Leave Mywa—Suspension bridge—Landslips—Vegetation—Slope of
riverbed—Bees’ nests—Glacial phenomena—Tibetans, clothing, ornaments,
amulets, salutation, children, dogs—Last Limboo village,
Taptiatok—Beautiful scenery—Tibet village of
Lelyp—_Opuntia_—_Edgeworthia_—Crab-apple—Chameleon and
porcupine—Praying machine—_Abies Brunoniana_—European plants—Grand
scenery—Arrive at Wallanchoon—Scenery around—Trees—Tibet houses—Manis
and Mendongs—Tibet household—Food—Tea-soup—Hospitality—Yaks and Zobo,
uses and habits of—Bhoteeas—Yak-hair tents—Guobah of
Walloong—Jhatamansi—Obstacles to proceeding—Climate and
weather—Proceed—Rhododendrons, etc.—Lichens—_Poa annua_ and Shepherd’s
purse—Tibet camp—Tuquoroma—Scenery of pass—Glaciers and
snow—Summit—Plants, woolly, etc.
On the 18th November, we left Mywa Guola, and continued up the river to
the village of Wallanchoon or Walloong, which was reached in six
marches. The snowy peak of Junnoo (alt. 25,312 feet.) forms a
magnificent feature from this point, seen up the narrow gorge of the
river, bearing N.N.E. about thirty miles. I crossed the Mewa, an
affluent from the north, by another excellent suspension bridge. In
these bridges, the principal chains are clamped to rocks on either
shore, and the suspended loops occur at intervals of eight to ten feet;
the single sal-plank laid on these loops swings terrifically, and the
handrails not being four feet high, the sense of insecurity is very
great.
The Wallanchoon road follows the west bank, but the bridge above having
been carried away, we crossed by a plank, and proceeded along very
steep banks of decomposed chlorite schist, much contorted, and very
soapy, affording an insecure footing, especially where great landslips
had occurred, which were numerous, exposing acres of a reddish and
white soil of felspathic clay, sloping at an angle of 30°. Where the
angle was less than 15°, rice was cultivated, and partially irrigated.
The lateral streams (of a muddy opal green) had cut beds 200 feet deep
in the soft earth, and were very troublesome to cross, from the
crumbling cliffs on either side, and their broad swampy channels.
Five or six miles above Mywa, the valley contracts much, and the Tambur
(whose bed is elevated about 3000 feet) becomes a turbulent river,
shooting along its course with immense velocity, torn into foam as it
lashes the spurs of rock that flank it, and the enormous boulders with
which its bed is strewn.[69] From this elevation to 9000 feet, its
sinuous track extends about thirty miles, which gives the mean fall of
200 feet to the mile, quadruple of what it is for the lower part of its
course. So long as its bed is below 5000 feet, a tropical vegetation
prevails in the gorge, and along the terraces, consisting of tall
bamboo, _Bauhinia, Acacia, Melastoma,_ etc.; but the steep mountain
sides above are either bare and grassy, or cliffs with scattered shrubs
and trees, and their summits are of splintered slaty gneiss, bristling
with pines: those faces exposed to the south and east are invariably
the driest and most grassy; while the opposite are well wooded.
_Rhododendron arboreum_ becomes plentiful at 5000 to 6000 feet, forming
a large tree on dry clayey slopes; it is accompanied by _Indigofera,
Andromeda,_ _Spiræa,_ shrubby _Compositæ,_ and very many plants absent
at similar elevations on the wet outer Dorjiling ranges.
[69] In some places torrents of stone were carried down by landslips,
obstructing the rivers; when in the beds of streams, they were often
cemented by felspathic clay into a hard breccia of angular quartz,
gneiss, and felspar nodules.
In the contracted parts of the valley, the mountains often dip to the
river-bed, in precipices of gneiss, under the ledges of which wild bees
build pendulous nests, looking like huge bats suspended by their wings;
they are two or three feet long, and as broad at the top, whence they
taper downwards: the honey is much sought for, except in spring, when
it is said to be poisoned by Rhododendron flowers, just as that, eaten
by the soldiers in the retreat of the Ten Thousand, was by the flowers
of the _R. ponticum._
Above these gorges are enormous accumulations of rocks, especially at
the confluence of lateral valleys, where they rest upon little flats,
like the river-terraces of Mywa, but wholly formed of angular shingle,
flanked with beds of river-formed gravel: some of these boulders were
thirty or forty yards across, and split as if they had fallen from a
height; the path passing between the fragments.[70] At first I imagined
that they had been precipitated from the mountains around; and I
referred the shingle to land-shoots, which during the rains descend
several thousand feet in devastating avalanches, damming up the rivers,
and destroying houses, cattle, and cultivation; but though I still
refer the materials of many such terraces to this cause, I consider
those at the mouths of valleys to be due to ancient glacial action,
especially when laden with such enormous blocks as are probably
ice-transported.
[70] The split fragments I was wholly unable to account for, till my
attention was directed by Mr. Darwin to the observations of
Charpentier and Agassiz, who refer similar ones met with in the Alps,
to rocks which have fallen through crevasses in glaciers.—See “Darwin
on Glaciers and Transported Boulders in North Wales.” London, “Phil.
