A large caravan from the heat and sunshine of Amritsar was there.  The goods were stacked under goat’s hair shelters, the mules were huddled together without food, and their shivering Panjabi drivers, muffled in blankets which only left one eye exposed, were grubbing up furze roots wherewith to make smoky fires.  My baggage, which had arrived previously, was lying soaking in the sleet, while the wretched servants were trying to pitch the tent in the high wind.  They had slept out in the snow the night before, and were mentally as well as physically benumbed.  Their misery had a comic side to it, and as the temperature made me feel specially well, I enjoyed bestirring myself and terrified Mando, who was feebly ‘fadding’ with a rag, by giving Gyalpo a vigorous rub-down with a bath-towel.  Hassan Khan, with chattering teeth and severe neuralgia, muffled in my ‘fisherman’s hood’ under his turban, was trying to do his work with his unfailing pluck.  Mando was shedding futile tears over wet furze which would not light, the small wet corrie was dotted over with the Amritsar men sheltering under rocks and nursing hopeless fires, and fifty mules and horses, with dejected heads and dripping tails, and their backs to the merciless wind, were attempting to pick some food from scanty herbage already nibbled to the root.  My tent was a picture of grotesque discomfort.  The big stones had not been picked out from the gravel, the bed stood in puddles, the thick horse blanket was draining over the one chair, the servant’s spare clothing and stores were on the table, the yaks’ loads of wet hay and the soaked grain sack filled up most of the space; a wet candle sputtered and went out, wet clothes dripped from the tent hook, and every now and then Hassan Khan looked in with one eye, gasping out, ’Mem Sahib, I can no light the fire!’ Perseverance succeeds eventually, and cups of a strong stimulant made of Burroughes and Wellcome’s vigorous ‘valoid’ tincture of ginger and hot water, revived the men all round.  Such was its good but innocent effect, that early the next morning Hassan came into my tent with two eyes, and convulsed with laughter.  ‘The pony men’ and Mando, he said, were crying, and the coolie from Leh, who before the storm had wanted to go the whole way to Simla, after refusing his supper had sobbed all night under the ‘flys’ of my tent, while I was sleeping soundly.  Afterwards I harangued them, and told them I would let them go, and help them back; I could not take such poor-spirited miserable creatures with me, and I would keep the Tartars who had accompanied me from Tsala.  On this they protested, and said, with a significant gesture, I might cut their throats if they cried any more, and begged me to try them again; and as we had no more bad weather, there was no more trouble.