The scenery was very fine as we toiled up the gorge, in which Uri stands
on a plateau over the river and guards the pass into Kashmir valley.

The ruins of an ancient fort rose on the near edge of the little plain.
The Jhelum tore through a rocky gorge far below, and a dark semi-circle of
mountains stood steeply up, their cloud-hidden summits giving fleeting
glimpses of snow and precipice and pine-clad corries as the sun now and
again shot through the clinging vapours.

The dâk bungalow of Uri, white and clean, was most attractive, and I
should imagine the place to be charming in summer, but as yet the short
crisp turf is still brown from recent snow, and although hot in the sun,
which now began to shine steadily, it was extremely cold in the shade,
while lunch (or should I say "tiffin"?) was being got ready. I strolled
over to the post-office to find--as usual--another urgent wire from
Smithson several days old, beseeching me to secure my pass for Astor at
once. Directly after lunch we set forward, and as the road on leaving Uri
takes a long bend of some miles to the right to a point where the Haji Pir
River is crossed, and then sweeps back along its right hank to a spot
almost opposite the dâk bungalow, we thought that a short cut down to the
water, which from our height seemed quite insignificant, and thence up to
the road on the other side, would be a desirable stroll. As we walked down
the steep path into the nullah a brace of red-legged partridges (chikor)
rose in a great fuss, and sailed gaily across the river, whose roaring
gained ominously in volume as we drew near. It soon became plain to us
that everything is on a very big scale in this country, and that the
clearness of the atmosphere helps to delude the unwary stranger. The
little stream that seemed to require but an occasional stepping-stone to
enable us to pass over dry-shod, proved in the first place to be much
farther off than we had supposed, and when, after a hot scramble, we found