Mag.” xxi. p. 180.
A change in the population accompanies that in the natural features of
the country, Tibetans replacing the Limboos and Khass-tribes of Nepal,
who inhabit the lower region. We daily passed parties of ten or a dozen
Tibetans, on their way to Mywa Guola, laden with salt; several families
of these wild, black, and uncouth-looking people generally travelling
together. The men are middle-sized, often tall, very square-built and
muscular; they have no beard, moustache, or whiskers, the few hairs on
their faces being carefully removed with tweezers. They are dressed in
loose blanket robes, girt about the waist with a leather belt, in which
they place their iron or brass pipes, and from which they suspend their
long knives, chopsticks, tobacco-pouch, tweezers, tinder-box, etc. The
robe, boots, and cap are grey, or striped with bright colours, and they
wear skull-caps, and the hair plaited into a pig-tail.
The women are dressed in long flannel petticoats and spencer, over
which is thrown a sleeveless, short, striped cloak, drawn round the
waist by a girdle of broad brass or silver links, to which hang their
knives, scissors, needlecases, etc., and with which they often strap
their children to their backs; the hair is plaited in two tails, and
the neck loaded with strings of coral and glass beads, and great lumps
of amber, glass, and agate. Both sexes wear silver rings and ear-rings,
set with turquoises, and square amulets upon their necks and arms,
which are boxes of gold or silver, containing small idols, or the
nail-parings, teeth, or other reliques of some sainted Lama,
accompanied with musk, written prayers, and other charms. All are
good-humoured and amiable-looking people, very square and Mongolian in
countenance, with broad mouths, high cheek-bones, narrow, upturned
eyes, broad, flat noses, and low foreheads. White is their natural
colour, and rosy cheeks are common amongst the younger women and
children, but all are begrimed with filth and smoke; added to which,
they become so weather-worn from exposure to the most rigorous climate
in the world, that their natural hues are rarely to be recognised.
Their customary mode of saluting one another is to hold out the tongue,
grin, nod, and scratch their ear; but this method entails so much
ridicule in the low countries, that they do not practise it to Nepalese
or strangers; most of them when meeting me, on the contrary, raised
their hands to their eyes, threw themselves on the ground, and kotowed
most decorously, bumping their foreheads three times on the ground;
even the women did this on several occasions. On rising, they begged
for a bucksheesh, which I gave in tobacco or snuff, of which they are
immoderately fond. Both men and women constantly spin wool as they
travel.
[Illustration: Tibet mastiff]
These motley groups of Tibetans are singularly picturesque, from the
variety in their parti-coloured dresses, and their odd appearance.
First comes a middle-aged man or woman, driving a little silky black
yak, grunting under his load of 260 lb. of salt, besides pots, pans,
and kettles, stools, churn, and bamboo vessels, keeping up a constant
rattle, and perhaps, buried amongst all, a rosy-cheeked and lipped
baby, sucking a lump of cheese-curd. The main body follow in due order,
and you are soon entangled amidst sheep and goats, each with its two
little bags of salt: beside these, stalks the huge, grave, bull-headed
mastiff, loaded like the rest, his glorious bushy tail thrown over his
back in a majestic sweep, and a thick collar of scarlet wool round his
neck and shoulders, setting off his long silky coat to the best
advantage; he is decidedly the noblest-looking of the party, especially
if a fine and pure black one, for they are often very ragged,
dun-coloured, sorry beasts. He seems rather out of place, neither
guarding nor keeping the party together, but he knows that neither
yaks, sheep, nor goats, require his attention; all are perfectly tame,
so he takes his share of work as salt-carrier by day, and watches by
night as well. The children bring up the rear, laughing and chatting
together; they, too, have their loads, even to the youngest that can
walk alone.
The last village of the Limboos, Taptiatok, is large, and occupies a
remarkable amphitheatre, apparently a lake-bed, in the course of the
Tambur. After proceeding some way through a narrow gorge, along which
the river foamed and roared, the sudden opening out of this broad, oval
expanse, more than a mile long, was very striking: the mountains rose
bare and steep, the west flank terminating in shivered masses of rock,
while that on the right was more undulating, dry, and grassy: the
surface was a flat gravel-bed, through which meandered the rippling
stream, fringed with alder. It was a beautiful spot, the clear, cool,
murmuring river, with its rapids and shallows, forcibly reminding me of
trout-streams in the highlands of Scotland.
Beyond Taptiatok we again crossed the river, and ascended over dry,
grassy, or rocky spurs to Lelyp, the first Bhoteea village; it stands
on a hill fully 1000 feet above the river, and commands a splendid view
up the Yalloong and Kambachen valleys, which open immediately to the
east, and appear as stupendous chasms in the mountains leading to the
perpetual snows of Kinchin-junga. There were about fifty houses in the
village, of wood and thatch, neatly fenced in with wattle, the ground
between being carefully cultivated with radishes, buckwheat, wheat, and
millet. I was surprised to find in one enclosure a fine healthy plant
of _Opuntia,_ in flower, at this latitude and elevation. A Lama, who is
the head man of the place, came out to greet us, with his family and a
whole troop of villagers; they were the same class of people as I have
elsewhere described as Cis-nivean Tibetans, or Bhoteeas; none had ever
before seen an Englishman, and I fear they formed no flattering opinion
from the specimen now presented to them, as they seemed infinitely
amused at my appearance, and one jolly dame clapped her hands to her
sides, and laughed at my spectacles, till the hills echoed.
