The first day we had an easy time, following up the great flats by the
river side, which had already been twice burned, so that there was no
dense undergrowth to check us, though the ground was often rough, and
we had to go a good deal upon the riverbed. Towards nightfall we had
made a matter of some five-and-twenty miles, and camped at the point
where the river entered upon the gorge.
The weather was delightfully warm, considering that the valley in which
we were encamped must have been at least two thousand feet above the
level of the sea. The river-bed was here about a mile and a half broad
and entirely covered with shingle over which the river ran in many
winding channels, looking, when seen from above, like a tangled skein
of ribbon, and glistening in the sun. We knew that it was liable to
very sudden and heavy freshets; but even had we not known it, we could
have seen it by the snags of trees, which must have been carried long
distances, and by the mass of vegetable and mineral _débris_ which was
banked against their lower side, showing that at times the whole
river-bed must be covered with a roaring torrent many feet in depth and
of ungovernable fury. At present the river was low, there being but
five or six streams, too deep and rapid for even a strong man to ford
on foot, but to be crossed safely on horseback. On either side of it
there were still a few acres of flat, which grew wider and wider down
the river, till they became the large plains on which we looked from my
master’s hut. Behind us rose the lowest spurs of the second range,
leading abruptly to the range itself; and at a distance of half a mile
began the gorge, where the river narrowed and became boisterous and
terrible. The beauty of the scene cannot be conveyed in language. The
one side of the valley was blue with evening shadow, through which
loomed forest and precipice, hillside and mountain top; and the other
was still brilliant with the sunset gold. The wide and wasteful river
with its ceaseless rushing—the beautiful water-birds too, which
abounded upon the islets and were so tame that we could come close up
to them—the ineffable purity of the air—the solemn peacefulness of the
untrodden region—could there be a more delightful and exhilarating
combination?
We set about making our camp, close to some large bush which came down
from the mountains on to the flat, and tethered out our horses upon
ground as free as we could find it from anything round which they might
wind the rope and get themselves tied up. We dared not let them run
loose, lest they might stray down the river home again. We then
gathered wood and lit the fire. We filled a tin pannikin with water and
set it against the hot ashes to boil. When the water boiled we threw in
two or three large pinches of tea and let them brew.
We had caught half a dozen young ducks in the course of the day—an easy
matter, for the old birds made such a fuss in attempting to decoy us
away from them—pretending to be badly hurt as they say the plover
does—that we could always find them by going about in the opposite
direction to the old bird till we heard the young ones crying: then we
ran them down, for they could not fly though they were nearly full
grown. Chowbok plucked them a little and singed them a good deal. Then
we cut them up and boiled them in another pannikin, and this completed
our preparations.
When we had done supper it was quite dark. The silence and freshness of
the night, the occasional sharp cry of the wood-hen, the ruddy glow of
the fire, the subdued rushing of the river, the sombre forest, and the
immediate foreground of our saddles packs and blankets, made a picture
worthy of a Salvator Rosa or a Nicolas Poussin. I call it to mind and
delight in it now, but I did not notice it at the time. We next to
never know when we are well off: but this cuts two ways,—for if we did,
we should perhaps know better when we are ill off also; and I have
sometimes thought that there are as many ignorant of the one as of the
other. He who wrote, “O fortunatos nimium sua si bona nôrint
agricolas,” might have written quite as truly, “O infortunatos nimium
sua si mala nôrint”; and there are few of us who are not protected from
the keenest pain by our inability to see what it is that we have done,
what we are suffering, and what we truly are. Let us be grateful to the
mirror for revealing to us our appearance only.
We found as soft a piece of ground as we could—though it was all
stony—and having collected grass and so disposed of ourselves that we
had a little hollow for our hip-bones, we strapped our blankets around
us and went to sleep. Waking in the night I saw the stars overhead and
the moonlight bright upon the mountains. The river was ever rushing; I
heard one of our horses neigh to its companion, and was assured that
they were still at hand; I had no care of mind or body, save that I had
doubtless many difficulties to overcome; there came upon me a delicious
sense of peace, a fulness of contentment which I do not believe can be
felt by any but those who have spent days consecutively on horseback,
or at any rate in the open air.
