THE ROOF OF THE WORLD
I scaled precipitous mountain crags clad with snow: found my way
through the scarped passes of the Iron Gates;--I have traversed the
valley of Pamir.--_Life of Hiuen Tsiang_, BEAL.
The Pamirs are both fertile and barren, both habitable and desolate,
both smiling and repellent according to the point of view from
which they are regarded. They are among the deliberate paradoxes of
nature.--_The Pamirs and the Source of the Oxus_, Hon. GEORGE N.
CURZON.
It was a thrilling thought that I was about to tread in the footsteps
of some of the intrepid travellers in High Asia, such as the Buddhist
monk, Hiuen Tsiang, Marco Polo, Wood, the first Englishman to enter
the Pamirs, and many another whom the Red Gods called to feats of
daring and endurance. But my lot was an extremely easy one compared
with theirs; for, being the only woman of the party, I was guarded and
protected in every possible way. Perhaps some of my readers may be
a little vague as to the exact meaning of the word Pamirs. They are
described by Sir Thomas Holdich, the eminent geographer, as “valleys
reaching up in long slopes to the foot of mountain peaks,” and they are
known by the Persian term of _Bam-i-Dunia_ or Roof of the World.
On that June morning we were up at 5 A.M. and, although snow had fallen
during the night, the day was fine and gave good hopes of a successful
crossing of the pass. It was bitterly cold, but my leather coat was
impervious to wind, a Shetland shawl swathed my pith-hat and neck,
and I had besmeared both face and feet plentifully with vaseline and
therefore felt prepared to meet whatever might befall.
When we had seen our baggage yaks loaded we walked up the narrow
valley, down which ran a little stream with scanty grazing on its
banks; but before long the stiff pull up the mountain side began, and
we were obliged to mount. Our Kirghiz guide halted every few yards to
let the panting horses take breath--in fact, the rarefied air on these
heights seemed to try them almost as much as it would have exhausted
us had we been forced to walk. We soon reached the snow-line, and our
animals plunged and stumbled through freshly fallen snow on the narrow
track where we moved along in single file. It seemed a long time, but
in reality we reached the crest of the Katta Dawan in a couple of hours
and found ourselves on a little plateau some 16,000 feet high. Clouds
had been gathering during our climb and fine snow now began to fall
fast, making us fear that we might be caught in a storm and possibly
miss the track, which it needed the practised eye of the Kirghiz to
discover. Fortunately the wind came to our rescue, sweeping the air
clear at intervals, and I saw that we were in the midst of great white
giants shouldering one another, a glacier lying to our left, shining
in the fitful gleams of the sun. Ahead of us low green hills scantily
flecked with snow opened out to give a glimpse of the intense blue of
the Great Karakul Lake, a soft mist half revealing the landscape, and
the whole making a picture of exquisite beauty that somewhat reminded
us of the Highlands of Scotland. But it was no time to linger and enjoy
the view, and we began the descent, soon dismounting as our horses
floundered badly in the snow and I had no wish to be shot over Tommy’s
head. Then followed an hour of struggling downwards during which I was
sometimes up to the knee in the snow, and once or twice fell headlong,
my thick clothing impeding me a good deal but saving me from hurt in my
tumbles. Somehow we scrambled down at last into a long defile, and the
falling snow turned into a chilly sleet that cut our faces. But nothing
of that sort mattered, and as we drank hot tea from our thermos bottles
I felt a glow of pride that not only was I the first Englishwoman to
negotiate the Katta Dawan Pass, but that I was actually on that Roof of
the World, which in my wildest day-dreams I had never imagined that I
should visit.
It seemed an auspicious omen that almost as soon as we reached the
Pamirs, Nadir discovered a small herd of _ovis poli_ on the side of one
of the mountains between which we were passing. Although there was not
a head among them, they held out a promise of better things to come,
and I was greatly interested in watching them through my glasses.
