FOLLOWING THE INDUS—EGU—WAITING AT SHUSHAL—A WARNING.
It was a warm afternoon as we descended the hill already mentioned
towards the River Indus. We felt full of spirits in expectation of
the journey that lay before us, for great is the charm of entering an
unknown country in absolute ignorance of what lies ahead. We thought
perhaps we might be fortunate enough to be about to open up a land rich
in minerals or pasturage, or teeming with game, for none could tell us
what existed over the border land nor who lived there. We might, too, be
instrumental in discovering a new and easy route into China. All these
thoughts and many others were foremost in our minds, while the glory of
uncertainty and the pleasure of perfect freedom, added to the success we
had met with in overcoming all the initial preparations, made our hearts
light that day. On the other side of the river we saw the straggling
village of Shushot, and at the time I thought to myself what miserable
wretches the people must be who live there with no thought of ever going
beyond its precincts, such as could never attempt to make a trip like
ours, or even dream of it.
On one side of the river we passed by several chortens or monuments,
and the village of Shey with its ruined fort, an almost indelible sign
of its former importance. This village straggled on into Tickse, which
was to be our first halting-place. Throughout this valley we had been
travelling, the young grass was just beginning to bud, and we fondly
imagined the richer grass we expected to find when we crossed the
frontier a few weeks later. In the fields around Tickse, men and women
were busily engaged, but ceased from their labour to watch and salute
us, apparently glad to see Europeans. On the hills were the houses of
the Lamas. We put up at the rest-house and bought two maunds of bhoussa
for one rupee and filled three of the bags we had brought with us. We
used a patent weighing machine of our own, which, of course, the men of
Tickse could make neither head nor tail of, nevertheless they trusted
us implicitly, for they said we never cheated, but remarked that if
they had had the weighing machine and we had been unable to understand
it, they would have done their level best to defraud us of as much
as possible. From Tickse we continued to follow the River Indus, or
Tsang-po-chu, as it is called in these parts, through a large open plain
and still blessed with that fine blue Ladakh sky. After easy riding
for nearly ten miles, we came to the small village of Chemre. At this
spot there is a road which bends sharply to the left, passing over the
Chang La, La being the Tibetan word for Pass. At this time of the year,
however, the pass was closed, for the snow was deep. We were therefore
compelled to take a more circuitous road but still following the river.
A short distance beyond Chemre is the village of Maserung on the other
and left side of the river, and almost opposite Chemre itself is the
Hemis nullah, famous for its great yearly festival and still more
important gathering every twelve years. The monastery up this nullah
can be seen from the other side of the river just after leaving Chemre.
About noon we reached the village of Egu. The people about here and the
headmen of the different places we came to had received news of our
coming, partly from our imposing caravan having passed through a few
days previously, and also through rumour, which in these parts travels
in a miraculous way, and, being friendly disposed and anxious to aid us
(for they were under the impression that we were tremendous swells),
were awaiting our arrival headed by the chief man and his attendants,
all ready with their humble salutations. On this particular occasion
my dignity had a great fall, for when we had approached within twenty
yards of this gathering and were riding up in pomp and circumstance to
receive their homage, my pony put his foot into a hidden hole, sending
himself and rider spinning on their heads.
I think this unlucky coincidence somewhat damped our lordly reputation,
for we had great difficulty in getting sufficient baggage animals after
it, and were compelled to take yak, a slow conveyance even compared to
ponies at the walk. Over the ground we were about to traverse they never
made more than two miles an hour.
After another eleven miles, we came to the village of Sherwos, having
about half-way noted the village of Upchi on the other side of the
river, a spot worth knowing to sportsmen, for it lies at the mouth of
the Gya nullah, so famous for its ovis ammon and burhel shooting. To-day
we saw our first game in the shape of a few wild duck.
Anxious to push on from Sherwos, yet unable to get as far as Lickse
that evening, for there were two little bridges that had to be crossed
by daylight over the river, we determined to make neither of them
our halting-place for the night, but to journey on and bivouac when
darkness stopped us. It was a grand march, for the river here became
very narrow, perhaps only ten yards broad, with a swift and busy
torrent rushing through the gorge, while almost from the water's edge
arose precipitous rocks some hundreds of feet, the grandeur being
magnified by the uncertain light of the moon. At night-time we made
our bivouac close by the waterside, and found this cleaner than some
of the rest-houses we had of late frequented. From here we crossed two
bridges and reached Lickse after two and a half miles, and once more
re-crossing the river came to Herma, having come ten miles altogether.
Here we changed our yak for new ones, ponies again being very scarce.
These were the slowest going yak that ever did work for us. After six
miles we passed through the village of Cunjian, as we were unable to
change them there. We continued our slow march, a very trying one for
these thickly-clad animals. The sun beat down with pitiless vigour upon
the loaded brutes as they struggled up and down a narrow stony pathway,
completely sheltered from any welcome breeze there might have been. So
toilsome became the march that one poor yak carrying the instruments
was actually slipping, and would have rolled down the rocky edge to
destruction, had he not completely collapsed from exhaustion in a heap
on the very brink. It was some time after dark before we could find a
place called Gya to stop for the night, having only come eight and a
half miles in six and a half hours. Here was a little cultivation, and
just room to pitch tents, but no village close at hand wherefrom to get
any supplies.
