Miscellaeous

Lake County Press, Issue 2788, 5 June 1919, Page 7

Miscellaeous

! I J THE "MOUTH OF HELL." At Hit, which has been taken by i our troops operating 1 in Mesopotamia, j there are bitumen and naphtha pits which are of remote antiquity, the j bitumen being used in the building of the walls of Babylon. Water is raised from the river by gigantic waterwheels and the din of these, together with the stench of bitumen, the hot geysers, and smoke from the lime works, earned for the place amonfl the Arabs the name of the "Mouth o Hell." j»SICES OF DRESSES IN PARIS. I * J A simple walking dress in serge [ costs so much in Paris, the "Times" dress gossip reports from there, that most women cannot afford more than one of a kind. The cheapest cost ' £lO and the dearest perhaps £35. For ' a blouse anything from £5 to £lO will • be asked. The excuse for such prices j is the enhanced post of materials, the j wages of labour, rent, taxes, light, heat- ! ing, and the dearness of all other necessaries of life. It is therefore scarcely necessary to tell women they must have fewer dresses; most of them feel no inclination to be extravagant. DWARF ELEPHANTS IN THE ' CONGO. Even in the midst of a world war it is impossible not to feel a thrill of excitement over the discovery of dwarf elephants in the Congo (says a writer in the "Daily Chronicle"). Their existence has again and again been reported by natives, but the evidence was disbelieved. Seven years ago the Paris Museum of Natural History sent out an expedition to seek for the fabled aquatic elephants. A herd was encountered, but the animals vanished at once in Lako Leopold 11., and the story was scouted. Now, remains of two of the little marvels are to be seen in London. Clearly, then, we have at last got the "water elephants," native stones of , which haye been incorporated in so many travellers' tales. With its pygmy elephants and its pygmy men and wo- ; men, what an incredible wonderland i the mysterious continent remains. i ! AT THE KHYBER PASS. t ! On an "Open Day." , About 6.30 a.m. the train slows up, f and a dusky head is thrust into our J compartment. "Coolie, sahib?" No, t we don't want one—What place is this? Peshawar; so we tumble out on the platform. After a search and a full half-hour's walk through the darkened ' streets we find we cannot have breakS fast till 8 o'clock. But by this time the > light is beginning to come in; so we I stroll round and inspect various barracks, and admire the sunrise on the ! hills, which are ten miles distant. The snow-clad summits rising behind the ~ foothills make a hue picture, with u everything tinted pink by the rising t sun - , , i By 8.30 we are seated at a ham-and-[f egg'breakfast and making it look pretty s silly. By and by we are ready for the „ road. Our dinners are put up for us. Is and we get into our tongas, each of u which holds three and the driver. A .]j tonga is a low two-wheeled dogcart, 5 t without any brake, drawn by two horses ie —one in the shafts, the other attached | y by a trace on one side. Our processioi: t of five tongas moves off. a l It is the usual Indian road, tree-lined r . level, and dusty, and making straigln II as ;ni arrow for the gap in the foot st hills, where lies the entrance to tin a Pass. The first object of interest ii ry [smalia College for Mohammedans, am It conspicuous among its buildings is tin d- Mosque, a stately white erection. # Some miles further on we arrive a hi the Fort guarding the Pass entrance a Here we alight, have our passes vori aed, and our names entered in a regis o- tor. We are among the hills almost im as I mediately on re-starting. ve 1 There are several roads at the begin lie Ining of the Pass —evidently old road rs. land new. As we bowl along we overtak ig, (on a companion road) a procession c

