valley.

ENTRANCE OF RONDU. February, 1848.

Where the river passes from the open plain into the narrow ravine, the inclination of its bed seems increased, and the rapidity of its motion becomes much greater. This result is quite in accordance with what has been observed in the Nubra and Khapalu plains. Indeed, narrow valleys are so generally steeply sloping, and wide valleys so generally nearly level, that it can scarcely be doubted that the inclination of the surface is in some way connected with the width or amount of excavation of the valley.

For a mile or two beyond the end of the Iskardo plain, the mountains are sufficiently far apart to allow of the interposition of a narrow platform of conglomerate, over which the road runs. Soon, however, even this disappears, and thenceforward, as far as I went, the Indus runs through a narrow ravine of very uniform character. The mountains on both sides of the river are extremely steep, and, so far as I could judge at so early a season, almost uniformly rocky and precipitous. At distant intervals a small platform of alluvium is interposed between the cliffs and the river, but much more frequently precipices directly overhang the stream, or steep bare rocks, only not absolutely precipitous, rise from its margin. It is but seldom that the stony bed of the river or the alluvial platforms overhanging it, afford a level road for a few hundred yards at a time. In general the path continually ascends and descends over each successive ridge; the elevation to which it is required to ascend to find a practicable passage, varying from a few hundred to several thousand feet above the bottom of the valley. In at least eight or ten places between Iskardo and Rondu, the path ascends or descends by means of ladders placed against the face of a perpendicular wall of rock, or crosses fissures in the cliffs by planks laid horizontally over them. This road is therefore quite impracticable for beasts of burden or horses, and is never used except in winter, when no other route is open to the traveller.

INDUS VALLEY. February, 1848.

As the road lies altogether on the north or right bank of the Indus, the elevation and appearance of the mountains on that side cannot well be seen. This range separates the Indus valley from that of Shigar, which is in no part of Rondu more than twenty-five miles distant, and is crossed in several places by passes at the head of the larger ravines. These passes being still blocked up with snow, I could not cross them, nor ascertain their elevation, which is perhaps nowhere less than fourteen or fifteen thousand feet, except at the very eastern extremity of the ridge.

From the higher parts of the road, where it attained an elevation of eight and nine thousand feet, the mountain ranges on the south of the Indus could be well seen. They were covered with snow from base to summit, and in general rose so very abruptly, that the nearer spurs completely concealed from view the main range, except when a more open valley than usual permitted the view to extend backwards. Occasionally very lofty peaks were seen, which appeared to attain a height of at least eighteen or twenty thousand feet; but, as the whole landscape was covered with snow, distances could not be estimated with any accuracy. As the ridge to the south of the Indus keeps very close to the river, it is probable that the highest summits seen in that direction were situated beyond the valley of Hasora.

VILLAGES OF RONDU. February, 1848.

The villages of Rondu are not numerous, and are of very small extent; still every available spot seems to be occupied by a small patch of cultivation. The platforms are generally high above the river. In the lower part of the district, where the lateral ravines are of greater length, they open out above the very steep slope, by which they debouche into the Indus, into gently sloping open valleys. The villages of Thawar and Murdu, being situated in these open valleys, are much more extensive than any of those close to the Indus. The fort of Rondu is on the left bank of the river, on a platform perhaps two hundred feet above its level, nearly opposite the end of the Thawar valley, and not far from the termination of a valley which descends from the southern mountains, along which there is a road across a pass to Hasora.

From Iskardo to Thawar, a large village in a lateral ravine on the north side of the Indus, almost opposite to the fort of Rondu, the road distance is about forty miles. As five days were employed in traversing this distance, the average day's journey was only eight miles; and yet, from the difficult nature of the road, all the marches appeared long, and were felt to be very fatiguing. A great part of the road being at an elevation much more considerable than that the Iskardo plain, I met with much snow on all the higher parts of the mountains. In the valley of the Indus thaw made rapid progress, and by the beginning of March, in favourable exposures, there was no snow below 8000 feet.

AVALANCHES. March, 1848.

The progress of the thaw occasioned constant avalanches, the snow slipping from the steep sides of the ravines, and when once in motion, advancing with constantly increasing momentum till it reached the lowest level. All day long the mountains echoed with the sound of falling snow; the avalanches were not often visible, as they took place in the ravines, but now and then (where the ravines terminated in precipices) they were seen pouring in cataracts of snow over the face of the cliffs. In each large ravine which joined the Indus I found one of these gigantic avalanches, and was enabled to see that they were composed of a congeries of balls of snow, varying in diameter from one to six feet, and often containing fragments of rock in their centre. Many of these snow-streams were not less than forty or fifty feet thick. At the level of the Indus they were now very soft, and evidently thawing rapidly.

In many parts of Rondu are to be seen very distinct indications of the boulder conglomerate, by which the ravine was perhaps at one period entirely filled; though from the very steep slopes of the mountains in most places, there is not often a resting-place for it. The platforms on which the villages are built are all formed of this alluvium, and are often covered with transported blocks of vast size. Between Siri and Baicha I saw several which were not less than sixty feet in length. In the upper part of the valley of Thawar, which is more level than the ravines higher up the Indus, a great accumulation of clay and boulders is seen attaining a height of at least 8000 feet above the level of the sea, as it forms hills a thousand feet above the village, which is at least as much above the Indus.

