beauties of my Mannlicher and ancient 12-bore; but, alas! Mrs. Smithson's rifle was soldered like a sardine into a strong tin case, and no cold-chisel or screwdriver was forthcoming.

Messengers were sent forth to seek the needful instruments, while I proceeded to cut another Gordian knot…. An acquaintance of mine, hearing that I was coming to India, suggested that I should take charge of a parcel for a friend of hers, who wanted to send it to her fiancé in Bombay. As all the heavy baggage was sent from London to join us at Port Saïd, I had not seen the "parcel," and, finding no case or box addressed to any one but myself, I had to select one that seemed most likely to be right, and forward that.

At last the needful appliances were got and the rifle unpacked; but, although it proved to be (as I had said) a large-bore Express, the Baboo refused, like a very Pharaoh, to let it go, and I, after a two-hour vexatious delay, paid the duty on my own guns, and, leaving a note for the chief Customs official, explaining the case and begging him to send the rifle on forthwith, packed myself—hot, hungry, and angry—into a "gharri," and set forth to the Devon Place Hotel, whither the rest of the party had preceded me.

I have gone into this little episode somewhat at length in order to impress upon the voyager to India the necessity for limiting the number of firearms or getting a friend to father the extra ones through the Customs—a perfectly simple matter had one foreseen the difficulty. Also the danger of taking parcels for friends—of which more anon![1]

The Devon Place Hotel may be the best in Karachi, but it is pretty bad…. I am told that all Indian hotels are bad—still, the breakfast was a considerable improvement on the Marie Valerie, and we sallied forth as giants refreshed to have a look at Karachi and do a little shopping. It being Sunday, the banks were closed, but a kindly shopman cashed me a cheque for twenty pounds in the most confiding manner, and enabled us to get the few odds and ends we wanted before going up country—among them a couple of "resais" or quilted cotton wraps and a sola topee for Jane.

Karachi did not strike us as being a particularly interesting town, but that may be to a great extent because we did not see the best part of it. On landing at Kiamari we had only driven along a hot and glaring mole, bordered by swamps and slimy-looking flats for some two miles. Then, on reaching the city proper, a dusty road, bordered by somewhat suburban-looking houses, brought us to the Devon Place Hotel, near the Frere station. After breakfast we merely drove into the bazaars to shop before betaking ourselves to the station, in good time for the 6.30 train.

Passengers—at least first-class passengers—were not numerous, and Major Twining and I had no difficulty in securing two compartments—one for our wives and one for ourselves.

An Indian first-class carriage is roomy, but bare, being arranged with a view to heat rather than cold Two long seats run "fore and aft" on either side, and upon them your servant makes your bed at night. Two upper berths can be let down in case of a crowd. At the end of each compartment is a small toilet-room.

It was unexpectedly chilly at night, and Twining and I were glad to roll ourselves up in as many rugs and "resais" as we could persuade the ladies to leave to us.

[1] A big deal case which we unpacked at Srinagar proved to contain a "life-sized" work-table. The package holding our camp beds and bedding, having a humbler aspect, had been sent to Bombay and cost as a world of worry and expense to recover!

CHAPTER III

KARACHI TO ABBOTABAD

This morning we awoke to find ourselves rattling and shaking our way through the Sind Desert—an interminable waste of sand, barren and thirsty-looking, covered with a patchy scrub of yellowish and grey-purple bushes.

I can well imagine how hatefully hot it can be here, but to-day it has been merely pleasantly warm.

Jane and I were deeply interested in the novel scenes we passed through, which, while new and strange to us, were yet made familiar by what we had read and heard. The quiet-eyed cattle, with their queer humps, were just what we expected to see in the dusty landscape. The chattering crowds in the wayside stations, their bright-coloured garments flaunting in the white sunlight—the fruit-sellers, the water-carriers, were all as though they had stepped out of the pages of Kim—that most excellent of Indian stories.

And so all day we rattled and shook through the Sind Desert in the hot sunlight till the dust lay thick upon us, and our eyes grew tired of watching the flying landscape.

In the afternoon we reached Samasata junction, where the Twinings parted company with us, being bound for Faridkot.

Sorry were we to lose such charming companions, especially as now indeed we become as Babes in the Wood, knowing nothing of the land, its customs, or its language!

Henceforward, Sabz Ali shall be our sheet-anchor, and I think he will not fail us. His English is truly remarkable, so much so that I regret to say I have more than once supposed him to be talking Hindustani when he was discoursing in my own mother-tongue. But he certainly is extraordinarily sharp in taking up what I and the "Mem-sahib" say.

He presented to me to-day a remarkable letter, of which the following is an exact copy. I presume it is a sort of statement as to his general duties:—

"To the MAGER SAHIB.

    "Sir,—I beg to say that General 'Oon Sahib send me to you. He
    order me that the arrangement of Mager Sahib do.

    "To give pice to porter kuli this is my work. This is usefull to
    you.

"You give him many pice.

"Your work is order and to do it my work. You give me Rupee at once. Then I will write it on my book, from which you will see it is right or wrong. Now I am going to Cashmir with you and Cashmiree are thief.

    "If you will give me one man other it will usefull to you. I ask
    one cloth. All Sahib give cloth to Servant on going to Cashmir.

    "If will give cloth then all men say that this Sahib is good. I am
    fear from General 'Oon Sahib. It is order to give cloth.

"I can do all work of cook and bearer. I wish that you will happy on me, also your lady, and say to General 'Oon Sahib that this man is good and honest man.

"I have servant to many Sahib.

"I have more certificate.

    "You are rich man and king. I am poor man. I will take two annas
    allowance per day in Cashmir, you will do who you wish.

    "I wish that you and lady will happy on me. This is begging you
    will.—I remain, Sir, your most obedient Servant,

"SABAZ ALI, Bearer."

Wednesday, March 22.—We slept again in the train on Monday night, and arrived in Lahore about 6 o'clock yesterday morning.

We had been advised to tub and dress in the waiting-rooms at the station, as we had a break of some six hours before going on to Pindi; but, upon investigation, Jane found her waiting-room already fully occupied by an uninviting company of Chi-chis (Eurasians), and several men—their husbands and brothers