In helpless Plight.
Some hours after leaving the grey cliff I reached a river about 180
yards wide. Before plunging into it to wade across, I took my noon-meal
of baked flour: it was then about eleven o’clock. The river was the
one of which I had been informed, and I knew it could be forded. After
the repast I took off my boots and trousers, and having also tucked
up the other portions of my dress, went down into the river. Oh! that
plunge! it nearly killed me; the water was bitingly cold, and I saw at
once that I could never survive the crossing of it. I at once turned
round and crawled up the bank, but the contact with the water had
already chilled me, and produced in me a sort of convulsion. What was
to be done? I happened to think of ointment as a remedy, as well as a
preventive, under the circumstances. I took out a bottle of clove oil
I had with me, and smeared it in abundance all over my body. What with
the sun shining and my giving myself a good rubbing all over, I felt
better. Then, equipped as before, I made a second plunge. The water was
cold, indeed cold enough to make my feet quite insensible before I had
gone half-way across, and the rest of the fording I managed simply by
the help of my two staves. The river was about hip-deep and the stream
quite rapid, and when I reached the opposite bank I found myself almost
a frigid body, stiff and numb in every part.
The next thing to be done was, of course, to recover the circulation of
blood in the almost frozen limbs; but I discovered this to be no easy
task, for my hands were too stiff to do anything, and it took full two
hours to put myself in shape to resume the journey. As it was, when I
started out at about two o’clock, my legs were so flabby that I felt
as if they were going to drop off. And my increased luggage weighed
so heavily on my back, that I was now compelled to take it down and
devise some new way of carrying it. This I did by dividing the baggage
into two equal parts and, tying one to each end of my two staves (which
I had tied together), I slung them across my shoulder. But two rough
round sticks grinding against the untrained flesh of the shoulder, with
eighty pounds of pressure, were not much of relief for a novice at
this method of carrying burdens, and at every hundred or two hundred
yards of my progress, which was tardy enough, I had to alter my mode of
conveyance. In the two hours which followed, I made an ascent of half a
mile and then a descent of about a mile, and when I had arrived at the
bank of a river at about four o’clock, exhaustion made further progress
impossible for me for the day.
[Illustration: A NIGHT IN THE OPEN AND A SNOW-LEOPARD.]
Settled down for a bivouac, I set about making a fire to get tea ready.
In Tibetan wilds the only kind of fuel accessible to travellers (except
of course dead leaves of trees for kindling purposes) is the dry dung
of the yak (these animals being set loose to graze for themselves) and
the kyang, a species of native wild horse. I gathered some of these
lumps, and built them up into a sort of partially hollow cone, with a
broad base and low elevation, and then three pieces of nearly equal
size placed tripod-like around this cone completed my arrangement for
putting my tea-pot over the fire. But the fire was still to be made,
and I may say that making a fire of this description is not a very
easy performance until one acquires the knack of the thing; even a
pair of hand-bellows is of little help, especially when the fuel is
not sufficiently dry. Matches being unknown in those regions, I had
to resort to the old-fashioned method of obtaining sparks of fire by
striking a stone against a piece of iron, and it is again a matter of
art to make those sparks kindle the tinder. The tea-pot I carried with
me then was one large enough to hold a quart and a half of water. In
those high regions water boils very quickly, owing to the diminished
atmospheric pressure, and as soon as it began to boil I would throw
into it a handful of Chinese brick tea; but I had to let the mixture
stand boiling for at least two hours before I could obtain a liquor of
the right color and flavor. I should add that it is the usual practice
with Tibetans, which I followed, to put some natural soda (which is
found in Tibet) into the water when the tea is thrown in. When enough
boiling had been done, I would put in some butter and salt, and after
a little stirring all was ready to be served. It was this tedious
process that I went through on that river bank. After that, I went
about gathering all the dung I could find, and then, returning, piled
it up all over the fire to make it last the whole night--a precaution
which was necessary to keep off snow-leopards, which often prove to be
dangerous nocturnal enemies of man in these parts.
To keep a fire burning brightly through the night was, however, to
court a still greater danger, for it might attract marauding robbers,
on the look out from far-off hill and mountain tops. Of the two
dangers, that of robbers was the worst, for whereas a snow-leopard will
_sometimes_ leave a sleeping man alone, even with no fire, robbers
will _never_ leave him alone. Under these circumstances I left my fire
smouldering, with a well-pressed layer of sandy soil over it, so that
it would last till the morning, giving me at the same time enough
warmth to keep me alive. When the moon rose that night I saw it was
nearly full. Its pale light silvered the waters of the river before me.
All was quiet, save for the occasional roars of wild animals. With all
its dreary wildness, the scenery around was not without its charms that
appealed to the soul.
When rising slow among the mountain heights,
The moon I see in those Tibetan wilds,
My fancy views that orb as Sovereign Lord
Of that Celestial Land, my country dear,
Those islands smiling in the far-off East.
The night was extremely cold, and I could not sleep. I sat up and
fell to meditation; and while I was wandering over the borderland,
half-awake and half-asleep, the morning came. With a start I got
up, and on going to the river’s edge I found its waters frozen. I
then stirred up the fire, and after due preparations made a hearty
breakfast. When ready to start on the day’s journey, I could not recall
the instruction given me before--whether to follow the river up its
course, which would lead up to a high peak, or to proceed down stream.
Here was a dilemma! but I felt sure of one thing, and that was that,
weak and exhausted, I could not survive the ascent of the steep peak.
By necessity, then, I proceeded down the stream, but I failed to come
upon a rock upon which, as I had been informed, I should find an image
of Buḍḍha carved. No wonder! for I took the wrong direction, as I
afterwards found out. Proceeding above five miles, I emerged upon an
extensive plain, which I judged must be seventeen or eighteen miles by
eight or nine, with the river flowing through it.
On consulting the compass I found that, in order to proceed towards the
north-west, I should have to cross the river, a prospect particularly
unpleasant just then, as I thought of the chilling effects of the icy
waters. As I stood taking a survey of the river in an undecided frame
of mind, I noticed a bonze wading across the stream towards me. As he
landed on the bank, I hailed him, and eventually found him to be a
pilgrim from Kham, bound for Gelong Rinpoche’s cave. Then I negotiated
with him to assist me across the river, after having astonished him
with my generosity in giving him a comparatively large quantity of
dried peaches and flour, articles particularly precious for a lonely
traveller through those regions. I made him understand that I was ill
and weak, and not equal to the task of crossing the river, heavily
burdened with luggage as I was. Whatever was the effect of this piece
of information, my liberality soon won him over to my help, and, taking
all my luggage on his back and leading me by the hand, he assisted me
to ford the stream. Having landed me and my luggage safely on the other
side, and having also told me that, following the course he pointed
out, I should come to an inhabited place after two days’ journey, he
bade me good-bye and once more crossed the river. I, for my part,
started forthwith, heading in the direction prescribed for me.