From now onwards we saw much more of Nadir, who came from the Sarikol
district, and showed his Aryan descent in his boldly cut aquiline
features, his big dark eyes, black beard and moustache. He was
strikingly handsome, and would have passed very well for a Spaniard,
except that, when he took off his white felt Kirghiz hat, his shaven
head looked oddly out of keeping with the rest of the picture. He was
most intelligent on any matter connected with sport or the country,
and was accustomed to the use of field-glasses, through which his keen
eyes swept the hills unceasingly. Yet he did not understand a watch,
and our method of computing time conveyed nothing to him; in fact,
when my brother spoke to him of “hours” he said reproachfully that he
hailed from Sarikol, where such things were unknown. I admired his gift
of making every one work; for, although he was merely my brother’s
huntsman, he arrogated much authority to himself and ordered about the
guides, and even our servants, in the most masterful way. He could turn
his hand to anything, was accounted an excellent singer and was quite
aware of his fine appearance, being fond of decorating his hat with a
bunch of primulas that set off his handsome face to advantage. He had
of course the defects of his qualities, one of his failings being that
he was so determined to pose as omniscient that he occasionally gave us
wrong information; moreover, his deep-rooted contempt for the peaceful
Kirghiz also led him astray, as he sometimes refused to pay attention
to their advice as to tracks and camping grounds.
To return to the march, long boulder-strewn defiles led us eventually
into a gravelly waste where we saw ahead of us the Great Karakul
Lake, and a group of _akhois_ gleaming white in the distance held
out hopes of rest and food. But suddenly a violent sandstorm, one of
those “mountain devils” that blotted out the landscape, came on so
completely, that it was quite a surprise when I found that we had
reached a stream, on the further side of which stood the beehive-like
dwellings. I was half-blinded as I staggered into a dirty _akhoi_,
smelling strongly of the kids and lambs that had lately been herded
behind a prettily coloured matting; and, with my face swollen from the
snow and sleet on the Katta Dawan, my eyes sore from the sand and my
whole person grimy with dust, I did not feel at my best when four gaily
attired Kirghiz women with towering white headgear came to call upon
me. One was a good-looking, rosy-cheeked girl, who said she did not
know her age, but thought it might be twenty. She had a beautifully
embroidered headgear bordered with silver buttons and ending in bossed
silver chains which hung over her ears.
I felt too tired to play the hostess well, and found the ladies rather
inquisitive, as they fingered my pith-hat, slipped their hands into my
fur-lined gloves and examined my habit; in fact the manners of this
tribe were the worst I encountered, and so constantly was I peeped at
through the many holes in the felt covering of my _akhoi_ that I had to
shorten all my toilet operations considerably.
Although our baggage yaks had started from camp at 7 o’clock that
morning they did not arrive until 8 P.M., and of course we got nothing
to eat until an hour later, and before I went to bed I had to open the
store boxes in order to provide my brother and Nadir with three days’
supplies for a shooting expedition in the mountains bordering the lake,
on which they were to start off at dawn on the morrow.
We were now in Russian territory, and at nightfall four Cossacks
rode up to the _akhois_ with orders to escort us, and next day they
accompanied me and the servants to the Russian post where we were to
stop. This consisted of a series of rooms opening on to a courtyard,
the whole built of brick and surrounded by a high wall. It had
evidently been cleaned up in our honour, and the corporal who was in
authority here ushered me into a white-washed room with a table and
a couple of stools, and was astounded at my request that he should
open the double window. As soon as my belongings had been brought in
I mounted Tommy and went off, accompanied by Jafar Bai and my camera,
to see the lake. It is exquisitely situated, with a background of
snowy peaks picturesquely serrated, the water and the great gravelly
plain being ringed about with mountains partly covered with freshly
fallen snow, the Trans-Alai range with the magnificent Kaufmann peak
rising up into the sky. The water of the lake was an intense sapphire
blue, with broad streaks of purple and emerald and a wide band of salt
efflorescence round its shores, the whole reminding me of pictures of
the Dead Sea.
Captain Cobbold, who visited the lake in 1896, mentioned the sandy
ridge running north and south that divided it; but the water has
risen since then, and at the time of my visit there was no sign of
a division. He also spoke of its fish, and it was disappointing to
hear on all sides that there was no life in its bitter waters: it is
stagnant, no animal drinks from it, and the only birds I noted during
my three days’ visit were a pair of Brahminy ducks and an occasional
vulture and raven. The salt efflorescence made the ground rotten in
places, and once the horses, which Jafar Bai was holding while I
photographed the group, sank into a kind of quicksand, from which we
had some difficulty in extricating them. This district is called the
Khargush Pamir (Pamir of the Hare), and I felt that the name must
have been given in irony, as it is really a desert, boulder-strewn
in some parts, sand-strewn in others. The grazing is so poor as to
be almost negligible (which probably accounted for the high charges
that were levied upon us by our late Kirghiz hosts), and the Russian
post-house overlooked a dreary waste of solidified ridges of sand,
in appearance much like the low mud mounds raised over the dead. I
thought it a most depressing view, but fortunately it did not appear
to affect the spirits of the Cossacks; for, on the arrival of half a
dozen soldiers who had driven from Osh with supplies, the whole party
started dancing in the little courtyard. One man played the concertina,
and another, small and well-made, clad in buff coat, blue trousers,
long riding-boots and a grey sheepskin cap, would have been a worthy
member of the Russian ballet corps so popular in London. He and his
partner danced with tremendous zest and agility, though their faces
never for an instant relaxed their serious expression as they rehearsed
the old themes of attraction and repulsion, masculine boldness seeking
to conquer maidenly coyness. Then on a sudden the tender melody
would change to something wild and barbaric, and the dancers became
warlike, were enemies, exchanged threats, feigned to attack one another
and stamped their feet menacingly, somewhat in the manner of the
blood-stirring ballet of Prince Igor.
