IN THE SNOW
The storm howled round us all night long, and our thin tent canvas
fluttered in the blast. Gulam awaked me with the information, "It is
nasty weather to-day; we can see nothing." Even the nearest mountains
were hidden by the snow, and if I had not already taken a bearing along
the valley in the direction south, 35° E., we could not have set out.
This day, January 30, we had to keep together, for the driving snow
obliterated the tracks immediately. We had two leaders, and I rode last
along the trail, which at first was marked as a black winding line, but
farther on, where the snow lay 2 feet deep, no ground or rubbish could
be seen. A brown horse which carried no burden lay down and died in the
snow. We could see the snow making ready its grave before it was cold.
It vanished behind us in the dreadful solitude.
We move forwards at a very slow pace through the snowdrifts. The fury of
the storm carries away the warning shouts from the lips of the guides
and they do not reach our ears; we simply follow the trail. Lobsang goes
first, and he often disappears in the dry loose snow and has to seek
another direction. In the hollows the snow lies 3 feet deep, and we can
take only one step at a time after the spades have cut us a ditch
through the snow. One or other of the animals is always falling, and the
removal of his load and readjusting it causes a block, for all must
follow in the same furrow. All, men and animals, are half-dead with
fatigue and labour for breath. The snow sweeps round us in suffocating
wreaths; we turn our backs to the wind and lean forwards. Only the
nearest mules are plainly visible, the fifth is indistinct, and those at
the front are seen only as slight shadows amidst the universal
whiteness. I cannot catch a glimpse of the guides. Thus the troop passes
on a few steps till it comes to the next block, and when the mule
immediately in front of me moves on again it is only to plunge into a
hollow filled with snow, where two men wait to keep up its load. The
direction is now east and the ground rises. A few such days and the
caravan will be lost (Illust. 312).
At length we come to a low pass (18,268 feet high). Even at sea-level
such a journey would be hard enough, but how much worse it is in a
country which lies some hundreds of feet higher than Mont Blanc, and
where there is nothing but granite. On the eastern side of the saddle
the snow lay 3 feet deep in some places, and it seemed as though we
should be stuck fast in the snowdrifts; and what had we to expect then?
For the provender was coming to an end, and we must go on if we would
find pasture. Now we went gently down, the snow became a little less
deep, and we came to an expansion of the valley where there were
stretches of ground swept bare by the blast. On the right appeared a
slope where Abdul Karim thought he saw blades of grass sticking up out
of the snow, and he asked permission to camp. It was difficult to set up
the tents that evening. At dusk the two sick men came up, their faces
blue and swollen.
A miserable camp! The storm increased to a hurricane, and nothing could
be heard but its howling. When I looked out of my tent I could see
nothing that was not white, and there was no difference between the
ground, the mountains, and the sky--all being alike white. Not even the
men's tent could be distinguished in the driving snow. The fine
particles penetrated into the tent and covered everything with a white
powder. It was impossible to look for fuel, and at three o'clock the
temperature in the tent was 1.4°. I could see nothing living outside,
and I might have been quite alone in this wilderness.
[Illustration: 311. LOST BEYOND RECOVERY.]
My trusty Gulam comes, however, at length with fire, for Lobsang and
Sedik have found some brushwood. Gulam says that Sonam Kunchuk is ready
to lay himself down on the snow and die, but I advise him to take a good
dose of quinine instead. Late at night the tones of the hymn to Allah
reach my ears, sounding softer and sadder than usual amid the raging of
the storm. We are moving towards a dark destiny, I have attempted too
much, and any moment the catastrophe may come. We are snowed up here,
the animals must die of starvation and I myself--well, it is but a
question of time.
A little below the camp the valley made a turn to the right. Thither the
animals had gone at night, but came back as there was no grazing. A grey
mule had stayed behind to die. It lay in a curious position, as though
it had died in the act of getting up--on its knees with its nose pressed
against the ground, and was frozen hard in this position. Yet the
temperature fell only to -16.4°.