From here for seven miles the road is bad, stony, and hilly, and at
this distance the village of Kera lies on the other bank of the river.
One mile further on our yak were once more replaced by new ones at the
village of Yakiki. On paying the drivers of the last lot of yak, we gave
them eight annas each, that being their correct pay, yet to our surprise
they showed much delight at receiving what was only due to them. This
was probably owing to the fact that the few sportsmen who go up there
for shooting allow their Kashmiri shikaris to pay these yakmen, and
these latter being of timid and simple nature are afraid to complain,
and are probably threatened with all sorts of punishment should they
dare to tell the sahib that only half the money has been given them.
After leaving this place the gorge becomes broader, and the road in
consequence improves.
At six and nine miles we passed the villages of Ni and Keisir, and at
the latter place were met by the Lama of Chumatang. Although this man
was of portly mien, and mounted on a stout pony, he was kind enough to
agree to an exchange of animals. Two miles further on we saw the village
of Tiri on the other bank of the river, and a little later reached
Chumatang. Supplies here were plentiful enough, and we took up six bags
of bhoussa, a sheep, flour, and milk. The people were simple, kind, and
ready to help us in every way. We had intended to change animals again,
but, as sunset was close at hand, it was arranged that, to save time in
changing the loads, we should drive on our own yak till darkness, and
that the good people of Chumatang should bring on the animals we were to
have the following morning, as well as some donkeys laden with wood, and
a number of other articles in their own hands. We grew that evening into
a large and mixed rabble; everybody was carrying or driving something
for the two miles we marched, before halting for the night on a small
patch of grass close to the river.
Thus far in our journey we had only seen a few gulls and some duck,
so in hopes of seeing more I shouldered my gun the following morning.
Plenty too, indeed, we saw, but all of them persisted in flying down
the centre of the river or over the opposite bank, so that shooting them
would have been a waste of birds and ammunition. This was aggravating,
to speak lightly of it, when Malcolm agreed to fetch any I might shoot,
should they fall on the other bank of the river. A few minutes later
over came the duck again, and one falling midstream was soon carried
away, but a second falling on the opposite bank awaited Malcolm. He,
true to his word, was soon swimming in the icy water to the opposite
shore, which he reached without mishap. He soon seized the duck with
the intention of throwing it across to me, but falling short of his
aim, the duck fell in the water, and was soon floating away after the
first. To plunge a second time into the Indus and swim across it, at
this time of year, and at this height, cannot easily be described,
but Malcolm's frozen state on return gave me some idea of what he had
undergone, all, too, to merely throw a dead duck into midstream. There
was no compensation in the shape of a good supper for his swim, but
we both agreed, at any rate, that shooting duck along the banks of the
Indus was but a poor kind of amusement.
That morning we reached the little village of Maie, which did not seem
to hold more than half a dozen men. Although no transport animals were
procurable, yet supplies were plentiful. At this spot there are two
roads that branch off to Shushal, the shorter or left hand one leading
over the mountains. We fancied we could see the pass over which the road
went, and there appeared to be but little snow there. Yet every one told
us the pass was not open, and we had reluctantly to take the longer
one. We came upon a herd of eight kyang, who are pretty sure heralds
that there is good grass somewhere in the neighbourhood. They appeared
unable to understand what we were, and allowed us to come within a
hundred yards of them. After making an easy ascent, we saw a few miles
off on our left hand the village of Numa, conspicuously seated on a
rock, quite an important place with its numerous ponies and yak, and
plentiful supplies. We loaded up the yak first, to send them on ahead
of the ponies, for they won't travel as fast, especially in the middle
of the day. It was a sharpish morning.
After going some ten miles the Indus became broad, resembling a lake,
and about here pigeons were fairly plentiful. We agreed that we could
never afford to waste a single cartridge so early on our journey,
and decided to economise by endeavouring to make every shot do double
execution. A chance quickly presented itself. There were two pigeons
close together on the ground. "Fire away," I cried, "now's our time." "I
really couldn't," said Malcolm, "they will be blown to pieces." "Never
mind that," was my encouraging reply, "we shall be able to collect the
bits." Immediately afterwards, off went both the barrels, and terrible
to state, off went both birds too, safe and sound, only a little bit
startled.
Seven miles further on we bade farewell to the river, which flowed away
to the right, while our road branched off to the left, taking us to the
black tents of some nomads. Where there are nomads, good grass will also
be found for the grazing of their large flocks of sheep. We spent the
night close to one of their encampments, and found them pleasant and
hospitable enough, receiving from them dried apricots, nuts, butter,
and milk. These nomads, too, have a knack of always finding a sheltered
nook with a flowing stream. Although we were on that night over 14,000
feet high, we did not feel the cold at all, doubtless because we were
well protected on all sides from any wind.
