Rain in torrents--A swampy plain--The sun at last--Our yaks
stolen and recovered.
WE were not in luck. The weather continued squally in the morning, and in
the afternoon the rain was again torrential. We went towards 78° over
uninteresting and monotonous grey country with a chain of snowy peaks
stretching from South-West to North-East. We waded through a fairly deep
and very cold river, and subsequently rose over a pass 17,450 feet. A
number of Hunyas, with flocks of several thousand sheep, came in sight,
but we avoided them. They did not see us.
At the point where we crossed it, the main stream turns in a graceful
bend to 140° (b.m.). We climbed over hilly and barren country to an
altitude of 17,550 feet, where several small lakelets were to be found,
and, having marched in all fourteen and a-half miles in a drenching rain,
we descended into a large valley. Here we had great difficulty in finding
a spot where to rest for the night. The plain was simply a swamp, with
several lakes and ponds, and we sank everywhere in mud and water. All our
bedding and clothes were soaked to such an extent that it really made no
difference where we halted; so we pitched our little tent on the banks of
a stream coming out of a valley to the North, from which, extending in an
easterly direction, rose a series of pyramidal mountains, covered with
snow, and all of almost equal height and base. To the South were high
peaks with great quantities of snow upon them. This valley was at an
elevation of 17,450 feet, and the cold was intense.
[Illustration: TORRENTIAL RAIN]
At night the rain came down in bucketsful, and our _tente d'abri_ gave us
but little shelter. We were lying inside in water, and all the trenches
in the world could not have kept it from streaming in. In fact, it is
no exaggeration to say that the whole valley was a sheet of water from
one to several inches deep. Of course, we suffered intensely from cold,
the thermometer dropping to 26° at 8 P.M., when a South-East wind blew
furiously; and the rain fell mixed with sleet for a time, and was
followed by a heavy snowstorm. We lay crouched up on the top of our
baggage, so as not to sleep on the frozen water, and when we woke in the
morning our tent had half collapsed owing to the weight of snow upon it.
During the day the temperature went up and rain fell afresh, so that when
we resumed our marching, we sank into a mixture of mud, snow and water
several inches deep. We had to cross three rivers, and to skirt five
lakes of various sizes, following a course of 83° 45'.
Seven miles of this dreary marching saw us encamped (17,380 feet) by the
foot of a conical hill 17,500 feet, where an almost identical repetition
of the previous night's experience took place. The thermometer was down
to 32°, but fortunately the wind subsided at eight in the evening. As
luck would have it, the sun came out the following day, and we were able
to spread out all our things to dry, during which process we had yet
another novel experience.
[Illustration: HEAD OF BRIGAND]
Our two yaks had disappeared. I climbed up to the summit of the hill
above camp, and with my telescope scoured the plain. The two animals were
some distance off being led away by ten or twelve men on horseback, who
drove in front of them a flock of about five hundred sheep. By their
clothing I recognised the strangers to be robbers. Naturally I started
post haste to recover my property, leaving Chanden Sing and Mansing in
charge of our camp. I caught them up as they marched slowly, though, when
they perceived me, they hastened on, trying to get away. I shouted three
times to them to stop, but they paid no heed to my words, so that I
unslung my rifle and would have shot at them had the threat alone not
been sufficient to make them reflect. They halted, and when I got near
enough I claimed my two yaks back. They refused to give them up. They
said they were twelve men, and were not afraid of one. Dismounted from
their ponies, they seemed ready to go for me.
[Illustration: BRIGANDS WITH SHEEP]
As I saw them take out a flint and steel to light the fuses of their
matchlocks, I thought I might as well have my innings first, and, before
they could guess at my intention, I applied a violent blow with the
muzzle of my rifle to the stomach of the man nearest to me. He collapsed,
while I administered another blow to the right temple of another man who
held his matchlock between his legs, and was on the point of striking his
flint and steel to set the tinder on fire. He, too, staggered and fell
clumsily.
"_Chakzal, chakzal! Chakzal wortzié!_" ("We salute you, we salute you!
Please listen!") exclaimed a third brigand, with an expression of
dismay, and holding up his thumbs, with his fist closed in sign of
approval.
"_Chakzal_," I replied, shoving a cartridge into the Mannlicher.
"_Middù, middù!_" ("No, no!") they entreated, promptly laying down their
weapons.
I purchased from these men about thirty pounds of _tsamba_ and eight of
butter, and got one of them to carry this to my camp, while I, without
further trouble, recovered my yaks and drove them back to where Chanden
Sing and Mansing were busy lighting a fire to make some tea.
[Illustration: SADDLE BAGS]