1838, March 16th.—We drove out twenty miles, to the place where the palanquins awaited us, travelled dāk all night, found a buggy ready for us at the last stage, and reached our friend’s house at Saharanpūr the next morning by 8 A.M. On the road, about five o’clock in the morning, I was much delighted with the first view of the snowy ranges; I never anticipated seeing mountains covered with snow again, and, as I lay in my palanquin, watching the scene for miles, breathing the cool air from the hills, and viewing the mountains beyond them, I felt quite a different being, charmed and delighted. Mr. and Miss B— received us very kindly; and I had the pleasure of meeting an old friend, Captain Sturt, of the engineers;—the man whose noble conduct distinguished him so highly, and who was shot during the fatal retreat of the army in Afghānistan. In the evening we visited the Botanical Garden; it is an excellent one, and in high order; some tigers were there, fiercely growling over their food, several bears, and a porcupine. The garden is well watered by the canal, which passes through it. The Governor-General broke up his camp at Saharanpūr, and quitted, with a small retinue, for Mussoorī, the day before we arrived.

14th.—We took leave of our friends, and resumed our dāk journey at 4 P.M.; during the night we passed Lord Auckland’s camp, which was pitched in a very picturesque spot at Mohunchaukī: the tents, the elephants, and the camels formed beautiful groups among the trees, and I stopped the palanquin a short time to admire them. We passed through a forest,—or sāl jangal, as they call it,—in which wild elephants are sometimes found, and met with a little adventure: a tiger was lying by the road-side; the bearers put down the palanquin, waved their torches, and howled and screamed with all their might: the light and noise scared the animal,—he moved off. I got out of the palanquin to look at a tiger au naturel, saw some creature moving away, but could not distinguish what animal it was; the bearers were not six feet from him when they first saw him; it was a fine, clear, moonlight night. The jangal looked well, and its interest was heightened by the idea you might now and then see a wild beast. A number of fires were burning on the sides of the hills, and running up in different directions; these fires, they tell me, are lighted by the zamīndars, to burn up the old dry grass; when that is done, the new grass springs up, and there is plenty of food for the cattle; the fires were remarkable in the darkness of the night. For some miles up the pass of Keeree, our way was over the dry bed of a river; on both sides rose high cliffs, covered with trees; the moonlight was strong, and the pass one of great interest; here and there you heard the noise of water, the pleasing sound of a mountain stream turning small mills for grinding corn, called Panchakkī. In the morning we arrived at the Company’s bungalow at Rajpūr.

Rajpūr is situated at the foot of the Hills: I was delighted with the place; the view from the bungalow put me in mind of Switzerland. We went to Mrs. Theodore’s hotel, to see her collection of stuffed birds and beasts; a complete set costs 1600 rupees (£160). At the bottom of the valley between the Hills I heard the most delightful sound of rushing waters: taking a servant with me, I went down the steep footpath, irresistibly attracted by the sound, and found the mountain rill collected into a mill-dam, from which, rushing down, it turned several mills; and one of the streams was turned off into the valley, forming the little cascade, the sound of which had attracted me. How bright, clear, cold, and delicious was the water! Being too unwell to bear the fatigue of climbing the hill, I sent for a hill-pony, called a gūnth; he was brought down; the little fellow never had a woman on his back before, but he carried me bravely up the sheep-path, for road there was none. Motī, the name of the handsome gūnth, is an iron-grey hill-pony,—more like a dwarf-horse than a pony; he has an exceedingly thick, shaggy mane, and a very thick, long tail;—the most sure-footed sagacious animal; he never gets tired, and will go all day up and down hill; seldom fights, and is never alarmed when passing the most dangerous places. Give your gūnth his head, and he will carry you safely. Horses are dangerous,—even the most quiet become alarmed in the hills. Captain S— bought this gūnth at the Hurdwar fair; he came from Almorah, cost 160 rupees (£16); and 300 rupees have been refused for him.