_Elæagnus_ was common here, with _Edgeworthia Gardneri,_[71] a
beautiful shrub, with globes of waxy, cowslip-coloured, deliciously
scented flowers; also a wild apple, which bears a small austere fruit,
like the Siberian crab. In the bed of the river rice was still
cultivated by Limboos, and subtropical plants continued. I saw, too, a
chameleon and a porcupine, indicating much warmth, and seeming quite
foreign to the heart of these stupendous mountains. From 6000 to 7000
feet, plants of the temperate regions blend with the tropical; such as
rhododendron, oak, ivy, geranium, berberry, clematis, and shrubby
_Vaccinia,_ which all made their appearance at Loongtoong, another
Bhoteea village. Here, too, I first saw a praying machine, turned by
water; it was enclosed in a little wooden house, and consisted of an
upright cylinder containing a prayer, and with the words, “Om mani
padmi om,” (Hail to him of the Lotus and Jewel) painted on the
circumference: it was placed over a stream, and made to rotate on its
axis by a spindle which passed through the floor of the building into
the water, and was terminated by a wheel.
[71] A plant allied to _Daphne,_ from whose bark the Nepal paper is
manufactured. It was named after the eminent Indian botanist, brother
of the late Miss Edgeworth.
Above this the road followed the west bank of the river; the latter was
a furious torrent, flowing through a gorge, fringed with a sombre
vegetation, damp, and dripping with moisture, and covered with long
_Usnea_ and pendulous mosses. The road was very rocky and difficult,
sometimes leading along bluff faces of cliffs by wooden steps and
single rotten planks. At 8000 feet I met with pines, whose trunks I had
seen strewing the river for some miles lower down: the first that
occurred was _Abies Brunoniana,_ a beautiful species, which forms a
stately blunt pyramid, with branches spreading like the cedar, but not
so stiff, and drooping gracefully on all sides. It is unknown on the
outer ranges of Sikkim, and in the interior occupies a belt about 1000
feet lower than the silver fir (_A. Webbiana_). Many sub-alpine plants
occur here, as _Lecesteria, Thalictrum,_ rose, thistles, alder, birch,
ferns, bcrberry, holly, anemone, strawberry, raspberry, _Gnaphalium,_
the alpine bamboo, and oaks. The scenery is as grand as any pictured by
Salvator Rosa; a river roaring in sheets of foam, sombre woods, crags
of gneiss, and tier upon tier of lofty mountains flanked and crested
with groves of black firs, terminating in snow-sprinkled rocky peaks.
[Illustration: Tambur River at the lower limit of pines]
I now found the temperature getting rapidly cooler, both that of the
air, which here at 8,066 feet fell to 32° in the night, and that of the
river, which was always below 40°. It was in these narrow valleys only,
that I observed the return cold current rushing down the river-courses
during the nights, which were usually brilliant and very cold, with
copious dew: so powerful, indeed, was the radiation, that the upper
blanket of my bed became coated with moisture, from the rapid
abstraction of heat by the frozen tarpaulin of my tent.
The rivers here are often fringed by flats of shingle, on which grow
magnificent yews and pines; some of the latter were from 120 to 150
feet high, and had been blown down, owing to their scanty hold on the
soil. I measured one, _Abies Brunoniana,_ twenty feet in girth. Many
alpine rhododendrons occur at 9000 feet, with _Astragalis_ and creeping
Tamarisk. Three miles below Wallanchoon the river forks, being met by
the Yangma from the north-east; they are impetuous torrents of about
equal volume; the Tambur especially (here called the Walloong) is often
broken into cascades, and cuts a deep gorge-like channel.
I arrived at the village of Wallanchoon on the 23rd of November. It is
elevated 10,385 feet, and situated in a fine open part of the Tambur
valley, differing from any part lower down in all its natural features;
being broad, with a rapid but not turbulent stream, very grassy, and
both the base and sides of the flanking mountains covered with
luxuriant dense bushes of rhododendron, rose, berberry and juniper.
Red-legged crows, hawks, wild pigeons, and finches, abounded. There was
but little snow on the mountains around, which are bare and craggy
above, but sloping below. Bleak and forbidding as the situation of any
Himalayan village at 10,000 feet elevation must be, that of Wallanchoon
is rendered the more so from the comparatively few trees; for though
the silver fir and juniper are both abundant higher up the valley, they
have been felled here for building materials, fuel, and export to
Tibet. From the naked limbs and tall gaunt black trunks of those that
remain, stringy masses of bleached lichen (_Usnea_) many feet long,
stream in the wind. Both men and women seemed fond of decorating their
hair with wreaths of this lichen, which they dye yellow with leaves of
_Symplocos._
[Illustration: Wallanchoon village]
The village is very large, and occupies a flat on the east bank of the
river, covered with huge boulders: the ascent to it is extremely steep,
probably over an ancient moraine, though I did not recognise it as such
at the time. Cresting this, the valley at once opens, and I was almost
startled with the sudden change from a gloomy gorge to a broad flat and
a populous village of large and good painted wooden houses, ornamented
with hundreds of long poles and vertical flags, looking like the fleet
of some foreign port; while a swarm of good-natured, intolerably dirty
Tibetans, were kotowing to me as I advanced.