There was much excitement at the post when my brother’s first trophy
arrived; but the head was small, and as he and Nadir had heard that
larger rams might be found elsewhere, he decided that we had better
move on.
My readers will see that we had had some trouble in reaching the
Pamirs, but when once we had arrived I was astonished at the ease
with which we travelled from place to place. For the greater part
of our tour we were on a high plateau which in reality consisted of
valleys so filled up with the moraines of the glaciers of centuries
ago that, as Sir Francis Younghusband puts it, “the bottoms of these
Pamir valleys are level with the higher summits of the Alps.” Owing to
this, the mountain ranges were often shorn of much of their grandeur
as we surveyed them from a height of thirteen or fourteen thousand
feet, though some of the panoramas we were privileged to see were
unforgettable in their superb majesty.
I have travelled among the Swiss Alps, and know something of the
Canadian Rockies, the Elburz Range and the Caucasus, but the mountains
of the Pamirs are far wilder and more savage in appearance than these,
because of the entire lack of life at their feet. In Switzerland,
Canada and the Caucasus the foothills of the great ranges are clad
with pine and fir; long grassy slopes gemmed with tiny flowers give a
charm to the scenery, and there is usually bird life. Even the barren
Elburz has juniper and other scrub on its lower slopes and there are
grass and flowers in its valleys; but here we could travel for days in
a desolation that was almost terrifying.
Often we did not see a human being during the whole day’s march, the
only signs of life being an occasional vulture and sometimes a few snow
pigeons, crows, choughs and the ubiquitous marmot. It was a red-letter
day if I came across swallows, finches, desert larks or the handsome
but uneatable Brahminy duck; indeed my horse would actually sometimes
shy if we met a Kirghiz on the lonely track.
The climate during our visit in June and July was one of the most
changeable in the world. It was always cold when we left camp between
six and seven o’clock, the sky often grey and cloudy and the mountains
veiled in mist. After a while the sun would come out and I would throw
off my overcoat, but probably would soon put it on again, as icy blasts
were in the habit of descending suddenly from the hills. At noon it
was often extremely hot, and I found the mid-day halt, even in such
favourable spots as on the banks of a stream, very trying, owing to the
scorching heat from which there was no escape. There are no trees on
the Pamirs, and I have vivid memories of halts on bare hillsides where
there was not even a boulder large enough to give shade, and where,
in spite of my pith-hat, sun umbrella and thick clothes, I felt as if
I were being slowly roasted as we lay exposed to the fierce sunshine.
It was difficult to read or write, almost impossible to sleep, and I
could appreciate the Jewish prophet’s word-picture of “the shadow of a
great rock in a weary land.” Our chief alleviation was hot tea from the
thermos bottles, our throats and lips being always parched with the dry
air, and every now and again we had an unexpected shower-bath. Peals
of thunder would reverberate from the hills, over which dark-purple
storm-clouds had gathered, and suddenly a deluge would descend upon us.
But the sky would be as blue as ever after a few moments, though the
whole atmosphere felt sensibly refreshed; and later in the day these
smart showers would descend in the form of snow. It was always very
cold when the sun went down, and in camp I wore all the clothing I
could muster and pulled a fur coat over all; my feet were slipped into
my big felt boots lined with lamb’s-wool; and a woollen cap on my head
completed the costume in which I sat at our dinner-table. At night my
sleeping-bag lay on a thick mattress and a rug, as it is important to
have as much below as above, and when my fur coat was thrown over me I
was by no means too warm.