The following history was related to me concerning the gūnth:—Colonel P—, to whom the animal was lent, took him to the Snowy Ranges; “In some pass, by some accident, the gūnth fell down a precipice, and was caught upon an oak tree. There he swung; one struggle would have sent him to the bottom, and to certain death; he never moved. Colonel P—, who was walking at the time, got some people, who descended to the place where the gūnth hung, dug out a standing-place in the side of the hill, just big enough to hold the pony, and contrived to get him off his tree into the spot: the gūnth was so much alarmed, that they left him to recover from his fright on this spot the whole night; and the next morning got him up the precipice in safety to the road.” Any horse would have struggled and have been killed; these gūnths appear to understand that they must be quiet, and their masters will help them. He is a queer-tempered little fellow; he kicked my sā’īs over one day, and always kicks at me if I attempt to pat him; but he carries me capitally: nevertheless, he is “vicious as he is little[29].”

The whole day I roamed about Rajpūr; the Paharīs (the Hill-men), who had come down to bring up our luggage, were animals to stare at: like the pictures I have seen of Tartars,—little fellows, with such flat ugly faces, dressed in black woollen coarse trowsers, a blanket of the same over their shoulders; a black, greasy, round leather cap on their heads, sometimes decorated all round their faces with bunches of Hill-flowers, freshly gathered; a rope round their waists. Their limbs are stout, and the sinews in the legs strongly developed, from constantly climbing the Hills. They are very honest and very idle; moreover, most exceedingly dirty. Such were the little Hill fellows we met at Rajpūr.

16th.—This morning the gūnth came to the door for my companion to ride up the Hills: I was to be carried up in a jampān. A jampān is an arm-chair, with a top to it, to shelter you from the sun or rain; four long poles are affixed to it. Eight of those funny little black Hill fellows were harnessed between the poles, after their fashion, and they carried me up the hill. My two women went up in dolīs, a sort of tray for women, in which one person can sit native fashion; these trays are hung upon long poles, and carried by Hill-men. The ascent from Rajpūr is seven miles, climbing almost every yard of the way. The different views delighted me: on the side of the Hills facing Rajpūr the trees were stunted, and there was but little vegetation; on the other side, the northern, we came upon fine oak and rhododendron trees—such beautiful rhododendrons! they are forest trees, not shrubs, as you have them in England. The people gathered the wild flowers, and filled my lap with them. The jangal pear, in full blossom, the raspberry bushes, and the nettles delighted me; I could not help sending a man from the plains, who had never seen a nettle, to gather one; he took hold of it, and, relinquishing his hold instantly in excessive surprise, exclaimed,—“It has stung me; it is a scorpion plant.” Violets were under every rock; and the wild, pleasing notes of the Hill birds were to be heard in every direction. The delicious air, so pure, so bracing, so unlike any air I had breathed for fifteen years,—with what delight I inhaled it! It seemed to promise health and strength and spirits: I fancied the lurking fever crept out of my body as I breathed the mountain air; I was so happy, so glad I was alive; I felt a buoyancy of spirit, like that enjoyed by a child.

The only bungalow we could procure was one on the top of the hill of Landowr; it was an uncomfortable one, but a roof was not to be despised in such cold weather: we had a fire lighted instantly, and kept it burning all day. Where now was the vile fever that had bowed me down in the plains? It had vanished with the change of climate, as if by magic. The Hill air made me feel so well and strong, we set off on our ponies in the evening to visit Mr. E—’s house; it is beautiful, built with great taste, and highly finished; its situation is fine, on a hill, at the further end of Landowr. Thence we went to Colonel P—’s bungalow, a good house, well situated, but very far from supplies; he offered it to me for the season for 1200 rupees—i.e. £120 for seven months. From the barracks, at the top of Landowr, the view of the Snowy Ranges is magnificent. In any other country these hills would be called mountains; but, being near the foot of the Himalaya, that in the distance tower above them, they have obtained the title of “The Hills.” Landowr, Bhadráj, Ben Oge, are covered with oak and rhododendron trees; the valleys between them, by the Hill people called khuds, are extremely deep: at the bottom of these khuds water is found in little rills, but it is very scarce. About two thousand feet below Landowr water is abundant, and there are some waterfalls. The Hills are very grand, but have not the picturesque beauty of the valley of Chamouni:—and yet it is unfair to make the comparison at Landowr; Chamouni is at the foot of Mont Blanc: to compare the two, one ought to proceed to the foot of the Snowy Ranges, where their solitary grandeur would overpower the remembrance of Mont Blanc. I long to go there: the difficulties and privations would be great; I could not go alone, and the fatigue would be excessive; nevertheless, I long to make a pilgrimage to Gangotrī, the source of the Ganges.