The valley in which the village of Thawar is situated slopes gently towards the Indus till near its termination, when it descends extremely abruptly down a very steep inclined bank of boulders, which appears to block up the whole of the end of the valley. The slope of this steep bank was so great that it was only possible to descend by a very devious route. Between the lower part of the cultivation and the commencement of the steep slope, the valley was very irregular, and filled with heaps of boulders, forming long low hills. The appearance of the mass of debris in this valley was very remarkable, and had much the appearance of an old moraine deposited by a glacier, which had extended as far as the end of the present cultivation, and had shot forward the boulders by which it had been covered into the abyss below.

BRIDGE OF RONDU. March, 1848.

The Indus is crossed by a swing-bridge of willow twigs, which leads from the villages on the north bank to the fort of Rondu. From Thawar I descended to this bridge, in order to ascertain the boiling-point of water, so as to get an approximation to the elevation of the bed of the river. It is thrown across a remarkably contracted part of the river, where it flows between perpendicular rocks rising several hundred feet out of the water, and the path by which the bridge is reached from Thawar descends the scarped face of the precipice by a succession of ladders.

From the boiling-point of water I estimated the elevation of the bridge, which was more than a hundred feet above the river, at 6200 feet. This would indicate a fall of about 1000 feet since leaving Iskardo, or, as the river flows very tranquilly till it leaves the Iskardo plain, from the commencement of Rondu, a distance by the road of twenty-nine miles, but not, I should think, more than twenty along the course of the river, as the road winds very much in crossing ridges. This is equivalent to a fall of about fifty feet per mile, which, for a stream discharging so vast a volume of water, is very considerable indeed, but not more than is indicated by the general turbulent course of the river.

CULTIVATED TREES. March, 1848.

The villages of Rondu, though mostly small, have abundance of fruit-trees. The apricot is still the commonest of these; but there are also many fine walnuts, and plenty of vines climbing up the trees, and remarkable for the great size of their trunks. Willows are very common, and two kinds of poplar, and now and then there occurs a plane-tree of enormous girth and stature, which must, no doubt, afford a most welcome shade from the rays of the too-powerful sun of summer, the heat of which, in so deep and rocky a ravine, must be very oppressive. The willow and poplar had already begun to show signs of vitality, the flower-buds being almost ready to expand; the other trees seemed still quite inert.

All over the hills of Rondu the juniper[16] is rather common, and seemingly quite at home both on the higher ridges, and in the bottom of the ravine close to the river. It forms generally a low bush, but occasionally I saw small trees, and once, in a level tract close to the river and near a village, a considerable tree perhaps forty feet high. The young plants had made considerable shoots, and were covered with longish acicular patent leaves, very different from the short adpressed scaly leaves of the adult plant.

PINE TREES. March, 1848.

Rondu is remarkable for producing another Coniferous tree, indeed a true pine, namely, Pinus excelsa, which occurs in small groves in several places on the south side of the river, at elevations from eight to ten thousand feet above the sea. It was first observed opposite the village of Siri, but is more plentiful above the fort of Rondu. One or two trees occur close to the river, and on the north side, so that I was enabled to get specimens and ascertain the species. The occurrence of this tree must be considered to indicate a greater degree of humidity than exists in the upper parts of the Indus valley, so that Rondu is the place of transition between the Tibetan climate and that of the eastern Punjab, into which the Indus passes at its point of exit from the mountains.

The mountains of Rondu contain much granite, which occurs in great mass at the bridge opposite the fort. In this place the granite occupies the lower part of the ravine, close to the river, while the higher parts of the mountains are composed of gneiss or clay-slate, sometimes passing into sandstone, or of a highly crystalline magnesian rock. The granite consists chiefly of quartz and mica, the former, as well as the felspar, white, the mica black and highly crystalline. The stratified rocks are always highly metamorphic, and are shattered and dislocated by the intrusion of the granite to a very great extent.

LOWER PART OF RONDU. March, 1848.

Below Thawar and the fort of Rondu, the valley of the Indus continues extremely narrow and difficult, and ceases to be inhabited at the village and fortified post of Tok, at which place a few soldiers are stationed, to keep up the communication with Gilgit, and to give notice of any incursions from that side. Thence, as far as the mountain range which bounds the Gilgit valley on the east, the valley is said to be quite desert. The disturbed state of Gilgit had made me abandon my original intention of continuing my journey in that direction; I therefore made only one march to the westward of Thawar, and found the ravine, along which the river flowed, so barren and uninteresting, that I did not consider it necessary to visit Tok, but retraced my steps towards Iskardo, which I reached on the 11th of March.

VEGETATION OF RONDU. March, 1848.

I should have been glad to have had an opportunity of observing the nature of the vegetation of the valley of Rondu, but the season of the year was unfortunately not favourable for that purpose. The cultivated plants were not different from those of Iskardo, and much of the shrubby vegetation was the same as that common higher up the Indus. An ash, of which the flowers were just expanded, but which was still quite leafless, appeared a novelty; but it was probably the same species which I had already collected in Kunawar and Piti. The only subtropical plants of which I saw any traces, were Linaria ramosissima, a shrubby Plectranthus, now leafless, but which I guessed to be P. rugosus, and some withered stems of tall reedy grasses, species of Saccharum and Erianthus. In summer, no doubt, many more would have occurred, and a complete list of the plants of Rondu would be of very great interest, as illustrative of the connection between the alpine flora of Ladak, which passes into that of Siberia, and the vegetation of the mountains of Affghanistan, the plants of which are in a great measure the same as those of Persia and Asia Minor. There is also a transition through this country, down the valley of the Indus, to a third flora, that of the hot dry plains of the Punjab and of Sind, which extends with little variation along the littoral districts of Beluchistan and Persia, into Arabia and Egypt.