We were living at a height of twelve to fourteen thousand feet, and
although the air was deliciously keen, like that of some Alpine winter
resort, personally I never felt braced up, but was always languid and
disinclined for exertion owing to the rarefied atmosphere. Riding did
not fatigue me and I could walk for a considerable distance on the
level, but I panted at the least effort and had a curious sensation as
if a hand were on my throat. Certainly I slept profoundly and felt a
continual wish to slumber, both in season and out; but in spite of all
the exercise I was taking I had no appetite, and ate only as a matter
of duty. Directly we descended to the level of 10,000 feet I felt a
different being, and life, appetite and energy returned in a rush, as
if by magic.
I had imagined that there would be an abundance of rich grass to
support the flocks and herds of the wandering Kirghiz tribes, and was
disappointed to find the Pamirs, as far as our tour extended, a dreary
waste, often covered with boulders and gravel from the moraines of
the mountains, with only small strips of pasturage at intervals. In
general the grazing was scanty, and the inhabitants, who number but a
few thousands, must often have a struggle to support life during the
winter. Even during the summer they move their flocks frequently to
fresh pastures, for the grass is soon eaten up, and a large population
would starve. In narratives of travel in the Pamirs the provision
of food for the baggage animals is always mentioned as one of the
difficulties to be encountered, and it was fortunate for us that my
brother’s official position saved us from anxiety on this score. We had
been obliged to carry several loads of barley from Kashgar, but the
local _Begs_ were able to arrange for fresh supplies of forage at some
points of our journey, and led us usually to camping grounds where the
grazing was fair.
When we bade farewell to the Great Karakul Lake we spent three days on
the Russian cart road, riding the ninety miles to Pamirsky Post on the
Murghab River. On the morning of our start snow was falling fast, and
as I dragged myself out of my warm sleeping-bag at 3.30 A.M. I felt
thankful that my lot was not cast permanently in the Pamirs. But, when
once we were on horseback and muffled up, the going left nothing to
complain of. We rode along a broad unmetalled track made for the most
part by the simple expedient of removing the boulders which thickly
strewed these sterile valleys, having been brought down from the ranges
bounding us on either side. This road was marked at intervals by piles
of stones measuring it into versts and half-versts--five versts being
equal to three English miles. The distances were painted on a stone on
every other heap, though often the figures were placed upside down, and
now and again were omitted altogether. All our servants were provided
with smoked glasses, but would not use them at first, Sattur, for
example, wearing his across his lips or hanging under his chin, until
after a while he came to understand that they were of real benefit.
Our Cossack escort, consisting of a corporal and three soldiers, were
cheery sturdy youths, clad in buff uniforms with blue facings and long
buff greatcoats. Their forage-caps were set rakishly on one side, and
the corporal brushed his thick yellow hair into a big well-greased roll
which almost hid his forehead, and was evidently proud of his personal
appearance. They wore blue glasses, a necessary precaution against the
glare of the sun on the snow, and rode handy little ponies as born
horsemen. I felt that they must have but a dull time in these outposts
of the Russian Empire with so few of the amenities of life, especially
as their pay was at the low rate of one and fourpence a month,
supplemented by rations of meat and flour, forage for their horses, and
the provision of a uniform and three shirts annually. Their service
lasts for three years, after which they are free to return to their
farms for the rest of their lives. Each man has a rifle and a limited
amount of ammunition, and the corporal was for ever on the look-out for
something to shoot at.
At one part of our second day’s march the road wound over a pass in
the hills, and my brother and Nadir, who had espied game in a valley
beneath us, went off to stalk while the rest of the party rode forward.
On a cliff to our right the corporal pointed out a large group of
vultures feeding on a dead sheep and emitted shrill whistles that
made the great birds hop about in a most ungainly fashion. I watched
them with interest, which changed to anger when the Cossack let off
his rifle at them, making our horses shy violently. The birds, though
unharmed, were so gorged that they could hardly rise from the ground,
but my brother’s quarry, startled at the shot, made off and escaped,
and Nadir became livid with rage as he endeavoured to explain to the
Russian how ill-timed his love of sport had been on that occasion.
During these three days the country was monotonous in the extreme, the
stone-strewn plateaux having hardly a sign of life. At one spot, where
the hills were formed of hardened mud, Nadir told us that Mr. Haydon,
the well-known geologist, whom he had accompanied on a tour in the
Pamirs, had found fossils. We were anxious to see some for ourselves,
and he led us to a curiously shaped hill where, after some groping, he
disinterred two or three sea-shells, a sight that filled me with wonder
as I realized that this mighty Roof of the World, with its valleys
twelve to fourteen thousand feet high, had long ages ago been under the
sea, and indeed sea-sand composed much of the mountain whose side we
were probing. That afternoon, between the intermittent showers of snow,
we had the curious spectacle of a violent thunderstorm in the range
to our right, another raging at the same time in the mountains to our
left, while overhead were brilliant sunshine and a bright blue sky.