17th.—Started on our ponies at 7 A.M. to ride to Mussoorī, which is only a short distance from Landowr. The scenery at that place is of a tamer cast; the southern side of the hill, on which most of the houses are situated, puts me in mind of the back of the Isle of Wight, but on a larger scale; the projecting rocks and trees, with gentlemen’s houses in every nook, all built on the side of the hill, give the resemblance. The northern side is called the Camel’s Back, from a fancied resemblance of the hill to the shape of that animal; there the scenery differs entirely. The southern side, on which Mussoorī is situated, has few trees, and looks down on the valley of the Dhoon; the northern side is covered with fine trees, the hills abrupt; a wildness and grandeur, unknown on the southern side, is all around you; the valleys fearfully deep, the pathway narrow, and in some parts so bad, only one foot in breadth is left for a pony. At first I felt a cold shudder pass over me, as I rode by such places; in the course of a week I was perfectly accustomed to the sort of thing, and quite fearless. A pathway three feet in width at its utmost breadth, is a handsome road in the Hills; a perpendicular rock on one side, and a precipice, perhaps three or four hundred feet deep, may be on the other. It is all very well when the road is pretty open; but when you have to turn the sharp corner of a rock, if looking over a precipice makes you giddy, shut your eyes, and give your gūnth the rein, and you will be sure to find yourself safe on the other side. The little rascals never become giddy; and after a short time you will turn such corners at a canter, as a thing of course. I was delighted with the wildness of the scenery,—it equalled my expectations. In front of Mussoorī you are in high public, the road called the Mall is from eight to ten feet wide, covered with children, nurses, dogs, and sickly ladies and gentlemen, walking about gaily dressed. I always avoid the Mall; I go out for enjoyment and health, and do not want to talk to people. The children! it is charming to see their rosy faces; they look as well and as strong as any children in England; the climate of the Hills is certainly far superior to that of England. Not liking my bungalow, I changed it for another half way up the hill of Landowr.

17th.—Lord Auckland and the Misses Eden arrived to-day, and took up their residence at Colonel Young’s, a little below, on the hill of Landowr.

From my bungalow the view is beautiful, and we have as much air as man can desire. The first thing was to get pardas, stuffed with cotton, for every window and door; the next, to hire a set of Hill-men, to cut and bring wood from the khuds, and water and grass for the ponies. A long ride round Waverly was the evening’s amusement; then came a dinner of excellent Hill-mutton, by the side of a blazing fire of the beautiful rhododendron wood! The well-closed doors kept out the cold, and my kind relative congratulated me on having lost my fever, and being so comfortable in the Hills.

Visited Mr. Webb’s hotel for families; it is an excellent one, and very commodious. There is a ball-room, and five billiard tables with slate beds; these slate beds have only just arrived in India, and have very lately been introduced in England.

19th.—During the time I was waiting for my relative, who had accompanied Lord Auckland, to show him the hospital and the different buildings at Landowr, which were under his charge, my attention was arrested by a great number of Hill-men, carrying large bundles of moss down to the plains; they grind up the moss with barley-meal, and use it as soap; it is in great repute at weddings.

Rode my little black horse, but found him not so pleasant in the Hills as a gūnth, and more fatiguing. At the foot of Landowr there is an excellent bazār: every thing is to be had there,—Pâtée foie gras, bécasses truffés, shola hats covered with the skin of the pelican, champagne, bareilly couches, shoes, Chinese books, pickles, long poles for climbing the mountains, and various incongruous articles. Many years ago, a curious little rosary had been brought me from the santa casa of our Lady of Loretto;—a fac-simile of the little curiosity was lying for sale in the Landowr bazār, amongst a lot of Hindūstanī shoes!

The Governor-General and his party quitted Landowr, and returned to Rajpūr, on their march to Simla, up the valley of the Deyra Doon.

In the evening I rode out to see Ben Oge and Bhadráj: at the foot of Ben Oge is a boys’ school; a number of little fellows were out at play. There is also a girls’ school at Mussoorī. Here English children can receive some education in a fine climate.

20th.—Rainy; thermometer in the verandah at noon, 56°; at 3 o’clock P.M. 54°.