The houses crept up the base of the mountain, on the flank of which was
a very large, long convent; two-storied, and painted scarlet, with a
low black roof, and backed by a grove of dark junipers; while the
hill-sides around were thickly studded with bushes of deep green
rhododendron, scarlet berberry, and withered yellow rose. The village
contained about one hundred houses, irregularly crowded together, from
twenty to forty feet high, and forty to eighty feet long; each
accommodating several families. All were built of upright strong
pine-planks, the interstices of which were filled with yak-dung; and
they sometimes rest on a low foundation wall: the door was generally at
the gable end; it opened with a latch and string; and turned on a
wooden pivot; the only window was a slit closed by a shutter; and the
roofs were very low-pitched, covered with shingles kept down by stones.
The paths were narrow and filthy; and the only public buildings besides
the convents were Manis and Mendongs; of these the former are
square-roofed temples, containing rows of praying-cylinders placed
close together, from four to six feet high, and gaudily painted; some
are turned by hand, and others by water: the latter are walls
ornamented with slabs of clay and mica slate, with “Om Mani Padmi om”
well carved on them in two characters, and repeated _ad infinitum._
A Tibetan household is very slovenly; the family live higgledy-piggledy
in two or more apartments, the largest of which has an open fire on the
earth, or on a stone if the floor be of wood. The pots and tea-pot are
earthen and copper; and these, with the bamboo churn for the brick tea,
some wooden and metal spoons, bowls, and platters, comprise all the
kitchen utensils.
Every one carries in the breast of his robe a little wooden cup for
daily use; neatly turned from the knotted roots of maple (see p. 133).
The Tibetan chiefly consumes barley, wheat, or buckwheat meal—the
latter is confined to the poorer classes—with milk, butter, curd, and
parched wheat; fowls, eggs, pork, and yak flesh when he can afford it,
and radishes, a few potatos, legumes, and turnips in their short
season. His drink is a sort of soup made from brick tea, of which a
handful of leaves is churned up with salt, butter, and soda, then
boiled and transferred to the tea-pot, whence it is poured scalding hot
into each cup, which the good woman of the house keeps incessantly
replenishing, and urging you to drain. Sometimes, but more rarely, the
Tibetans make a drink by pouring boiling water over malt, as the
Lepchas do over millet. A pipe of yellow mild Chinese tobacco generally
follows the meal; more often, however, their tobacco is brought from
the plains of India, when it is of a very inferior description. The
pipe carried in the girdle, is of brass or iron, often with an agate,
amber, or bamboo mouth-piece.
Many herds of fine yaks were grazing about Wallanchoon: there were a
few ponies, sheep, goats, fowls, and pigs, but very little cultivation
except turnips, radishes, and potatos. The yak is a very tame, domestic
animal, often handsome, and a true bison in appearance; it is
invaluable to these mountaineers from its strength and hardiness,
accomplishing, at a slow pace, twenty miles a day, bearing either two
bags of salt or rice, or four to six planks of pinewood slung in pairs
along either flank. Their ears are generally pierced, and ornamented
with a tuft of scarlet worsted; they have large and beautiful eyes,
spreading horns, long silky black hair, and grand bushy tails: black is
their prevailing colour, but red, dun, parti-coloured, and white are
common. In winter, the flocks graze below 8000 feet, on account of the
great quantity of snow above that height; in summer they find pasturage
as high as 17,000 feet, consisting of grass and small tufted _Carices,_
on which they browse with avidity.
The zobo, or cross between the yak and hill cow (much resembling the
English cow), is but rarely seen in these mountains, though common in
the North West Himalaya. The yak is used as a beast of burden; and much
of the wealth of the people consists in its rich milk and curd, eaten
either fresh or dried, or powdered into a kind of meal. The hair is
spun into ropes, and woven into a covering for their tents, which is
quite pervious to wind and rain;[72] from the same material are made
the gauze shades for the eyes used in crossing snowy passes. The bushy
tail forms the well-known “chowry” or fly-flapper of the plains of
India; the bones and dung serve for fuel. The female drops one calf in
April; and the young yaks are very full of gambols, tearing up and down
the steep grassy and rocky slopes: their flesh is delicious, much
richer and more juicy than common veal; that of the old yak is sliced
and dried in the sun, forming jerked meat, which is eaten raw, the
scanty proportion of fat preventing its becoming very rancid, so that I
found it palatable food: it is called _schat-tcheu_ (dried meat). I
never observed the yak to be annoyed by any insects; indeed at the
elevation it inhabits, there are no large diptera, bots, or gadflies to
infest it. It loves steep places, delighting to scramble among rocks,
and to sun its black hide perched on the glacial boulders which strew
the Wallanchoon flat, and on which these beasts always sleep. Their
average value is from two to three pounds, but the price varies with
the season. In autumn, when her calf is killed for food, the mother
will yield no milk, unless the herdsman gives it the calf’s foot to
lick, or lays a stuffed skin before it, to fondle, which it does with
eagerness, expressing its satisfaction by short grunts, exactly like
those of a pig, a sound which replaces the low uttered by ordinary
cattle. The yak, though indifferent to ice and snow and to changes of
temperature, cannot endure hunger so long as the sheep, nor pick its
way so well upon stony ground. Neither can it bear damp heat, for which
reason it will not live in summer below 7000 feet, where liver disease
carries it off after a very few years.[73] Lastly, the yak is ridden,
especially by the fat Lamas, who find its shaggy coat warm, and its
paces easy; under these circumstances it is always led. The wild yak or
bison (D’hong) of central Asia, the superb progenitor of this animal,
is the largest native animal of Tibet, in various parts of which
country it is found; and the Tibetans say, in reference to its size,
that the liver is a load for a tame yak. The Sikkim Dewan gave Dr.