The storm continued with undiminished violence on January 31. We loaded
the nineteen mules and horses and marched down the valley at random in
the same dense snow. The snow came down in incredible quantities; such a
snowstorm I had never witnessed even on the Pamir. We could not travel
more than 2¾ miles, and then we halted and pitched the tents, which
looked dirty against the pure snow. Four big wild yaks were moving over
the slopes, tramping like snow-ploughs. The dogs made after them, but
soon gave up the chase, for they could not go far in the drifts. The
animals received their allowance of rice, and then trailed off to a hill
where they poked about for the scanty grass.
I examined all the baggage with the help of Abdul Kerim and Gulam, and
discarded all that could be spared. Unnecessary clothing and worn-out
boots were burned, and reserve garments were brought out. My articles,
note-books, and instruments were stuffed into two small sacks. Writing
materials and other things for daily use were packed in a small handbag
from Stockholm. The other chests were used as firewood, when the men had
stripped off the leather coverings to make new shoe-soles. Even the box
for the cooking utensils and the provision boxes were burned, and all
the baggage was henceforth carried in sacks. By this means the loads
were made lighter and more convenient, though there was more trouble in
turning everything out of a sack when anything was wanted from the
bottom.
In the afternoon there was a short break in the snowstorm. Beyond the
white limits of the valley was seen to the south-east the large lake
Shemen-tso, with a dark purple sky above it, presaging more snow. I took
bearings of the next day's route, and it was well I did so, for soon the
snow began to fall again unusually thickly. It snowed all day and all
night, and a swishing sound was heard as the snowflakes were driven by
the wind against the canvas of the tent and from time to time slipped
down. In the morning of February 1 piles of snow lay round the tents.
The minimum temperature was only -0.8°, and it felt quite pleasant. We
loaded our weary hungry pack animals and marched slowly south-eastwards.
The gale blew from the south, and the snow pelted on to our faces.
Silently and heavily the fainting troop moved on towards the lake. All
the men's beards and moustaches were white with rime, and we seemed all
to have turned grey in a night. Abdul Kerim walked in front with his
staff, but he took a wrong direction, and I chose another leader. In
some places we were nearly suffocated in the snow, and the crestfallen
men stood in the drifts, at a loss what to do. But we plunged and
floundered on a bit, and then stood still; then a little bit further.
The pass over which we had made our way the previous day was no doubt
blocked by snow. Had we reached it two days later we should never have
forced a way over it. Now our retreat was cut off, and we must seek
safety southwards. It was some consolation to know that we had burned
our ships.
[Illustration: 312. "IF THIS CONTINUES A FEW DAYS LONGER, WE ARE LOST."]
Fortunately the ground sloped down, and as we toiled on hour after hour
the snow diminished and travelling became easier. But the storm, which
had now raged for a fortnight, showed no signs of abatement. Down on the
western flat by the lake the snow mantle was thin, and we encamped in
a spot where the grass was not bad. I gave the men some cigarettes every
evening--at other times they smoked yak-dung and filled their narghilés
with tea-leaves.
The night was unusually mild, with the minimum temperature only 5.2°,
but the clouds were as dense as ever and the snow fell unceasingly. It
was dark all day, as though a curtain hung over the forbidden land. We
stayed at camp 319. The storm blew from the south-west more wildly than
usual. The animals grazed with their heads to leeward, and had to be
driven windwards again every time they came to the edge of the
restricted area of grass. On February 3, also, we remained where we
were. All night long the hurricane had raged, tearing, raving, ploughing
up the ground like a gigantic plough, and endeavouring to pull down our
tents. In the evening I secured everything that could fly away if the
tent were overthrown. In the morning all the animals had disappeared as
though they had been carried away by the blast; at any rate, they had
gone with the wind to the northern shore of the lake.
Immediately beyond our camp was a spring of fresh water and a round fold
for sheep. I had ceased to look forward to spring, it seemed so
hopelessly distant, and to be farther off every day that passed. Brown
Puppy and Little Puppy kept me company as usual, and we played together
to pass the hours of our imprisonment. Gulam continued to rub my feet,
but with little result, for they remained numb and cold as ice. Then he
brought two pairs of _paipaks_ of thick felt and a pair of _charuks_ or
Yarkand boots of soft leather outside. They were really warmer than my
Kashmir boots, which were ruthlessly burned.