On the afternoon of the third day, as we neared Pamirsky Post, we were
met by a couple of _Mingbashis_ or Headmen, gorgeous in purple robes,
broad silver-embossed belts and snowy turbans. These officials led us
down the valley to the Murghab, one of the head waters of the classic
Oxus, and here we were warmly welcomed by the Russian commandant with
his Cossack escort. He had most kindly ordered out his carriage for
me, and though I should have much preferred to stick to my horse,
politeness made me dismount and do my best to scramble into what
was really a box on wheels. As the ponies were too fidgety for me to
mount by the wheel, and there was no step, I fear that I got in with
a sad lack of dignity, and then I was hurled from side to side of the
conveyance as the coachman whipped up his horses to a breakneck speed.
We tore along at a great pace to a stone fort built on a spur of the
mountains above the river, and galloped through a gateway of the high
wall that surrounded it into a large courtyard. The Cossack captain
insisted on putting us up, turning out of his own carpet-hung room for
my benefit, and, as his quarters faced the barracks of the soldiers, I
had from the windows a good view of lounging Cossacks, who spent much
of their time playing with a crowd of thick-coated, quarrelsome dogs
or shouting at their ponies, which were driven in at sunset from the
grazing grounds along the banks of the river.
We met here a colonel of engineers who was engaged in putting
up signalling posts on the hills in the vicinity, in order that
communication might be established with the headquarters at Kharuk; for
there was no telegraph wire connecting Pamirsky Post with the outer
world. As he and our host spoke only their own language I could take no
part in the conversation at supper, and, moreover, I felt very sleepy,
since the meal began at nine o’clock, an hour when I, who had risen at
half-past three, wanted to be in bed! A diversion was provided in the
shape of a wolf-cub, a quaint and engaging little creature, but not the
sort of animal that I should care to bring up as a household pet.
Next morning I grasped the difference between English and Russian
meal-times, and when at half-past nine there was no sign of breakfast,
my brother and I went down to our camp, pitched by the river, where we
had a meal and I gave out stores and made arrangements for our clothes
to be washed. We were now at a comparatively low level, and it was
warm as an English summer’s day, with just a “nip” in the air; but the
long narrow valley must be a dreary abode in winter, as it is shut in
by lofty mountains from which the wild sheep descend to graze and then
fall an easy prey to the hunters. As we stood by the river we spoke
of Lieutenant Wood, the first Englishman to travel in the Pamirs, who
wrote of the yak as an unknown animal. But Lord Dunmore and Major Roche
were the first to visit Pamirsky Post after the occupation of this
desolate region by the Russians, and the former gives a description of
how in 1893 the officers and Cossacks were living in _akhois_ furnished
with brick stoves.
Just below the fort there was a squalid little village of mud and stone
shanties inhabited by Kirghiz, and here were collected great bundles of
wild sheep horns ready to be sent to Tashkent, where they are used to
decorate native saddles or to make knife-handles or combs, the hunter
receiving only a rouble and a half--less than three shillings--for the
horns and skin.
My brother and the commandant discussed where we had best go in search
of sport on the way to Sarikol, and they eventually decided on a valley
three marches off, two of which lay along the Russian road to Kharuk,
and with many compliments on both sides we left Pamirsky Post. Most
of the country along our route was absolutely sterile, except when,
after crossing low passes, we descended now and again to the river,
on the banks of which was scanty grazing and tamarisk scrub, just
enough to support life for a few camels, yaks and ponies. As a rule
the marmots were the only creatures that broke the lifeless monotony
of the marches, and whenever it was sunny the little animals sat upon
their hind legs in front of their burrows, uttering excited cries as
they saw us pass. They were larger than those with which I was familiar
in Persia, and were orange-coloured instead of buff, their noses, paws
and tails being black. They hibernate during the long winter, and the
Kirghiz affirm that when they emerge from their seclusion they have no
hair on their bodies. They also sleep during the middle of the day. My
brother computed that they must pass about 80 per cent of their time in
slumber, and had a contempt for these sadly idle creatures. But they
appealed to me because of their cheery squeakings and lively scuttling
to earth. They live on the roots of grasses, and are apparently
independent of water, for large colonies are often situated miles from
any stream. We had to ride carefully in places in order to avoid the
entrances to their burrows, which were sometimes in the middle of the
track.