On my return to Iskardo, I found the plain almost free from snow, a little only remaining on banks facing the north. The mountains on the south side of the valley were, however, still snow-clad to the very base, and the fruit-trees had scarcely begun to show any signs of vegetation. Along the watercourses there was more appearance of spring; a little gentian and Hutchinsia were already in flower, and most of the spring plants had begun to grow rapidly.

AGRICULTURAL OPERATIONS. March, 1848.

The return of spring set the whole population of the district to work in their fields; and both in Rondu and in the neighbourhood of Iskardo, I had an opportunity of seeing the mode in which the processes of agriculture are carried on. As soon as the ground is clear of snow, the manure, which has been accumulated during the preceding year, consisting of the contents of the cowhouse and stable, mixed with every sort of refuse, is carried in small baskets to the fields, on which it is deposited in small heaps. It is then spread uniformly over the surface by hand. Occasionally the field has had a previous ploughing, but it is more usually just in the state in which it had been left after the harvesting of the previous crop.

After the manure has been spread, it is ploughed into the land. The plough is usually drawn by a pair of bullocks, and is formed entirely of wood, the front part being blunted and hollow. The ploughshare, a sharp and hard piece of wood, is passed through the hollow, beyond which it projects several inches. This moveable piece of wood does the principal work, and is easily replaced when it has sustained injury. After the ploughing, the seed is sown broadcast, and the field is then harrowed. The harrow is a frame-work of wood, weighted with stones, but without spikes; or a heavy board, weighted; or occasionally only a thorny bush, with several large stones laid upon it. It is generally drawn by one man, who assists its action by breaking with his feet the clods which would otherwise be too bulky to be crushed by it. The harrowing is repeated till the soil is reduced to a sufficient fineness, an operation which is much facilitated by the dryness of the atmosphere. The field is then laid out into small square beds, for convenience of irrigation, and water is supplied to it at intervals throughout the summer.

About the middle of March, an assembly of all the principal inhabitants of the district took place at Iskardo, on some occasion of ceremony or festivity, the nature of which I have forgotten. I was thus fortunate enough to be a witness of the national game of the Chaugan, which is derived from Persia, and has been described by Mr. Vigne as hockey on horseback, a definition so exact, as to render a further detail unnecessary. Large quadrangular enclosed meadows for this game may be seen in all the larger villages of Balti, often surrounded by rows of beautiful willow and poplar trees.

CHAKOR HUNTING. March, 1848.

About the same time, I was invited by the Thannadar of Iskardo to be present at a hunting party, which he had arranged for the capture of the chakor, or painted partridge, by surrounding a spot of ground, in which these birds are numerous, with a ring of men, who, approaching from all directions, gradually form a dense circle of perhaps a hundred yards in diameter. When the partridges are disturbed by a horseman in this enclosure, they naturally fly towards the living wall by which they are surrounded. Loud shouts, and the beating of drums and waving of caps and cloaks, turn them back, and they are driven from side to side, till at last, exhausted with fatigue, and stupid from the noise and confusion, they sink to the ground, and allow themselves to be caught by hand. The scene was a very striking one. The spot selected was a deep dell, full of rocks, but without trees. The sport, however, did not seem so successful as usual, six or eight birds only being captured. The chakor is an extremely common bird in all parts of the valley of the Indus, and indeed throughout Tibet. In winter, when the hills are covered with snow, they are to be found in great numbers close to the river, even in the immediate neighbourhood of the villages; and in general, when approached, they lie very close among the crevices of the stones.

SHIGAR VALLEY. March, 1848.

Before finally leaving Iskardo, I devoted three days to a visit to the valley of Shigar, which is watered by a very large tributary which joins the Indus opposite the rock of Iskardo. The terminal ridges of the mountain ranges on both sides of the Shigar river, advance close to the centre of the valley where the stream enters the Indus. The road to Shigar from Iskardo, therefore, crosses low hills of dark schistose rocks, winding among dry valleys which are occupied by great masses of alluvium. A coarse sandstone, horizontally stratified, formed beds of fifty feet thick, alternating with and capped by beds of clay conglomerate containing numerous angular fragments. The sandstone was very similar to that which I had previously seen on the top of the rock of Iskardo, and rested upon thinner strata of a bluish-grey indurated clay, quite non-fossiliferous, and different in appearance from any deposit which I had seen in Tibet. These lacustrine strata occupied both sides of the valley along which the road lay. From the summit of the low range of hills, the road descended rapidly to the level of the cultivation of the Shigar plain. The Shigar river flows through a wide gravelly channel in many branches; and low, grassy, and swampy tracts skirt the stream. Fifty feet above these are the platforms of alluvium, which extend along the left bank of the river uninterruptedly for five or six miles, and vary in width from a quarter of a mile to a mile or more. They are almost entirely covered with arable land, formed into terraces which rise gradually one above another, and a succession of small villages are scattered among the fields. Numerous little streams descend from the mountains, and irrigation canals ramify in every direction. Ploughing was the universal occupation of the villagers; and the yellow flowers of Tussilago Farfara were everywhere seen expanding on the clayey banks of the rivulets.