Campbell and myself an animated account of the chase of this animal,
which is hunted by large dogs, and shot with a blunderbuss: it is
untameable and horridly fierce, falling upon you with horns and chest,
and if he rasps you with his tongue, it is so rough as to scrape the
flesh from the bones. The horn is used as a drinking-cup in marriage
feasts, and on other grand occasions. My readers are probably familiar
with Messrs. Huc and Gabet’s account of a herd of these animals being
frozen fast in the head-waters of the Yangtsekiang river. There is a
noble specimen in the British Museum not yet set up, and another is
preparing for exhibition in the Crystal Palace at Sydenham.
[72] The latter is, however, of little consequence in the dry climate
of Tibet.
[73] Nevertheless, the yak seems to have survived the voyage to
England. I find in Turner’s “Tibet” (p. 189), that a bull sent by that
traveller to Mr. Hastings, reached England alive, and after suffering
from languor, so far recovered its health and vigour as to become the
father of many calves. Turner does not state by what mother these
calves were born, an important omission, as he adds that all these
died but one cow, which bore a calf by an Indian bull. A painting of
the yak (copied into Turner’s book) by Stubbs, the animal painter, may
be seen in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, London. The
artist is probably a little indebted to description for the appearance
of its hair in a native state, for it is represented much too even in
length, and reaching to too uniform a depth from the flanks.
The inhabitants of these frontier districts belong to two very
different tribes, but all are alike called Bhoteeas (from Bhote, the
proper name of Tibet), and have for many centuries been located in what
is—in climate and natural features—a neutral ground between dry Tibet
Proper, and the wet Himalayan gorges. They inhabit a climate too cold
for either the Lepcha or Nepalese, migrating between 6000 and 15,000
feet with the seasons, always accompanied by their herds. In all
respects of appearance, religion, manners, customs, and language, they
are Tibetans and Lama Booddhists, but they pay tax to the Nepal and
Sikkim Rajahs, to whom they render immense service by keeping up and
facilitating the trade in salt, wool, musk, etc., which could hardly be
conducted without their co-operation. They levy a small tax on all
imports, and trade a little on their own account, but are generally
poor and very indolent. In their alpine summer quarters they grow
scanty crops of wheat, barley, turnips, and radishes; and at their
winter quarters, as at Loongtoong, the better classes cultivate fine
crops of buck-wheat, millet, spinach, etc.; though seldom enough for
their support, as in spring they are obliged to buy rice from the
inhabitants of the lower regions. Equally dependent on Nepal and Tibet,
they very naturally hold themselves independent of both; and I found
that my roving commission from the Nepal Rajah was not respected, and
the guard of Ghorkas held very cheap.
On my arrival at Wallanchoon, I was conducted to two tents, each about
eight feet long, of yak’s hair, striped blue and white, which had been
pitched close to the village for my accommodation. Though the best that
could be provided, and larger than my own, they were wretched in the
extreme, being of so loose a texture that the wind blew through them:
each was formed of two cloths with a long slit between them, that ran
across the top, giving egress to the smoke, and ingress to the weather:
they were supported on two short poles, kept to the ground by large
stones, and fastened by yak’s hair ropes. A fire was smoking vigorously
in the centre of one, and some planks were laid at the end for my bed.
A crowd of people soon came to stare and loll out their tongues at me,
my party, and travelling equipage; though very civil, and only
offensive in smell, they were troublesome, from their eager curiosity
to see and handle everything; so that I had to place a circle of stones
round the tents, whilst a soldier stood by, on the alert to keep them
off. A more idle people are not to be found, except with regard to
spinning, which is their constant occupation, every man and woman
carrying a bundle of wool in the breast of their garments, which is
spun by hand with a spindle, and wound off on two cross-pieces at its
lower end. Spinning, smoking, and tea-drinking are their chief
pursuits; and the women take all the active duties of the dairy and
house. They live very happily together, fighting being almost unknown.
