A WET RIDE 85 



had gone down sufficiently to admit of crossing. 

 It was a risky performance. First of all I had to 

 be carried across on the shoulders of coolies. Then 

 followed my beloved rifles. I was much more 

 apprehensive about them than about myself. Then 

 came my small amount of luggage, and finally the 

 bullocks were swum across and the carts were 

 floated across. The local Indian officials of 

 subordinate degree were extraordinarily helpful 

 and the coolies worked grandly, up to their chins 

 in water. I got across without losing anything 

 and without even wetting my feet. I rejoined 

 my people and heavier luggage, and got on to 

 Uttapalayam, where I had some luncheon kindly 

 got ready for me by a young Mr. Vernede, a rubber 

 planter, who had kindly volunteered to pilot me 

 up to the top of the Cardamom Hills, which are 

 really mountains 4,000 feet high, and look after 

 me there. Having got my possessions on the 

 heads of coolies, he and I started for a twenty- 

 mile ride on hill ponies. Within twenty minutes 

 of leaving Uttapalayam a cyclone burst, the worst 

 known for some years in Travancore. It was not 

 rain, it was literally sheets of water that poured 

 down upon us. It also blew a gale of great 

 violence. In two minutes we were soaking wet 

 to the skin. The whole of my effects, including 

 my bedding, rifles, and spare clothes, were soaked. 

 Half-way up the mountains we lost the servants, 

 who had simply collapsed, and by the time we had 

 done a third of the journey, under very great 

 difficulty, it became impossible to ride owing to the 

 torrents having washed away the bridle-paths. 

 There was no help for it, and I had to face twelve 