The fort of Shigar is close to the mountains on the east side of the valley, where a considerable stream makes its exit from them. By this stream, Mr. Vigne ascended to a pass on the high range to the eastward, and descended upon the Shayuk at the village of Braghar. Where it terminates in the Shigar plain, this valley is for a few hundred yards very narrow; but a little above its entrance it widens considerably, and the flanks of the mountains are covered with a great accumulation of the alluvial deposits, clinging to the face of the rocks on both sides, certainly as high as a thousand feet above the stream. The beds were sometimes, but rarely, stratified, and were very variable in appearance. Coarse conglomerates, at one time with angular boulders, at others, with rounded stones, alternated with coarse and fine sand and finely laminated clays. No fossils of any kind were observed.

In summer, the discharge of the Shigar river, which descends from the snowy masses of the Muztagh or Kouen-lun, must be immense, as prodigious glaciers descend very low among the valleys of its different branches. Up one of the streams a practicable road exists towards Yarkand over an enormous glacier. I met with one or two people at Iskardo who had traversed it; but it is now not at all frequented, being very unsafe, in consequence of the marauding propensities of the wild Mahommedan tribes who inhabited the Hunza valley. It was described to me as an exceedingly difficult road, lying for several days over the surface of the glacier.

DEPARTURE FROM ISKARDO. April, 1848.

On the 31st of March, I left Iskardo for the last time. It was expected that the pass between Dras and Kashmir would be easily accessible by the time I should reach it. My road as far as Dras was the same as that along which I had twice travelled in December, and, except from the indications of returning spring, was much the same as it had then been. The crops of wheat and barley in the fields in the Iskardo plain were an inch or two high, the buds of the apricot were just beginning to swell, and the willows had almost expanded their flowers.

At Gol and Nar, where the valley is narrow and the heat therefore more concentrated, the corn was considerably further advanced, and in some of the apricot flowers the petals had begun to expand. Wild flowers had also begun to vegetate: a violet was in flower on the banks of streamlets, as well as a Primula and an Androsace. Above Parkuta, again, the season was more backward. Large snow-banks, which had descended in avalanches, still remained in all the larger furrows on the mountain-sides. The river had been discoloured since the day I left Iskardo, and on the 4th of April, the day I reached Kartash, it became very much so, and was said to be rising rapidly.

VALLEY OF DRAS. April, 1848.

On the 6th of April, I entered the Dras valley, and encamped at Ulding Thung, where there were still a few patches of snow. On the 7th, I marched to Hardas, ten miles. Here, at about 9000 feet, spring had scarcely commenced. The fruit-trees showed no signs of vitality; and though the fields had been ploughed, the grain had not yet begun to vegetate. The valley of the Dras river begins to expand at the village of Bilergu, four or five miles above Ulding. As soon as there is enough of level space, beds of conglomerate, and more rarely of fine clay, appear along the river. Round the village of Bilergu, the poplars, willows, and apricots are as numerous as in the valley of the Indus; but beyond it, the inclination of the valley is considerable, and at Hardas there were but few trees. Above Bilergu the quantity of snow increased considerably, and the contrast between the sides of the valley was very striking: at Hardas, the shady slope was quite white, while that facing the south had only a few patches of snow.

On the 8th of April, I marched to Karbu, eight miles. As I advanced, I found much more snow; but the road was in general free, except in the ravines where snow-slips had descended. On the latter part of the day, these were universal in all the ravines, and were frequently of great depth, and so soft as to be difficult to cross: on the least deviation from the beaten path, I sank to the middle at every step. These avalanches were cut off abruptly by the river, forming cliffs of snow fifteen or twenty feet high, in which the structure and development of the mass by successive slips, alternating with falls of snow, could be distinctly made out. One or two of them still crossed the river, which flowed below the bridge of ice. Three miles below Karbu, the granite, which had been the rock ever since entering Dras, was replaced by a peculiar slate, apparently magnesian, and perhaps hornblende slate, passing into or containing beds of a coarse sandstone.

At Karbu, where I was detained a day, the Thannadar not having expected me so soon, and my porters not being ready, the weather was very unsettled, and in the evening, and during the nights of the 8th and 9th of April, there was a good deal of rain, especially on the 9th. The wind during the storm was very irregular in direction. The ground was still covered to the depth of more than a foot with snow. The morning of the 10th was gloomy, but as the day advanced the clouds broke, and the afternoon was bright and beautiful, with a gentle air down the valley.

FORT OF DRAS. April, 1848.

On the 11th of April I reached the fort of Dras. For the last ten miles the snow lay continuously, and two or three feet deep, but there was always a clear path. The temperature being much above the freezing-point, the thaw proceeded rapidly. A good deal of Prangos, which is evidently a common wild plant (as it is also in many parts of Kashmir), was seen; the withered inflorescence projecting through the snow. I observed it also very abundantly in the hay, which is preserved in the villages, and seems to consist of all the plants of the meadows cut indiscriminately, and not of Prangos alone, as I had erroneously imagined.

MATEN. April, 1848.

