A Canvas Canoe 291 



the advent of a British flotilla up the Chitral 

 river. 



A few weeks later I was crossing the Shandur 

 Pass on the way to Gilgit. The Pass consists of a 

 broad plain some 12,000 feet above the sea, one 

 side of which is taken up by a lake four or five 

 miles in length, frequented during the autumn by 

 geese and wild-fowl. 



In winter it is, of course, fathoms deep in snow, 

 and it was in this state that Colonel Kelly and his 

 gallant men crossed it in '95 on their famous march 

 to Chitral. I was walking round the farther shore 

 accompanied by my old stalker, Gul Sher, in the 

 hopes of a shot. Mounting a narrow promontory 

 which ran out into the lake, we peered over and 

 saw a gaggle of six or eight geese preening them- 

 selves on the grassy margin, and not eighty yards 

 away. A chance for the four-bore and no mistake. 

 The ponderous weapon was pushed over a rock and 

 levelled, and with a setting of teeth and bracing of 

 muscles for a single four-bore burning ten drachms 

 is no plaything the trigger was pulled. The flash 

 and roar was over, and I had survived the stun- 

 ning kick that made the TopJchana (artillery field- 

 piece), as Gul Sher used to call it, a gun for only 

 great occasions, and three geese were flapping on 



