I cannot start on our Cashmere journey, during which we met with some adventures, without mentioning my wife’s maid, M’Kay. She was born in the Highlands, and a more devoted, warm-hearted woman never lived. She rests in her grave at Nowshera, but she is most kindly remembered by both my wife and myself, for whose comforts she made many sacrifices. It was on a fine evening in April, when the fiery sun was dipping behind the wall of mountains that guard, what alas! has been too well named, the ‘Valley of Death,’ that we left Nowshera in a dāk carriage. The usual difficulty of getting the horses to start was at length overcome, and, with the accompaniment of whips cracking and men shouting, the little nags dashed off at a gallop, which they kept up for nearly the whole stage of seven miles. Fresh, wild-looking steeds were then harnessed, and we started again, with the same cracking of whips and shouting, the frightened animals tearing along over the beautifully-made Trunk Road. Thus we hastened until we arrived at the banks of the mighty Indus. The river was tearing down in full summer flood. The bridge of boats, which was the usual means of crossing, had been removed, as was always done at this season. Our only way to transport ourselves and effects over, was by boats. We left the gharry here, and had to embark in an enormous barge. What a wild scene it was! The moon shone brightly on the troubled waters of the sacred river, which rushed along in frightful rapidity. The naked boatmen, armed with huge poles instead of oars, appeared like the forms we see in a feverish dream. When we were seated in this boat, which we could imagine to be Charon’s, the word was shouted, and, by a vigorous push, we were sent out into the wild rush of waters. The black figures strained every nerve to keep our craft’s head straight for the opposite shore, but the stream whirled us down the dark river which surged around us. Our crew made a tremendous effort, and we felt ourselves swept out of the main current into comparatively smooth waters, while the foaming river hurried along in furious haste. Then came the slow and arduous process of rowing up against the strong current to the place of disembarkation at Attock. Here we found two other gharries awaiting us, and, without further adventures, we went on the remainder of our way. The sun was rising when we trotted into Rawul Pindee. We halted at Roberry’s Hotel during the heat of the day, and in the evening drove out to Barracao, a dāk bungalow at the foot of the hills, where we found our advance guard of servants and horses awaiting us.