My former journey having terminated at Dras, the road in advance was new to me; but the whole country being still covered with snow, I could see little of the nature of the surface. The fort of Dras is about 10,000 feet above the sea: it is situated in an open, nearly level plain of some width, skirted by low hills. The higher mountains, which are several miles distant on both sides, are very steep. Several villages are scattered over the plain, at some distance from the fort, which stands alone, on the bank of a little stream, just before it joins the Dras river. Beyond Dras, the road to the pass having scarcely been used, there was no beaten path. In the morning the snow was hard and firm, and even in the afternoon, notwithstanding the warmth of the midday sun, the foot did not sink more than three or four inches. The depth of snow increased rapidly as I advanced. Two miles above the fort the plain contracts into a narrow valley, and the channel of the river becomes very rocky; the stream is also very rapid, and the slope of its bed evidently considerable. The valley again expands around the village of Pain Dras. Immediately beyond this I crossed the river on a bridge of snow, at least forty feet thick, which covered the river for more than a hundred yards. This snow-bed, which was continuous with the general level of the surface, was to all appearance quite solid. After a march of ten miles I encamped at Maten, the last village of Dras, a small group of stone huts half a mile from the river on its eastern bank, and immediately at the base of a very steep scarped mountain, which rises in precipices several thousand feet above the village. Maten I estimated, from the boiling-point of water, to be 10,700 feet above the sea.

ZOJI PASS. April, 1848.

On the 13th of April I crossed the pass into Kashmir, starting, as the distance was said to be considerable, at about half-past two o'clock in the morning. The evening before had been dull, with irregular squalls of wind, so that the weather did not promise very favourably. It was very dark and quite calm at two A.M., and when I started it snowed slightly, but not enough to induce me to stop, as I hoped it would cease with daylight. Unfortunately, on the contrary, it increased rapidly, and by four o'clock was snowing heavily, and continued to do so till the afternoon. There was no wind, and the air was very mild, so that I suffered no inconvenience from cold. The surface of the snow, even in the morning, was a little soft, the cloudy night having prevented it from freezing. After four o'clock it snowed so heavily that the accumulation of fresh snow soon amounted to several feet, and we sank above the knee at every step. There was scarcely any slope, the road appearing quite horizontal. Before daylight my guides managed to lose their way, and we wandered for more than half an hour puzzled by our own footsteps. The compass was of no use, as I did not know the direction in which we ought to proceed, nor was it till after dawn that we recovered the road.

VALLEY OF THE SIND RIVER. April, 1848.

After daylight there was no improvement in any respect, as the heavy snow completely obscured the view. The leaders of the party, however, seemed to recognize the outlines of the hills, as they held their course without hesitation. The valley was quite full of snow, which completely covered all irregularities of surface. The river was often quite covered by the mass of snow for distances of more than a furlong without interruption. Our path often crossed it; and, latterly, for several miles before gaining the crest of the pass, the stream was completely concealed.

About noon the snow fell more lightly, and we could see around. The width of the valley was from half a mile to a mile, and steep mountains rose on both sides to a considerable height, the peaks being, I should think, at least 16,000 feet. Patches of willow and juniper were seen on the sides of the hills. Still the road was to appearance quite level. The valley made several bends, and we turned finally to the right, before gaining the crest of the pass, to which there was a barely perceptible rise.

The descent was at first gradual, but soon became very steep, down a bank of snow, which filled the whole of a narrow ravine. The rocky walls on either side were at first bare, but soon became sprinkled with birch and pine. For two thousand feet below the summit of the pass the descent was uninterrupted, till I reached the banks of the Sind river, which flows through the northernmost valley of Kashmir, and is separated from the main valley by a lofty range of mountains. Here, on a level space separated by a little stream from pine-forest, I found a log-hut buried up to the roof in snow, which was heaped up round the building, probably from having been thrown off the roof. The snow at Baltal—for so this first halting-place on the Kashmir side of the Zoji pass is called—was not deep, probably little more than what had fallen during the day.

DETENTION AT BALTAL. April, 1848.

My whole party took possession of the log-hut; but not liking the smoke which, in an instant, filled it, so that there was no seeing across its width, I had a space cleared for my tent. It rained smartly in the evening, but soon after dark it again began to snow, and long before morning I was awoke by the cracking of the ridge-pole of my tent, which had given way under the pressure of a foot and a half of snow. Had it fallen at once I should probably have been buried till morning, as I was too distant to make myself heard, and had to rise to summon assistance, to move my bed into the log-hut.

All day on the 14th it snowed unceasingly, and my people would not continue the journey; but on the 15th it was fair, and I gladly made a move, as the log-hut of Baltal was a most uncomfortable resting-place. The road lay along the Sind river, which ran to the south-west, through a deep but rather open valley, only partially wooded. The forest consists partly of pines, partly of deciduous-leaved trees. Of these I could recognize birch, poplar, and willow, which formed the mass of the woods, but there were no doubt many others. The pines were principally Pinus excelsa; silver fir and spruce also occurred, but I saw no deodar nor Gerard's pine. The trees grew in well defined masses of forest, separated by much open ground, in the level plain which skirted the river on the south side of the valley; on this side they also rose high on the mountains, but the slopes on the north side were bare.

SONAMARG. April, 1848.