After leaving these people on the 10th May, we crossed over an easy
pass, and then descended to more black tents, always finding the nomads
civil and friendly. A little before noon we reached Shushal, the final
starting-point of our expedition. Shushal lies back against the hills,
five miles or so from the Pangong Lake, which is not even in sight. In
the serai we found Shahzad Mir, who thus far had brought our caravan
without an accident. Some of the muleteers were there, too, while the
remainder were watching over the mules and ponies out grazing in an
adjacent and well-watered valley.
SHOWING STAGES FROM LEH TO SHUSHAL.
Miles.
Leh to Tickse 9
" Chemre 9½
" Egu 12½
" Upchi 17½ on other side.
" Sherwos 23½ " "
" Lickse 31 " "
" Herma 38½ " "
" Cunjian 44½ " "
" Gya 62 " "
" Kera 69 on other bank.
" Yakiki 70 " "
" Ni 76 " "
" Keisir 79 " "
" Chumatang 87 " "
" Maie 99½ " "
" Numa 112½ " "
" Ralma 135½ Champa encampment.
" Donlung 138½ " "
" Shushal 156½ " "
The first thing for us to find out was the shortest and best way over
the frontier. We learnt that the ordinary route over the Marsemik La
into Chang Chenmo was closed by snow, and would not be open for at least
another month and a half. With the exception of this road and another
one that went to Rudok, nobody knew of any other, or more correctly
speaking, would own that there was another road. Rudok lies at the
south-east corner of the Pangong Lake, and we knew that at Rudok a large
Tibetan guard was maintained, who jealously guarded the main road to
Lhassa, under the condition that should they allow any foreigners to
pass that way, they would have to pay for the negligence with the loss
of their heads. This year, too, they were more than ever prepared to
oppose any attempt at crossing the frontier in that direction. This we
considered due to the fact that only the previous year the Littledales,
in their famous expedition, had camped for some days within fifty miles
of the capital. To dream of taking an easier road to Rudok, and crossing
the frontier at that point, was soon dismissed from our minds. Looking
at a map of the country, the Pangong Lake appears to consist of two
lakes joined together by a narrow strip of water, about half-way on
the road to Rudok. We saw no reason why we should not be able to find a
crossing over this stream, thence on to a village called Pal, and thus
avoid all encounter with the Rudok men. All the headmen and any other
men of Shushal who had travelled at any time in that direction were
summoned to our presence and questioned about this road to Pal. For some
time all vowed they had never heard of a place called Pal, but seeing
that we were bent upon going there at all costs, they finally agreed
that they had heard of the spot, but that it was impossible for us to
get there, for the water that joined the two lakes was far too deep to
ever think of crossing. Unwilling to believe any of their statements at
all, we dismissed our servant Esau with a companion to ride out to this
water, some twenty miles away, and find out whether it was fordable or
not.
Whilst waiting for this information we laid in our stock of grain for
the trip, buying it at thirty-two pounds for a rupee, and tied it up
into coarse sacking, which we had made into suleetahs. We also packed
our bhoussa into a smaller compass, and doctored up the few backs of
the animals that had been touched up during the march from Leh; in fact,
saw after every little detail we could think of.
That same night, and somewhat to our surprise, Esau returned with the
news that he had been stopped some way before reaching the water by
a body of twenty armed men, who sent their salaams, begging us not to
try and come that way, for if we did, there would certainly be trouble.
They had already heard of our departure from Leh, and knew that we were
waiting in Shushal, and were prepared to oppose any attempt we might
make to cross the frontier in that direction. Under these circumstances
(there was no alternative left us), we should have to journey back in a
north-west direction along the shore of the Pangong Lake to Ludhkong,
situated on its north-west extremity, thence travel eastwards to
Niagzu, and so on by hook or crook across the frontier. We had by this
time arranged our loads, and had fitted and mended the saddles where
required, and were ready in all other respects to leave Shushal.
We gave orders to start for Ludhkong at 7 o'clock on the morning of
the 12th, and, in order to save our own transport as long as possible,
we hired seventeen more yak and ponies, making a total, with our own,
of fifty-five animals. On the morning above mentioned, the baggage lay
outside the serai in heaps and anyhow. The serai itself was a small,
square yard with rooms built around it. We had hoped, having placed
everything outside where there was oceans of room, to have arranged the
loads systematically. This, unfortunately, was not in accordance with
the way of doing things amongst our muleteers; but as we felt there was
still a discontented mood prevailing underneath a smiling surface, we,
too, smiled outwardly in return, and allowed them for the present to do
as they chose.
Each of the muleteers had under his own charge five ponies or four
mules, and each of them, with the willing help from the people of
Shushal, seized upon whatever baggage he fancied the most and loaded
up his own animals. Although all this was badly done, it was certainly
done quickly, and we had very soon made a start.