On board the boat again, I continued the journey towards Srenuggur.  We had not been long afloat before a sudden squall came down from the hills and blew the roof of the boat off; it took a long time to repair the mischief, but fortunately all the matting was blown on to the bank, it was eventually replaced and we proceeded onwards in a tolerably direct line to the capital, ten miles distant.  But near sunset the wind increased again, and compelled us to take refuge in a sheltered nook within a mile or two of Srenuggur, the fort standing above us on the summit of a hill—­imposing from its apparently impregnable position—­and there we remained all night.

AUGUST 5th.—­Starting early, I soon arrived at the outskirts of the town, and the boat entered a canal with houses on both sides.  There was some delay at a lock and great excitement in pushing over the fall caused by the rash of the water.  Passed through the city which is a large one, and encamped under chenars on the banks of the canal on the other side.  The Baboo-Mohu Chundee, an officer appointed by the Maharajah to attend to the many and varying wants of European visitors—­called upon me and afterwards sent “russud” or a present from the Maharajah consisting of tea, sugar, flour, butter, rice, salt, spice, vegetables, a chicken, and a live sheep.  Some cloth merchants also came and I was led into extravagance in purchasing some of their goods.  In the afternoon I got a small boat, a miniature of the larger one, propelled by six men with paddles.  They took me along very quickly, and I went down the canal which opens into the Jhelum—­the main thoroughfare of Suenaggur opposite to the palace and the adjoining temple, whose dome is covered with plates of pure gold.  It is a very strange sight, the broad river covered with boats, and lined by houses built in the curious Kashmirian style.  Seven fine bridges cross it, and on two of them stand rows of shops like our Old London Bridge.  I first went to the Post-office and got a satisfactory communication from our Paymaster, and also a letter from Bill, giving me the sad tidings of poor Tyrwhitt’s death, which took place at Murree a fortnight after my departure.  It is a selfish consideration, but I cannot help feeling grateful that he was prevented by an attack of ague from accompanying me, as he intended.  I then went to Sumnad Sha’s, the great shawl merchant, and turned some of the Paymaster’s paper into silver currency.  He showed me his stock, and I wished that I possessed the means of purchasing his goods.  But even here a good shawl costs thirty or forty pounds, very magnificent they are, but I need not describe that which every English lady knows and longs for, if she has not it.  Hewson, the Paymaster at Chinsurah, is encamped within one hundred yards of me.  Passing in his boat he recognised me, and we went and had a swim and talked over old times at the Depot.