Next morning we found our last night’s tea-leaves frozen at the bottom
of the pannikins, though it was not nearly the beginning of autumn; we
breakfasted as we had supped, and were on our way by six o’clock. In
half an hour we had entered the gorge, and turning round a corner we
bade farewell to the last sight of my master’s country.
The gorge was narrow and precipitous; the river was now only a few
yards wide, and roared and thundered against rocks of many tons in
weight; the sound was deafening, for there was a great volume of water.
We were two hours in making less than a mile, and that with danger,
sometimes in the river and sometimes on the rock. There was that damp
black smell of rocks covered with slimy vegetation, as near some huge
waterfall where spray is ever rising. The air was clammy and cold. I
cannot conceive how our horses managed to keep their footing,
especially the one with the pack, and I dreaded the having to return
almost as much as going forward. I suppose this lasted three miles, but
it was well midday when the gorge got a little wider, and a small
stream came into it from a tributary valley. Farther progress up the
main river was impossible, for the cliffs descended like walls; so we
went up the side stream, Chowbok seeming to think that here must be the
pass of which reports existed among his people. We now incurred less of
actual danger but more fatigue, and it was only after infinite trouble,
owing to the rocks and tangled vegetation, that we got ourselves and
our horses upon the saddle from which this small stream descended; by
that time clouds had descended upon us, and it was raining heavily.
Moreover, it was six o’clock and we were tired out, having made perhaps
six miles in twelve hours.
On the saddle there was some coarse grass which was in full seed, and
therefore very nourishing for the horses; also abundance of anise and
sow-thistle, of which they are extravagantly fond, so we turned them
loose and prepared to camp. Everything was soaking wet and we were
half-perished with cold; indeed we were very uncomfortable. There was
brushwood about, but we could get no fire till we had shaved off the
wet outside of some dead branches and filled our pockets with the dry
inside chips. Having done this we managed to start a fire, nor did we
allow it to go out when we had once started it; we pitched the tent and
by nine o’clock were comparatively warm and dry. Next morning it was
fine; we broke camp, and after advancing a short distance we found
that, by descending over ground less difficult than yesterday’s, we
should come again upon the river-bed, which had opened out above the
gorge; but it was plain at a glance that there was no available sheep
country, nothing but a few flats covered with scrub on either side the
river, and mountains which were perfectly worthless. But we could see
the main range. There was no mistake about this. The glaciers were
tumbling down the mountain sides like cataracts, and seemed actually to
descend upon the river-bed; there could be no serious difficulty in
reaching them by following up the river, which was wide and open; but
it seemed rather an objectless thing to do, for the main range looked
hopeless, and my curiosity about the nature of the country above the
gorge was now quite satisfied; there was no money in it whatever,
unless there should be minerals, of which I saw no more signs than
lower down.
However, I resolved that I would follow the river up, and not return
until I was compelled to do so. I would go up every branch as far as I
could, and wash well for gold. Chowbok liked seeing me do this, but it
never came to anything, for we did not even find the colour. His
dislike of the main range appeared to have worn off, and he made no
objections to approaching it. I think he thought there was no danger of
my trying to cross it, and he was not afraid of anything on this side;
besides, we might find gold. But the fact was that he had made up his
mind what to do if he saw me getting too near it.
We passed three weeks in exploring, and never did I find time go more
quickly. The weather was fine, though the nights got very cold. We
followed every stream but one, and always found it lead us to a glacier
which was plainly impassable, at any rate without a larger party and
ropes. One stream remained, which I should have followed up already,
had not Chowbok said that he had risen early one morning while I was
yet asleep, and after going up it for three or four miles, had seen
that it was impossible to go farther. I had long ago discovered that he
was a great liar, so I was bent on going up myself: in brief, I did so:
so far from being impossible, it was quite easy travelling; and after
five or six miles I saw a saddle at the end of it, which, though
covered deep in snow, was not glaciered, and which did verily appear to
be part of the main range itself. No words can express the intensity of
my delight. My blood was all on fire with hope and elation; but on
looking round for Chowbok, who was behind me, I saw to my surprise and
anger that he had turned back, and was going down the valley as hard as
he could. He had left me.