[Pramāṇa](https://indike.org/pramana/) › [Indian literature](https://indike.org/pramana/in) › [Dark Ages](https://indike.org/pramana/in.darkages) › [Travellers (1500–1858)](https://indike.org/pramana/in.darkages.travel) › [Histoire de la dernière révolution des États du Grand Mogol](https://indike.org/pramana/in.darkages.travel.bernier) › [Travels in the Mogul Empire (Constable)](https://indike.org/pramana/in.darkages.travel.bernier~en-constable) › 14 # Travels in the Mogul Empire (Bernier) 14: THE SEVENTH LETTER TO THE SAME Written from the Camp of the Army, marching from Lahor to Kachemire, on the morning of the tenth day of the March. Travels in the Mogul Empire (Constable) 14 - **Language:** English ### [14](https://indike.org/pramana/in.darkages.travel.bernier~en-constable.14) Monsieur, The sun is just but rising, yet the heat is insupportable. There is not a cloud to be seen nor a breath of air to be felt. My horses are exhausted; they have not seen a blade of green grass since we quitted Lahor. My Indian servants, notwithstanding their black, dry, and hard skin, are incapable of further exertion. The whole of my face, my feet, and my hands are flayed. My body too is entirely covered with small red blisters, which prick like needles. Yesterday one of our poor troopers, who was without a tent, was found dead at the foot of a tree, whither he had crept for shelter. I feel as if I should myself expire before night. All my hopes are in four or five limes still remaining for lemonade, and in a little dry curd which I am about to drink diluted with water and with sugar. Heaven bless you ! the ink dries at the end of my pen, and the pen itself drops from my hand. - [Previous: 13](https://indike.org/pramana/in.darkages.travel.bernier~en-constable.13) - [Next: 15.1](https://indike.org/pramana/in.darkages.travel.bernier~en-constable.15.1) --- Source: [https://indike.org/pramana/in.darkages.travel.bernier~en-constable.14](https://indike.org/pramana/in.darkages.travel.bernier~en-constable.14) · Pramāṇa