12 SPORTING WANDERINGS. 



was a lovely camping-ground, commanding a view 

 of one of the finest glaciers in the world, with a 

 glorious amphitheatre of mountains covered with 

 everlasting snow. 



I was accompanied to this spot by one of the 

 numerous pilgrims who flock up every year to 

 worship at the shrine of Gangajee, having found 

 the poor creature squatting down in his yellow 

 cloth by the side of a little swinging bridge of 

 wire which crosses the gorge through which the 

 Bilung river, a tributary of the Ganges, flows. 

 Except to a mountaineer, walking across is rather 

 jumpy work, as it is only one plank wide, swung 

 on wire, and sways a good deal. If you look 

 down to the torrent rushing and foaming 500 

 feet below, it is by no means conducive to steady 

 nerves. 



In reply to my query as to why he had not 

 crossed, the unfortunate pilgrim told me that he 

 had been there for two days and had started time 

 after time, but always failed for lack of nerve. I 

 then asked if he would trust me to take him 

 across, and he said he would, " for the sahibs 

 never failed in their promises." So telling him 

 to take hold of my belt, shut his eyes, and follow, 

 he did so like a lamb, and in a couple of minutes 



