The survey reconnaissance from the Takht was over. None of us were sorry. We hastened down, and, without reluctance, turned our backs on Solomon's Throne and all the wild glory of its surroundings, – the long grim valley, with its ghostly silence, its myriads of pines, its deep fissures, its fantastic ridges, and its rocky pinnacles on either hand. All hurried back to the standing camp, to wash, to eat, to sleep, to feel jolly over arduous work well done. The genial old General had a cheery word for all those whom he could recognise; for four days and nights spent in high altitudes, sleeping in the smoke of log-fires in innocence of soap and water, had so begrimed some of his officers, that the fair-skinned Englishman's complexion was hardly distinguishable from that of his Asiatic brother, the hardy patient sepoy of Northern India. The rest is soon told. We were all impatient to get back to civilisation again. Bhoosa-laden camels no longer kept the rear-guard out till near midnight. Both bhoosa and other supplies were finished now; but we met some fresh supplies on the way, escorted by a motley contingent of 300 dirty, hungry-looking Shiranis. Our luck hitherto had been great. It could not fail us now. If rain fell before we were through that forbidding Zao defile, we might yet have all that weary work of roadmaking to go through again, and be detained on the wrong side of the pass until we had eaten out our fresh stores of flour and corn. Luck, however, stuck to us. No rain fell. On December 5th last, we re-entered British territory, and two days afterwards the troops marched back into cantonments all travel-stained, many shoeless, and most tattered as to their knickerbockers. Neither shoe-leather nor human skin nor woven texture of the loom had been proof against the sharp incisiveness of the jagged limestone rocks of the Takht.
The expedition was a success. The proverbial iqbál (good fortune) of the Sarkar (Government) carried us through without any serious check. When we started we were heavily handicapped. The chances of opposition in the Zao defile – of rain rendering it impassable after we had placed ourselves in the further side, of exhaustion of supplies, and of the drying up of the Pazai spring – were all contingencies, any one of which might have greatly delayed progress, or even caused total failure, but none of these happened. The season was against us, – that was our only piece of bad luck. Had the expedition been ordered for this year instead of last, we should have been in clover. This cold weather the most barren hills in the most arid tracks of the Suliman Mountain and regions beyond are knee-deep in grass. The rainfall of the late hot weather has been heavy, well distributed, and general. Towards the end of January last, the Lieutenant-Governor of the Punjab marched to Dera Ismail Khán, and held a durbar there. Amongst those introduced were the sectional heads of the Shirani tribe and Abdullah Khán, the Nasar leader, who has been mentioned several times in this paper. The former were feasted and commended for services faithfully rendered, and the latter was honoured both with a handsome robe of honour and a chair.
So ended our excursion, which may justly be regarded as a remarkable episode in the history of India.