Seven or eight miles from Baltal, I found an uninhabited house, at a place called Sonamarg[17], where a bridge crosses the Sind river. Snow had been continuous all the way, diminishing in depth as we descended the river. A mile or two before reaching Sonamarg, the stream approaches close to the mountains on the north side of the valley, barely leaving a passage for the road, which for some distance skirted the base of steep cliffs. In one of the ravines which here furrowed the mountain slopes, I had an opportunity of seeing the descent of an avalanche. While crossing the ravine I was warned by the sound that a snow-slip was approaching, but had abundance of time to retreat to a place of safety before it came near. When the avalanche came into sight, the ravine, which was narrow and deep, was completely filled by balls of snow of various dimensions, which continued to flow past for several minutes. The snow-slip terminated in the river, which was speedily blocked up for two-thirds of its width with an immense accumulation of snow.

At Sonamarg the Sind river bends abruptly towards the south, and enters a rocky gorge, down which its stream advances with great rapidity, over a steeply inclined bed, very rocky and much interrupted by rapids. Leaving Sonamarg on the morning of the 16th of April, I crossed the river, and after a mile and a half of level ground bare of trees, still covered with snow, I entered a thin forest of pine and silver fir, which continued to the entrance of the gorge. The silver fir (Picea Webbiana) was a fine straight tree, with short horizontal or drooping branches, and its leaves were very variable in length.

When I had fairly entered the narrow gorge of the river, I found that it was in many places still blocked up with snow, which had descended in avalanches down the narrow ravines, and had accumulated in the bed of the stream. We crossed the river three times on snow-beds. From the rapidity of the descent, however, the climate changed rapidly. After four or five miles there was no snow, except in ravines, where it had accumulated in avalanches, and at last even these had almost entirely melted away. Still snow lay in patches on the right bank of the river, in the village of Gagangir, at which I halted for the day; and on the left bank, which faced the north, and was therefore in shade, snow still covered the whole surface down to the bank of the river.

GAGANGIR. April, 1848.

At the village of Gagangir the Sind river resumes its south-westerly direction, and its valley becomes more open, and the descent of its bed less abrupt. The elevation of the village is about 7900 feet above the level of the sea, so that the descent from Sonamarg is probably not less than a thousand feet in a distance of nine miles—a very considerable fall. On the latter part of the day's journey, a very considerable change was observable in the aspect of the vegetation. Birch and willow continued common throughout, but were mixed latterly with many other trees and shrubs, all of which were beginning to show symptoms of vitality. The hazel (Corylus lacera) and a species of Viburnum were in full flower, both still devoid of leaves; a few herbaceous plants were also in flower in open places, the most abundant of which were a species of Colchicum, remarkable for its bright orange-coloured flowers, and a pretty little rose-purple Corydalis, very closely allied to, if not the same as, a species of eastern Europe. Still the general aspect of the country was very wintry, as there were few pines, and the forest was therefore quite bare of leaves, while the signs of progress, though evident on a near inspection, did not attract attention in the general view.

SIND VALLEY. April, 1848.

At Gagangir, which is the first village of Kashmir by the route along which I was travelling, I was enabled to relieve my Dras porters, who had accompanied me so far. The discharge and payment of these men occupied me a great part of the 17th of April; and as the day was rainy I did not leave Gagangir till the 18th, when I marched to Gond, seven miles. The road still followed the course of the Sind river, which I crossed twice during the day. The width of the valley was considerable all along, with much arable land, and a good many villages in ruins on both sides. The mountains on the right hand were uniformly bare of trees, and often rocky; on the left they were well wooded to the summit, the forest being most dense above. Early in the day several of the ravines were still full of snow; and on the shady side a good deal lay in patches. Further on, the snow in the valley had quite disappeared, but on the mountain slopes there was still plenty. As I advanced the cultivated land increased in extent, and the appearance of the valley became exceedingly picturesque, the centre being occupied by a broad belt of fields and orchards, while the hills on both sides rose abruptly to a great elevation. The fruit-trees were principally walnuts, apples, and apricots. Groves of poplar occurred occasionally along the river, but I saw no birch during the day. Many more spring plants were in flower than on the previous day; Cruciferæ were the prevailing family, but I also collected species of Nepeta and Gagea, and a pretty little tulip. On the latter part of the march, a small shrubby species of Amygdalus was very abundant; and Fothergilla involucrata of Falconer, a plant of the natural order Hamamelideæ, which was just bursting into flower, formed a dense coppice on the hills on the north bank of the river. Though the greater part of the plants was new to me, still I recognized a number of species which occur in the valley of the Indus. Juniperus excelsa was common in rocky places, and the Ribes and rose were the same as those common at Iskardo.

VEGETATION. April, 1848.

On the 19th, the road still followed the course of the Sind river, now a rapid torrent, much swollen by the heavy rains, flowing through an open valley. A good deal of level ground was interposed between the mountains and the stream, and was laid out in terraced fields evidently adapted for rice cultivation, but now quite bare. I met with many very interesting plants. Tussilago Farfara was abundant, growing in gravelly places along the river. In shady woods a species of Hepatica, with a small white flower, first discovered by Dr. Falconer, was common. In more sunny places a Primula and Androsace were in full flower. On open sandy soil a species of the curious Siberian genus Ceratocephalus was a very striking novelty. On the higher hills there was still dense forest of Pinus excelsa, spruce, silver fir, and deodar, mixed with yew and Juniperus excelsa, and with many deciduous-leaved trees, few of which were recognizable. After travelling twelve miles I encamped at Gangan, which is elevated about 6000 feet.