Soon after my arrival I was waited on by the Guobah (or head-man), a
tall, good-looking person, dressed in a purple woollen robe, with good
pearl and coral ear and finger-rings, and a broad ivory ring over the
left thumb,[74] as a guard when using the bow; he wore a neat thick
white felt cap, with the border turned up, and a silk tassel on the
top; this he removed with both hands and held before him, bowing three
times on entering. He was followed by a crowd, some of whom were his
own people, and brought a present of a kid, fowls, rice, and eggs, and
some spikenard roots (_Nardostachys Jatamansi,_ a species of valerian
smelling strongly of patchouli), which is a very favourite perfume.
After paying some compliments, he showed me round the village. During
my walk, I found that I had a good many objections to overrule before I
could proceed to the Wallanchoon pass, nearly two days’ journey to the
northward. In the first place, the Guobah disputed the Nepal rajah’s
authority to pass me through his dominions; and besides the natural
jealousy of these people when intruded upon, they have very good
reasons for concealing the amount of revenue they raise from their
position, and for keeping up the delusion that they alone can endure
the excessive climate of these regions, or undergo the hardships and
toil of the salt trade. My passport said nothing about the passes; my
people, and especially the Ghorkas, detested the keen, cold, and
cutting wind; at Mywa Guola, I had been persuaded by the Havildar to
put off providing snow-boots and blankets, on the assurance that I
should easily get them at Walloong, which I now found all but
impossible, owing to there being no bazaar. My provisions were running
short, and for the same reason I had no present hope of replenishing
them. All my party had, I found, reckoned with certainty that I should
have had enough of this elevation and weather by the time I reached
Walloong. Some of them fell sick; the Guobah swore that the passes were
full of snow, and had been impracticable since October; and the Ghorka
Havildar respectfully deposed that he had no orders relative to the
pass. Prompt measures were requisite, so I told all my people that I
should stop the next day at Walloong, and proceed on the following on a
three days’ journey to the pass, with or without the Guobah’s
permission. To the Ghorka soldiers I said that the present they would
receive, and the character they would take to their commandant,
depended on their carrying out this point, which had been fully
explained before starting. My servants I told that their pay and reward
also depended on their implicit obedience. I took the Guobah aside and
showed him troops of yaks (tethered by halters and toggles to a long
rope stretched between two rocks), which had that morning arrived laden
with salt from the north; I told him it was vain to try and deceive me;
that my passport was ample, and that I should expect a guide,
provisions, and snow-boots the next day; and that every impediment and
every facility should be reported to the rajah.
[74] A broad ring of this material, agate, or chalcedony, is a mark of
rank here, as amongst the Man-choos, and throughout Central Asia.
During my two days’ stay at Walloong, the weather was bitterly cold: as
heretofore, the nights and mornings were cloudless, but by noon the
whole sky became murky, the highest temperature (50°) occurring at 10
a.m. At this season the prospect from this elevation (10,385 feet), was
dreary in the extreme; and the quantity of snow on the mountains, which
was continually increasing, held out a dismal promise for my chance of
exploring lofty uninhabited regions. All annual and deciduous
vegetation had long past, and the lofty Himalayas are very poor in
mosses and lichens, as compared with the European Alps, and arctic
regions in general. The temperature fluctuated from 22° at sunrise, to
50° at 10 a.m.; the mean being 35°;[75] one night it fell to 64°.
Throughout the day, a south wind blew strong and cold up the valley,
and at sunset was replaced by a keen north blast, searching every
corner, and piercing through tent and blankets. Though the sun’s rays
were hot for an hour or two in the morning, its genial influence was
never felt in the wind. The air was never very dry, the wet-bulb
thermometer standing during the day 3·75° below the dry, thus giving a
mean dew-point of 30·25°. A thermometer sunk two feet stood at 44°,
fully 9° above the mean temperature of the air; one exposed to the
clear sky, stood, during the day, several degrees below the air in
shade, and, at night, from 9° to 14·75° lower. The black-bulb
thermometer, in the sun, rose to 65·75° above the air, indicating
upwards of 90° difference at nearly the warmest part of the day,
between contiguous shaded and sunny exposures. The sky, when cloudless,
was generally a cold blue or steel-grey colour, but at night the stars
were large, and twinkled gloriously. The black-glass photometer
indicated 10·521 inches[76] as the maximum intensity of sunlight; the
temperature of the river close by fell to 32° during the night, and
rose to 37° in the day. In my tent, the temperature fluctuated with the
state of the fire, from 26° at night to 58° when the sun beat on it;
but the only choice was between cold and suffocating smoke.
[75] This gives 1° Fahr. for every 309 feet of elevation, using
contemporaneous observations at Calcutta, and correcting for latitude,
etc.
[76] On three mornings the maxima occurred at between 9 and 10 a.m.
They were, Nov. 24th, 10·509, Nov. 25th, 10·521. On the 25th, at
Tuquoroma, I recorded 10·510. The maximum effect observed at Dorjiling
(7,340 feet) was 10·328, and on the plains of India 10·350. The
maximum I ever recorded was in Yangma valley (15,186 feet), 10·572 at
1 p.m.