21st.—The Hills covered and hidden by deep clouds; thunder and lightning, with some rain. Thermometer, 8 A.M. 46°; evening fine, heavy rain at night.

23rd.—Captain E. S— has an estate in the Hills, called Cloud End,—a beautiful mountain, of about sixty acres, covered with oak trees: on this spot he had long wished to build a house, and had prepared the plan, but his duties as an engineer prevented his being long enough at a time in the Hills to accomplish the object. I offered to superintend the work during his absence, if he would mark out the foundation: a morning’s ride brought us to his estate, situated between a hill, called “the Park,” and Ben Oge, with Bhadráj to the west; the situation is beautiful,—the hills magnificent and well-wooded. Having fixed on the spot for the house,—the drawing-room windows to face a noble view of the Snowy Ranges,—the next thing was to mark a pathway to be cut into the Khud, a descent of two miles, for the mules to bring up water.

The plan of the house was then marked out, and a site was selected for my hill-tent, commanding a view of the Himalaya: this little tent was made to order at Fathīgarh,—it is twelve feet square, the walls four feet high, and has two doors. A stone wall is to be built around it, a chimney at one end, and a glass door at the other; a thatch will be placed over it, and this will be my habitation when I go to Cloud End, or when I make excursions into the Hills; my kitchen will be an old oak tree. The Hills are so steep, a single pole tent of the usual size can be pitched in very few places. Under an old oak, on a rock covered with wild flowers, I sat and enjoyed the scene: the valley of the Doon lay stretched before me, and the Hills around me. There is a rhododendron tree on this estate that bears white flowers,—it is a great rarity, and highly prized; all the flowers of the other rhododendron trees are of a magnificent crimson. The Hill-men are fond of sucking the juice from the petals, which, it is said, possesses an intoxicating quality.

Stormy-looking clouds were rolling up from the valley towards the Hills: returning home, we were caught in as fine a storm as I almost ever beheld; it was a glorious sight,—the forked lightning was superb, the thunder resounded from hill to hill, the hail and rain fell heavily: for about two hours the storm raged. We took shelter in a Europe shop; towards night it decreased; wrapped in black blankets, which we procured from the bazār, we got home in safety; the rain could not penetrate the black blankets, the wool of which is so oily. The storm raged with violence during the night, but I heard it not: in the morning the Hill-tops were covered with snow: at 7 A.M. the thermometer 38° in the verandah; in the room at noon with a fire it stood at 57°.

25th.—My relative left me, taking back all useless servants, and the camels from Rajpūr.

Visited the Hospital, of which Mr. Morrow is the steward, to see his collection of birds. The specimens are very well preserved with arsenical soap, and they sell well on that account: he had two pair of the Moonāl pheasants alive, their plumage bright and beautiful. The collection was large; I selected only a few specimens, as follows:—

The Golden Eagle of the Himalaya: a bird I have often seen flying around Landowr; and a remarkably fine one. Also the Black Eagle of these mountains.

The Loonjee, or Red Pheasant, from the deep forests of the Himalaya: a bird rare and valuable; the skin on the neck is peculiar; in confinement they are timid and quiet, but the light annoys them, from being accustomed to the shade of the forests.

The Moonāl, Duffeah, or Blue Pheasant of the Himalaya: these birds are brought from the interior; they are seldom found so far down as Landowr; nevertheless, one was shot at Cloud End, Bhadráj; they are timid at first in confinement,—after a few days, they will eat wheat in your presence, and show no signs of alarm. The eggs they lay when in cages might be brought to England; why should they not thrive in our climate, since they are inhabitants of a cold region? The hen-bird, although less splendid in plumage than the cock, is very game.

The Koklás Pheasant, common in the Hills, is also a very game-looking bird.

The Callinge Pheasant, with its peculiar top-knot, is, as well as those before mentioned, excellent food. Other pheasants are found in the Himalaya, of which I was unable to procure specimens.

Black Partridges: the most beautiful in the world are found in most parts of India; they are a great delicacy.

The Chakor, or Red-legged Partridge: very similar to the French Partridge; excellent food: they may be rendered so tame, they will run about the house and garden. Chakor, the Bartavelli, or Greek Partridge (Perdix chukar, Gould.; Perdix rufa, Lath): said to be enamoured of the moon, and to eat fire at the full of the moon. This bird is also called ātash-khwār (fire-eater), a variety of Tetrao rufus, Lin.; called, in Hindī, Chakor. It is also denominated “Moon Bird,” and “Minion of the Moon.” The common grey partridge is coarse and inferior.

