42.  Then we find the following critical entry:  “I shall NEVER read ‘Lalla Rookh’ again!...  The Vale of Cashmere may sound fine in poetry but it FEELS TOUGH beneath one’s feet whenever one dismounts....  I might overlook the rough spots easily enough had not OLGA suddenly interested herself in my ANCESTRY while she found employment for Maria with her brother, who seems sadly out of breath....  My ‘prisoner’ has forgotten all about me in the absorbing interest he displays in what he declares to be EARLY MISSIONARY WORK OF JESUS in these very interesting stretches.  It has been no easy matter for me to pilot this party outside the range of camel caravans and soldiers on their way from the Punjab Valley toward RAWAL PINDI....  The rattle of our tongas might be heard at any moment and then our little caravan, disguised as Buddhists, might spend some time in the GUARDHOUSE at Murree....  We will not regret the shade and comparative coolness of that pleasant Summer Resort,—­but none of us are longing for any more confinement....  The road from Murree down the valley was gullied by the terrific rain we have been wading through....  I have never seen a blacker night nor a heavier rain than we have just come through...  We were constantly in fear of the falling of those gigantic boulders that overhung our path behind the swishing trees that clung along the precipice....  The zigzag road that runs down this slope is like a spiral stair in crookedness and bumps....  We could catch a glimpse now and again of a light from the little bungalows that clung to the mountain sides....  But we dare not arouse the dwellers for many obvious reasons....  Finally we did encounter an abandoned inn or hut where we camped for the night....  Next morning in a fierce and searching sun we rambled into a village set upon a wonderful defile in the heart of the mountains, where we ate our frugal meal....  At night we reached the Jhelum coursing gracefully over rocky beds and through picturesque gorges that rise into the azure and serene skies of the Himalayan heavens....  It was a delightful place to camp for the night....  At nine the next morning we had reached the little hamlet strung along the river bank and known as Tongua....  Here the girls made a number of purchases and we replenished our commissary for the march before us into mystic dominions of the LAMA....”

XII

THE FLIGHT TO TIBET

43.  Then we get this entry: 

“I did not count the number of Hindu castes we encountered at the trading post of Tongua.... there were a hundred, at least, each bearing on his forehead the mani-colored mark of his particular caste,—­while the stately Kashmirian in his snowy turban and long white tunic seemed carved out of the frozen snows of the towering mountain sides.... we were offered many cabriolets to assist us on our journey, but one look at one of those backless and circular TABLES between the wheels upon which one must sit like a Turkish mouker with his legs crossed to keep from rolling down the precipice was enough to convince us that the camel route was good enough for us.