After a good many conferences with the Guobah, some bullying, douce
violence, persuasions, and the prescribing of pills, prayers, and
charms in the shape of warm water, for the sick of the village, whereby
I gained some favour, I was, on the 25th Nov., grudgingly prepared for
the trip to Wallanchoon, with a guide, and some snow-boots for those of
my party whom I took with me.
The path lay north-west up the valley, which became thickly wooded with
silver-fir and juniper; we gradually ascended, crossing many streams
from lateral gulleys, and huge masses of boulders. Evergreen
rhododendrons soon replaced the firs, growing in inconceivable
profusion, especially on the slopes facing the south: east, and with no
other shrubs or tree-vegetation, but scattered bushes of rose,
_Spiræa,_ dwarf juniper, stunted birch, willow, honey-suckle, berberry,
and a mountain-ash (_Pyrus_). What surprised me more than the
prevalence of rhododendron bushes, was the number of species of this
genus, easily recognised by the shape of their capsules, the form and
woolly covering of the leaves; none were in flower, but I reaped a rich
harvest of seed. At 12,000 feet the valley was wild, open, and broad,
with sloping mountains clothed for 1000 feet with dark-green
rhododendron bushes; the river ran rapidly, and was broken into falls
here and there. Huge angular and detached masses of rock were scattered
about, and to the right and left snowy peaks towered over the
surrounding mountains, while amongst the latter narrow gulleys led up
to blue patches of glacial ice, with trickling streams and shoots of
stones. Dwarf rhododendrons with strongly-scented leaves (_R.
anthopogon_ and _setosum_), and abundance of a little _Andromeda,_
exactly like ling, with woody stems and tufted branches, gave a
heathery appearance to the hill-sides. The prevalence of lichens,
common to this country and to Scotland (especially _L. geographicus_),
which coloured the rocks, added an additional feature to the
resemblance to Scotch Highland scenery. Along the narrow path I found
the two commonest of all British weeds, a grass (_Poa annua_), and the
shepherd’s purse! They had evidently been imported by man and yaks, and
as they do not occur in India, I could not but regard these little
wanderers from the north with the deepest interest.
Such incidents as these give rise to trains of reflection in the mind
of the naturalist traveller; and the farther he may be from home and
friends, the more wild and desolate the country he is exploring, the
greater the difficulties and dangers under which he encounters these
subjects of his earliest studies in science; so much keener is the
delight with which he recognises them, and the more lasting is the
impression which they leave. At this moment these common weeds more
vividly recall to me that wild scene than does all my journal, and
remind me how I went on my way, taxing my memory for all it ever knew
of the geographical distribution of the shepherd’s purse, and musing on
the probability of the plant having found its way thither over all
Central Asia, and the ages that may have been occupied in its march.
On reaching 13,000 feet, the ground was everywhere hard and frozen, and
I experienced the first symptoms of lassitude, headache, and giddiness;
which however, were but slight, and only came on with severe exertion.
We encountered a group of Tibetans, encamped to leeward of an immense
boulder of gneiss, against which they had raised a shelter with their
salt-bags, removed from their herd of yaks, which were grazing close
by. They looked miserably cold and haggard, and their little upturned
eyes, much inflamed and bloodshot, testified to the hardships they had
endured in their march from the salt regions: they were crouched round
a small fire of juniper wood, smoking iron pipes with agate
mouthpieces. A resting-house was in sight across the stream—a loose
stone hut, to which we repaired. I wondered why these Tibetans had not
taken possession of it, not being aware of the value they attach to a
rock, on account of the great warmth which it imbibes from the sun’s
rays during the day, and retains at night. This invaluable property of
otherwise inhospitable gneiss and granite I had afterwards many
opportunities of proving; and when driven for a night’s shelter to such
as rude nature might afford on the bleak mountain, I have had my
blankets laid beneath “the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.”
The name of Dhamersala is applied, in the mountains as in the plains of
India, to a house provided for the accommodation of travellers, whether
it be one of the beautiful caravanserais built to gratify the piety,
ostentation, or benevolence of a rajah, or such a miserable shieling of
rough stone and plank as that of Tuquoroma, in which we took up our
quarters, at 13,000 feet elevation. A cheerful fire soon blazed on the
earthen floor, filling the room with the pungent odour of juniper,
which made our eyes smart and water. The Ghorkas withdrew to one
corner, and my Lepchas to a second, while one end was screened off for
my couch; unluckily, the wall faced the north-east, and in that
direction there was a gulley in the snowy mountains, down which the
wind swept with violence, penetrating to my bed. I had calculated upon
a good night’s rest here, which I much needed, having been worried and
unwell at Wallanchoon, owing to the Guobah’s obstinacy. I had not then
learnt how to treat such conduct, and just before retiring to rest had
further been informed by the Havildar that the Guobah declared we
should find no food on our return. To remain in these mountains without
a supply was impossible, and the delay, of sending to Mywa Guola would
not have answered; so I long lay awake, occupied in arranging measures.
The night was clear and very cold; the thermometer falling to 19° at 9
p.m., and to 12° in the night, and that by my bedside to 20°.