Bush Quail and Rock Quail: beautiful and delicious. When buying a number of quail, which are caught in nets, you will rarely find a cock bird, if caught near Lucnow, or any native court; they are taken out, and sold as fighting birds. Quail are numerous all over India, and generally sold twenty-five per rupee.

A Jangal Cock and Hen: the wild cock and hen of the woods, common over all India; the stock to which all common fowls owe their origin. There are various kinds of fowls in India; the ghāgas are large, fine, and very long legged, like game birds; the chatgaiyān are fine also; the karaknāth are considered very delicate by the natives, but the purple colour of their bones has a disagreeable appearance.

Green Pigeons: beautiful birds. Blue Pigeons: which inhabit the wells; it is said the fare of an aide-de-camp is “hard work and blue pigeons!”

The Barbet, the Blackbird, the Blue-winged Jay, the Long-tailed Blue Jay, the Woodpecker, Humming Birds, the Shah Humming Bird, the Mocking Bird, and the Cuckoo, whose note is delightful in the Hills, recalling thoughts of early youth and home.

The Chand Chuck, the King Crow: a most courageous little fellow, who fights and bullies all the crows in admirable style: hence his name, King Crow.

Flycatchers, Dhobī Birds, Magpies, and the Rana Chiriyā: the colour of the cock is a brilliant scarlet; that of the ranee, the hen-bird, is a bright yellow. They appear during the hot winds.

The Mango Bird: so called as they are seen during the mango season.

The Rocket Bird: with the most elegant long white feathers in its tail.

The birds brought from the interior by the Paharīs must have the moss taken out with which they are stuffed, and be prepared with arsenical soap; otherwise, the feathers will fall off.

28th.—Some Hill-men brought me two pair of the Moonāl pheasants alive; I bought them. They eat wheat, and live very quietly in their cages.

31st.—Spent the day at Cloud End, overlooking the workmen. The mountain on which they are building the house will supply almost all the materials: the stones, which are cut out of it for the walls of the house, are at first so soft, they appear to be rotten; but exposure to the air will harden them in a fortnight. The beams are from the old oak trees; the lime is burned from the stones; but the slates are to be brought from a neighbouring mountain; and the frames for the doors and windows will be procured, ready-made, from Rajpūr.

The day was very hot, but the breeze delightful: returning home, I was seized with illness, and my pulse being one hundred and twenty, called in medical aid. It is not agreeable to be suffering from illness, on the top of a mountain, far away from all one’s friends,—depressed, and out of spirits, with nothing to amuse one but the leeches, hanging, like love-locks, from one’s temples.

A recovery from illness is a pleasant state, where you have around you beautiful scenery and pure air. The Hills have all that secret treasury of spots, so secluded, that you seem to be their first discoverer; lonely glens and waterfalls, on which the sun’s rays scarcely rest one hour in the twenty-four; cold hidden basins of living water; and all so shut out from intrusion of the human race, that, in spirit, you become blended with the scene.

April 16th.—Spent the day at Mr. E—’s: in the evening, as we were going down the hill, which is exceedingly steep, I was so nervous, from recent fever, that I could not ride down the descent; therefore the gūnth was led, and I walked. The pathway, or rather sheep-track, not one foot in breadth, is covered with loose stones, and on the edge of a precipice. Miss B— rode down perfectly unconcerned. From the bottom of the Khud I rode up the next hill, to see a house, called Newlands; which has been struck and burned three times by lightning. The hill is said to contain a quantity of iron, which attracts the electric fluid. A lady and her ayha were killed there by the lightning. On my return I rode up the hill I had not had the courage to ride down; even that was enough to make me nervous, after having suffered from recent fever so many days. A short time ago, as Major Blundell was going to that very house, Newlands, by some accident, his gūnth fell over the precipice, and they were both dashed to pieces. At one place I dismounted, and climbed the side of the bank, whilst the servants held the gūnths during the time three mules had to pass them. The passing was effected with great difficulty, and one of the mules was nearly over the precipice, so narrow was the pathway.