m I camels—hundreds of them—with th< o-1 drivers, and a guard of Afridis both o-1 front and behind. Evidently a caravi •yj bound for Afghanistan. Our roads pr s'e south' diverge, and soon we lose sigl >r of them. The road we are on beconv r- a switchback and the hills now seem '• 1, crowd around us. We pass a village < it caves hewn out in the hillside—too f; o off, however, for our minute inspectioi y And now we are in the Pass, closed i 11 on both sides by steep slopes of eart it and loose stones sparsely covered wit 1, bushes. The road ascends; bcconn :- gradually steeper; and on rounding e corner, we behold it doubling and twist 0 ( mu, in great loops along the mountai e' side, tl We alight, and scramble up a shoi 0, cut for about five hundred feet, and s r [ get on to the road again while ou y tongas proceed leisurely around th bends. Wo meet a couple of fierce-looh ing ruffians armed with carbines; the tell us they are Commissioner's polict and let us examine their arms. flnto the tongas once more, and oi heller-skelter through the hills. W j got some tine retrospective views o \ I'oshawar Plain. The air is now ver; 1 keen, but invigorating; we are glad o . our overcoats. 3 We are now in a "wild" country - where every man goes armed, and then - is no law against shooting your neigh ) hour! Even the stone-breakers by th< ■ wayside carry rifles to their work. Air i one who wanders off the road takes hii life in his hands, for all the Khybei ; ItinVs can do is to protect the roat ; through the Pass and the wayfarer; i thereon. Shortly before 1 p.m. we reach tin limit of our day's excursion. Here begins the Pass proper—a narrow, wind i i;ig defile between gigantic mountains On a high conical hill in front of us is s fort, and there is a guardhouse over the road. In the bottom of the valley, just hj fore coming to the fort from the Indian side, runs a small, clear stream among pleasant stretches of green meadow. We dismount, and talk with the native guards. One of them has a knife in a carved brass sheath, which takes our fancy. It is a lovely bit of steel, sharp and shining as a razor. But he rants twenty rupees for it—which is too much. On the other hand, there are things of ours which aro coveted—one is a macintosh, and another is my luminous watch. I am offered two rupees for it, but the price immediately and spontaneously springs to five when f set the alarum ringing. No deals aro carried through, so we hie down to the burn side for lunch and a smoke. No sooner have we finished than we are favoured with an extraordinary sight. A large caravan of Afghans and Persians, coming from the west, winds slowly into view. In length it must be well over a mile. It has the usual guard, in van and in rear. As the camels, laden with merchandise, approach one by one down the road, headed by a black-mustachiod cut-throat on a prancing steed, I am transported to the "Arabian Nights"—probably it is the legend of the Forty Thieves that runs in my head. The caravan comes to a halt just beside us, and we wander among them, and delight our eyes with the unwonted spectacle. The camels are great, clumsy, hairy apparitions with the usual supercilious expression of eye and mouth. Then there .are demure little donkeys whose backs barely come up to your waist; yet their loads seem to be as bulky as those of the camels. There are also horses for chiefs : of the party, and for the old men and I the women. And there are a few bul- ! lock-waggons. The merchandise they carry seems to ve very varied—from grain to carpets; and there are some curious loads to be seen—for example, a donkey with a row of hens and cocks roosting on his back and untrammelled in any way; another is laden with vegetables of all sorts, carrot being predominant. This latter causes a bit of fun by breaking loose from its owner—an aged man with a Jewish countenance—and cattering its load right and left. There is a scramble by the boys of the party, and the aged one is torn between a desire to save his goods and an effort to recapture his moke. He behaves like a man demented, and his caravan associates stand around and, with laughter, express their enjoyment of the scene. After spending an hour or two in Afghan company, we prepare to return to Peshawar. We retrace our morning's journey (with the exception of driving down the hill where we took the short-cut). And jt is now we begin to appreciate the absence of brakes to the tongas. There are some very steep gradients on the road, and it \vinds along the hillsides often high above the valley below, and shoots round corners, and doubles on itself and makes "devil's elbows," and we take the whole course at a gallop. It is but 1a short time when we are clear of the Pass and nearing Peshawar. Sleep overpowers some of our company, what with the long eventful dav and the dusty oad. Yes, there is no doubt one of the redotter days of my travels has been the Ivhyber Pass. Of course, we saw the K'ginning of it some six or eight miles. rat it extends, I believe to thirty or liore miles in all. The scenery of the hills, and the wild-looking hill men, and above all the caravan, gave us, however, a very good idea of what the Pass ■mist be like on an "open day"—a privilege which is granted onlv twice a week. -J. P. L. R. WHAT SOLDIERS' BADCEC MEAN. People are asking the meaning oi ' the different badges, patches, and j stripes that decorate the soldier's 1 khaki. 1 One regiment, the Royal Welsfc - Fusiliers, is permitted to wear a bunct ) of black ribbons, called a "flash," 3 hanging from the back of the tunic col- - lar. Other patches that men wear or 3 their backs and sleeves, just below i their shoulders, are distinguishing 3 marks that various divisions hav< i adopted. * In addition to these patches man} soldiers are wearing a little blue anc ■ red ribbon under the numerals on theii 9 1 shoulder straps. When asked its mean ol ing the men declare that it is an ui» , J official badge to show that they tool f f part in the landing in Gallipofi, anc \.\ is copied from the Australians, win . have a distinctive badge for the saint S' purpose. d , Tho War Office has issued no badgt u or ribbon during the present war ox ( cept the gold stripe for the wounde< 1, men and the silver badgo for men win it nave been discharged. The silve t- stripe that some hospitals have issue* ie to men who have returned ill frou is the Front is entirely out of order, an d is forbidden to be worn on unifonr ie The gold stripe for the wounded is no meant to be worn on civilian clothing it but no official steps are taken to pn e. vent men from wearing it. n- A Maid of Honour is entitled to dowry of £I,OOO on her marriage, ills Strawberries, shellfish, and torn; to toes have a poisonous effect on 6om of people.