Moguls. The extreme
solidity of its piers contrasts strongly with the exceedingly sketchy (and
sketchable) bridges manufactured by the Kashmiri.

In fairness, though, I must point out that, as the bridge in Kashmir
usually spans a stream liable at almost any moment to overwhelming floods,
it would appear to be a sound idea to build as flimsily as possible, with
an eye to economical replacement.

The Kashmiri carries this plan to its logical conclusion when he fells a
tree across a raging torrent, and calls it a bridge, to the unutterable
discomfiture of the Western wayfarer.

[1] That lady subsequently killed a remarkably good 13-pointer bara singh
and some bears in October.

CHAPTER VIII

THE LOLAB

_May_ 1.--The pear and cherry blossom has been so lovely in and around
Srinagar that we determined to go to the Lolab Valley and see the apple
blossom in full flower.

We started in some trepidation, for the warm weather lately has melted
much snow on the hills, and Jhelum is so full that we were told that our
three-decker would be unable to pass under the city bridges--of which
there are seven. We decided to see for ourselves, so set forth about
eleven, and soon came to the first bridge, the Amira Kadal, which carries
the main tonga road into Srinagar, tying up just above it, amid the
clamour and jabber of an idle crowd.

The Admiral solemnly measured the clear space between the top of the arch
and the water with a long pole, consulted noisily with the crowd, yelled
his ideas to the crew, and decided to attempt the passage.

Hen-coops, chairs, half-a-dozen flower-pots containing sickly specimens of
plants, and all other movables being cleared from the upper deck, we set
sail, and shot the bridge very neatly, only having a few inches of
daylight between the upper deck and the wooden beams upon which the
roadway rests.

_Ce nest que, le premier "pont" que coute_.

The other bridges were all easier than the first, and we shot them gaily,
spending the rest of the day in floating quietly down the river, and
finally anchoring--or rather mooring, for anchors are, like boat-hooks,
masts, sails, rudders, and rigging, alike unknown to the "jollye mariners"
of the Jhelum--some two or three miles above the entrance to the dreaded
Wular Lake.

This awful stretch of water, so feared by the Kashmiri that his eyes
goggle when he even thinks of it, is an innocent enough looking lake,
generally occupied in reflec