ersed,
which seemed to sink farther and farther away from us. As the sun's last
glances rested upon the tops of the mountains, our tonga came gaily out
from the zigzags which the eye could still trace far down the
forest-clad slope, and halted at the little city of Mure; where the
families of the English functionaries came to seek shade and
refreshment.

Ordinarily, one can go in a tonga from Mure to Srinagar; but at the
approach of the winter season, when all Europeans desert Kachmyr, the
tonga service is suspended. I undertook my journey precisely at the time
when the summer life begins to wane, and the Englishmen whom I met upon
the road, returning to India, were much astonished to see me, and made
vain efforts to divine the purpose of my travel to Kachmyr.

Abandoning the tonga, I hired saddle horses--not without considerable
difficulty--and evening had arrived when we started to descend from
Mure, which is at an altitude of 5,000 feet. This stage of our journey
had nothing playful in it. The road was torn in deep ruts by the late
rains, darkness came upon us and our horses rather guessed than saw
their way. When night had completely set in, a tempestuous rain
surprised us in the open country, and, owing to the thick foliage of the
centenarian oaks which stood on the sides of our road, we were plunged
in profound darkness. That we might not lose each other, we had to
continue exchanging calls from time to time. In this impenetrable
obscurity we divined huge masses of rock almost above our heads, and
were conscious of, on our left, a roaring torrent, the water of which
formed a cascade we could not see. During two hours we waded in the mud
and the icy rain had chilled my very marrow, when we perceived in the
distance a little fire, the sight of which revived our energies. But how
deceitful are lights in the mountains! You believe you see the fire
burning quite near to you and at once it disappears, to reappear again,
to the right, to the left, above, below you, as if it took pleasure in
playing tricks upon the harassed traveller. All the time the road makes
a thousand turns, and winds here and there, and the fire--which is
immovable--seems to be in continual motion, the obscurity preventing you
realizing that you yourself modify your direction every instant.

I had quite given up all hope of approaching this much-wished-for fire,
when it appeared again, and this time so near that our horses stopped
before it.

I