At the end of our second day’s march we met Colonel Yagello,
Commissioner of the Pamirs, on his way to Pamirsky Post, and as he
spoke French I enjoyed the conversation of a cultivated man, keenly
interested in the geology of the country, and anxious to exploit the
mineral wealth, which he said was considerable.
At the time of our visit to Pamirsky Post there was great excitement,
because the local _Mingbashi_ had been dismissed from office, and in
order to mark his resentment had collected four hundred families of
his tribe and fled with them across the Afghan border into Wakhan.
The Cossack officer informed my brother that immediately after our
departure he intended to pursue and bring back the fugitives. As such
an action would have been looked upon at Kabul as constituting an
invasion of Afghanistan, and would have strengthened the anti-Ally
party in that state, my brother strongly urged our host to await the
arrival of Colonel Yagello before taking action, and finally persuaded
him to adopt this course. When we met the Commissioner my brother
discussed the Wakhan question with him, but at first the latter
said that he was determined to pursue the recalcitrant _Mingbashi_,
exclaiming that the honour of Russia was at stake. However, after long
arguments he promised not to cross the Afghan frontier, but to send
representations to the Governor of Badakshan, who was also the ruler of
Wakhan, and thus settle the matter without using force.
Our camp at the shooting ground was at the bottom of a long valley
running into the mountains, with grazing on the banks of a stream for
our animals and a clump of _akhois_ for ourselves and the servants.
Here we halted for some days, and, while my brother left long before
dawn for the hills, I amused myself by riding about, photographing,
entertaining Kirghiz ladies, repacking the boxes of stores and doing
the hundred and one odd jobs that accumulate when one is travelling. I
was fond of collecting the tiny, short-stalked Alpine flora, and found
edelweiss, gentians, white and pale blue, little mauve vetches, cream
and yellow flowers of the hawkweed order, pyrethrums and camomiles,
while minute cream, mauve and pink blossoms exuded from the edges of
unpromising-looking dull-green patches. Were it not for the buttercup
and the yellow or white cistus the flora would be hardly noticeable;
but at a lower level I found yellow poppies, large yellow labiatae,
candytuft that scented the air with honey, and many plants that I could
not identify.
When my brother had secured his fourth head we left the valley, our way
leading us along a river that was ice-bound in long stretches although
it was now July, reminding me of Mr. Douglas Freshfield’s remark that
the climate of the Roof of the World is nine months of winter and three
of cold weather.
Now and again we came across fine _ovis poli_ skulls lying on the
ground, and I chose a fine head to keep as a memento of my visit. One
day a young _poli_ stood in our path; allowing us to get quite close to
it before it took alarm, and even then it only trotted along in front
until a dog that belonged to the caravan behind rushed after it, and
the pretty creature made off at once into the hills.
I had been told that the rich Kirghiz hung their _akhois_ with
embroidered silks and covered the ground with beautiful carpets, but
we never came across such luxury. I was always on the look-out for
carpets, but saw few that I liked, the old ones being either torn or
covered with tiny burns made by sparks from the fires. One woven with
a modification of the well-known pine-cone pattern in indigo on a
beautiful rose ground took my fancy greatly, but alas, it had a huge
hole in the centre. The design of one carpet was a series of square
crosses in diagonal rows; half of them framed a conventionalized
_swastika_, an emblem of good fortune, and the other half enclosed
representations of various implements. It does not sound alluring,
yet it was an attractive product of the loom and had fine reds, blues,
browns and greens in its colouring. Elsewhere I met a commonplace
pattern of conventionalized flowers in small blocks linked together
by lines, but the beautiful vegetable dyes of the old carpets are
unfortunately being ousted by the crude aniline tints so much in vogue
at Khotan.
[Illustration: BRINGING IN AN _OVIS POLI_. (Nadir with rifle.) _Page
146._]
My brother often had some difficulty in arranging the marches, for the
Kirghiz have no notion of either time or distance as we understand
it, and could never tell us how long a stage would be unless they
could compare it with that of the previous day. As a result we seldom
knew when we should arrive at our camping ground, the distance being
sometimes considerably greater than we had imagined and at other
times much less. But such slight drawbacks matter little to the true
traveller who has succumbed to the lure of the Open Road, and to the
glamour of the Back of Beyond.