Next day I remained stationary; but on the 21st I continued my journey to Ganderbal, nine miles further and close to the point where the Sind valley expands into the open plain of Kashmir. As I advanced, the valley gradually widened, and turned more to the south. There were several platforms, or steppes, as it were, of nearly level arable land, one above another, and below them the river flowed through a wide stony plain. The mountains on the right, high and snow-topped, receded to a considerable distance; those on the left gradually diminished in elevation, became less covered with forest, and at last terminated in low ranges of hills covered only with brush-wood. The road was extremely pretty. At first it lay along the right bank of the river, through fine underwood, and among beautiful meadows, which skirted the bank of the stream; it then crossed to the left bank, and, ascending the lower hills, entered a fine wood, in which apricot, pear, and cherry trees, all bursting into flower, were common, and to all appearance wild, though they had probably spread into these woods from the neighbouring villages. Latterly we emerged upon a somewhat elevated platform sloping to the south, covered with bushes and many fruit-trees, with here and there a village, and a great deal of cultivated ground. Where the Sind valley joined the plain of Kashmir, it was several miles in width, and evidently richly cultivated. The expanse of the plain of Kashmir was much greater than I had anticipated; the mountains on its south side, which were still covered with snow, were in sight, but at a considerable distance.

Above Gond the valley of the Sind river is very poorly inhabited, and deserted villages and abandoned cultivation showed that the population is diminishing. The lower part of the valley, however, is very populous. The villages are numerous and large, and the houses good: they are usually built entirely or partially of wood, with high sloping roofs, which are either thatched or covered with wood. The cultivated lands all rest upon platforms or banks of alluvium, which are probably analogous to those of the Tibetan valleys, though, as they are generally faced by sloping banks covered with bush-jungle, their structure is not so easily determined as that of the platforms of that more barren country.

PLAIN OF KASHMIR. April, 1848.

On the morning of the 22nd of April, after following the base of the low hills for half a mile, till the last projecting point had been rounded, I entered the valley of Kashmir. This "celebrated valley" did not at all come up to the expectations which I had formed from previous descriptions, and from the appearance of the termination of the valley of the Sind river. The first impression was one of considerable disappointment. It was by no means well wooded, and the centre of the valley along the river, being very low, had an unpleasant swampy appearance. The road to the town, which is about ten miles from Ganderbal, led over an elevated platform. There were several villages, and plane, willow, and fruit trees were scattered here and there, though far from abundantly. The platform was in general covered with a carpet of green, now spangled with myriads of dandelions and other spring flowers. The mountains on the left, which at first were very low, gradually rose in elevation, and were throughout rugged and bare. As I approached the town I mounted an elephant, which formed a part of the cortège sent, according to the usual oriental etiquette, to receive an expected visitor; and I consequently saw the town to much better advantage than I should have done had I ridden through it on my little Ladak pony. Passing completely through the city, I was conducted to the Sheikh Bagh, a garden on the banks of the Jelam, at its eastern extremity, in a pavilion in the centre of which I took up my quarters.

CITY OF KASHMIR. April, 1848.

The town of Kashmir is apparently of great extent, and seems very densely populated. Its length is much greater than its width, as it is hemmed in between the Jelam on the south and a lake on the north. The principal part of the town is on the north side of the Jelam, but a large suburb occupies the opposite bank, surrounding the Sher-Garhi, or fortified palace of the ruler of the country. The streets are in general so narrow, that there are but few through which an elephant can pass; and the houses, which have mostly several stories, are built with a wooden frame-work, the lower story of stone and those above of brick. There are no buildings of any great note; and the elaborate account of Moorcroft renders it unnecessary to enter into any detail. The river is crossed by many bridges, all built of deodar-wood.

PLAIN OF KASHMIR. April, 1848.

The province or country of Kashmir consists of an extensive plain, surrounded on all sides by lofty mountains. It is the valley of the river Behat, or Jelam, which is separated from that of the Chenab on the south, by rugged and often snowy ranges, and from the basin of the Indus on the north, by the main axis of the Western Himalaya, which, originating in the peaks of Kailas, separates the basins of the Sutlej and the Chenab from that of the Indus. The mountains which surround the plain of Kashmir are very lofty. Those on the north are for the most part bare and rugged on their southern face, while those which lie to the south appear from the plain to be magnificently wooded with forests of pines and deciduous-leaved trees, descending almost to their base. On both sides of the valley the mountains rise above the level of perpetual snow, but those on the north side are considerably more lofty than the others. Numerous transverse valleys penetrate into these mountains, which are well cultivated in their lower parts, and, higher up, present superb mountain scenery. On the south side of the valley, many passes, varying in elevation from 10,000 to 14,000 feet, lead across the main chain to the Chenab valley and the plains of India. To the north there are only two frequented routes, that by the Garys pass towards Hasora and Deotsu, and that by the valley of the Sind river towards Dras. At the eastern end of the valley a high pass leads across the mountains to the valley of Wardwan, from which travellers can reach Kargil and the Indus on the left, and Kishtwar in the valley of the Chenab on the right.

The flat country or alluvial plain of Kashmir, which is 5300 feet above the sea, is about fifty miles in length, and not more than ten or twelve miles wide. It commences close to Islamabad, where the last spurs of the mountains at the east end of the valley disappear; and terminates at Baramula, where the ranges, branches of the opposite mountain chains, again advance close to the bank of the river. It is traversed in its whole length by the river Jelam, which rises at the east end of the valley, and winds from one side of the plain to the other, at one time washing the base of the northern hills, at another receding to a considerable distance from them. The Jelam flows with a tranquil stream, and, being navigable throughout the whole of the level country as far up as Islamabad, for boats of considerable burden, is the great highway for the traffic of the country, in which, notwithstanding its being perfectly level, wheel-carriages are unknown. At Islamabad it is a very small stream, but it gradually enlarges, by additions from both sides, as it descends. Near the town of Kashmir it is from fifty to a hundred yards wide, often very deep, and in few places fordable, even at the driest season.