On the following morning (Nov. 26th) I started with a small party to
visit the pass, continuing up the broad, grassy valley; much snow lay
on the ground at 13,500 feet, which had fallen the previous month; and
several glaciers were seen in lateral ravines at about the same
elevation. After a couple of miles, we left the broad valley, which
continued north-west, and struck northward up a narrow, stony, and
steep gorge, crossing an immense ancient moraine at its mouth. This
path, which we followed for seven or eight miles, led up to the pass,
winding considerably, and keeping along the south-east exposures,
which, being the most sunny, are the freest from snow. The morning was
splendid, the atmosphere over the dry rocks and earth, at 14,000 feet,
vibrating from the power of the sun’s rays, whilst vast masses of blue
glacier and fields of snow choked every galley, and were spread over
all shady places. Although, owing to the steepness and narrowness of
the gorge, no view was obtained, the scenery was wild and very grand.
Just below where perpetual snow descends to the path, an ugly carved
head of a demon, with blood-stained cheeks and goggle-eyes, was placed
in a niche of rock, and protected by a glass.
At 15,000 feet, the snow closed in on the path from all sides, whether
perpetual, glacial, or only the October fall, I could not tell; the
guide declared it to be perpetual henceforward, though now deepened by
the very heavy October fall; the path was cut some three feet through
it. Enormous boulders of gneiss cumbered the bottom of the gorge, which
gradually widened as we approached its summit; and rugged masses of
black and red gneiss and mica schist pierced the snow, and stood out in
dismal relief. For four miles continuously we proceeded over snow;
which was much honey-combed on the surface, and treacherous from the
icy streams it covered, into which we every now and then stumbled;
there was scarcely a trace of vegetation, and the cold was excessive,
except in the sun.
Towards the summit of the pass the snow lay very deep, and we followed
the course of a small stream which cut through it, the walls of snow
being breast-high on each side; the path was still frequented by yaks,
of which we overtook a small party going to Tibet, laden with planks.
All the party appeared alike overcome by lassitude, shortness and
difficulty of breathing, a sense of weight on the stomach, giddiness
and headache, with tightness across the temples.
Just below the summit was a complete bay of snow, girdled with two
sharp peaks of red baked schists and gneiss, strangely contorted, and
thrown up at all angles with no prevalent dip or strike, and permeated
with veins of granite. The top itself, or boundary between Nepal and
Tibet, is a low saddle between two rugged ridges of rock, with a cairn
built on it, adorned with bits of stick and rag covered with Tibetan
inscriptions. The view into Tibet was not at all distant, and was
entirely of snowy mountains, piled ridge over ridge; three of these
spurs must, it is said, be crossed before any descent can be made to
the Chomachoo river (as the Arun is called in Tibet), on which is the
frontier fort of the Tibetans, and which is reached in two or three
days. There is no plain or level ground of any kind before reaching
that river, of which the valley is said to be wide and flat.
Starting at 10 a.m., we did not reach the top till 3.30 p.m.; we had
halted nowhere, but the last few miles had been most laborious, and the
three of us who gained the summit were utterly knocked up. Fortunately
I carried my own barometer; it indicated 16·206 inches, giving by
comparative observations with Calcutta 16,764 feet, and with Dorjiling,
16,748 feet, as the height of the pass. The thermometer stood at 18°,
and the sun being now hidden behind rocks, the south-east wind was
bitterly cold. Hitherto the sun had appeared as a clearly defined
sparkling globe, against a dark-blue sky; but the depth of the azure
blue was not so striking as I had been led to suppose, by the accounts
of previous travellers, in very lofty regions. The plants gathered near
the top of the pass were species of _Compositæ,_ grass, and _Arenaria_;
the most curious was _Saussurea gossypina,_ which forms great clubs of
the softest white wool, six inches to a foot high, its flowers and
leaves seeming uniformly clothed with the warmest fur that nature can
devise. Generally speaking, the alpine plants of the Himalaya are quite
unprovided with any special protection of this kind; it is the
prevalence and conspicuous nature of the exceptions that mislead, and
induce the careless observer to generalise hastily from solitary
instances; for the prevailing alpine genera of the Himalaya,
_Arenarias,_ primroses, saxifrages, fumitories, _Ranunculi,_ gentians,
grasses, sedges, etc., have almost uniformly naked foliage.
We descended to the foot of the pass in about two hours, darkness
overtaking us by the way; the twilight, however, being prolonged by the
glare of the snow. Fearing the distance to Tuquoroma might be too great
to permit of our returning thither the same night; I had had a few
things brought hither during the day, and finding they had arrived, we
encamped under the shelter of some enormous boulders (at 13,500 feet),
part of an ancient moraine, which extended some distance along the bed
of the narrow valley. Except an excruciating headache, I felt no ill
effects from my ascent; and after a supper of tea and biscuit, I slept
soundly.
On the following morning the temperature was 28° at 6.30 a.m., and rose
to 30° when the sun appeared over the mountains at 8.15, at which time
the black bulb thermometer suddenly mounted to 112°, upwards of 80°
above the temperature of the air. The sky was brilliantly clear, with a
very dry, cold, north wind blowing down the snowy valley of the pass.
[Illustration: Demon’s head]