LACUSTRINE STRATA. April, 1848.

The plain of Kashmir has evidently at one time been the bed of a lake, a deposit of fine clayey and sandy strata, more rarely partially indurated into a soft sandstone rock, occupying a great part of the surface. Soft pebbly conglomerate is also occasionally met with, and an indurated conglomerate, containing water-worn pebbles, occurs in many places in the lower course of the Sind river. This lacustrine formation forms elevated platforms, which are from fifty to one hundred and fifty feet or more above the level of the river. In many places, both on the Jelam and along the lateral streams which descend from the mountains to join it, the beds of clay have been removed by aqueous action. In such places the plain has a lower level, often very little above the surface of the river, and is covered with rice-fields or with marshy lands, undrained and not under cultivation.

LAKE OF KASHMIR. April, 1848.

The platforms of lacustrine clay are called, in Kashmir, "karewah." They are often quite dry, and generally uncultivated, but where water is procurable they are highly cultivated, yielding luxuriant crops of wheat and barley. A proper application of artificial irrigation would, I believe, make the whole of these more elevated parts of the plain fertile, as the soil is everywhere well adapted for the growth of corn. These karewahs generally run parallel to the lateral streams which join the Jelam, and extend from the base of the mountains till they are cut off by the river. There are, however, in the upper part of the valley, several isolated patches, all horizontally stratified, from which I infer that they had originally been continuous. One of these, near Bijbeara, forms a table-topped hill of considerable extent, surrounded on all sides by low land. Several low hills near Islamabad, also, are evidently outlying patches of the same formation. The sands and sandy clays of these platforms are usually quite non-fossiliferous; but I determined the lacustrine nature of the strata by finding, on the flanks of Takht-i-Suleiman, a hill near the town of Kashmir, and close to the city lake, but at least thirty feet above its level, a bed of clay, which contained, abundantly, shells of the genera Lymnæa and Paludina.

The main chain of the Himalaya, north of Kashmir, consists, where I crossed it, by the Zoji pass north of Baltal, of metamorphic schist; and all its branches, which descend towards the plain of Kashmir, seem to be formed of the same rock. Along the north side of the valley, however, a series of hills of trap rise, almost isolated, out of the plain. Ahathung, near the Wulur lake, is, I believe, the most westerly of these, but I did not visit it, and only infer its structure from its conical shape and from its similarity in appearance to those further east. Near the town of Kashmir there are two of these isolated hills, composed of an amygdaloidal trap: these are Hari-Parbat, which is fortified, and Takht-i-Suleiman, which rises about eight hundred feet above the plain. The former lies to the north-west, and the latter on the north-east side of the town.

The lake or Dal of Kashmir lies to the north of the town, stretching from the base of these two hills to the more lofty mountain range which bounds the valley on the north. It is nearly circular and four or five miles in diameter, but is only open in its northern half, the end nearest the town being occupied by large islands, with narrow channels between them, in some of which there is a good deal of current. Its waters are discharged into the Jelam by a considerable stream, which, flowing from its south-east corner, runs to the westward in a course nearly parallel to the southern margin of the lake for nearly a mile, when it turns abruptly south to enter the Jelam in the middle of the town of Kashmir. This stream is evidently an artificial canal, and the embankment by which it is separated from the lake appears to have been constructed in order to keep the surface of the latter higher than it would naturally be. The stream at its point of exit from the lake flows through a narrow canal of masonry, and has, when the Jelam is low, a fall of several feet. A pair of flood-gates prevent the return of the stream in times of flood, when the waters of the river are higher than those of the lake.

The Wulur lake, below the junction of the Sind river with the Jelam, appears to be similar in appearance to that close to the town, and, like it, to owe its extent in part to artificial means. Its dimensions are, however, much greater. There are several large marshy tracts in different parts of the plain, which, by a little engineering, might also be converted into lakes: one in particular, near Avantipura, is quite under water in spring, though in summer and autumn it is only a swamp.

CLIMATE OF KASHMIR. April, 1848.

The climate of Kashmir is the same as that of the interior valleys of the Himalaya, but modified by its extreme western position, which brings it within the influence of the spring rains which prevail in Affghanistan and the countries on the lower mountain course of the Indus. There are at least four months of winter; and in general a good deal of snow falls. March and April are very rainy; the summer months mostly dry and fine. The periodical rains of India cannot be said to extend into Kashmir; but in July and August showers and thunder-storms are said to be frequent. The spring and autumn are unhealthy seasons. In the former, the cold rainy weather affects those who have already suffered from the malaria produced by the action of a powerful sun on neglected swamps. The abandonment of cultivation, in consequence of the long oppression of the country under a foreign government, has been the cause of the increase of marshy ground. The river in seasons of flood rises higher than the level of the lowest portion of the alluvial land, and is only excluded (as in Holland) by means of artificial works along the course of the river. By the omission to repair these bunds, or dykes, a large extent of country which might be under cultivation is left in a state of swamp.