MORTALITY AMONG SHEEP—LAKE TREB—THE NAPU LA PASS—SICKNESS OF BAKR
HADJI—RUDOK OFFICIALS COMMAND US TO RETREAT.
Early on the morning of the 18th May all was hustle and bustle at
Niagzu. First of all we were sending off our sheep, followed by our
hired yak. We had persuaded the owners to lend us twelve yak and three
ponies as far as the other side of the pass called the Napu La. By
sending these sheep and slow travelling yak ahead, we made a handicap of
the march. We ourselves, after seeing nearly all the mules and ponies
loaded up, followed next, leaving our own men behind to bring them on.
Little did we dream that these same men, as soon as we had disappeared,
were about to remain where they stood for two hours, idly waiting with
all the animals loaded up and tied together in groups. Still we knew
that just at present we had not sufficient power over them to rebuke
them for their unwarrantable laziness.
Our road all day lay through stony valleys, enlivened by two cosy
nooks called Mitpah Yungmah and Mitpali Conmah, where bright green
grass flourished, and where a clear rivulet trickled over a sandy bed,
sheltered by rocks and steep hills from the severe winds. At these
two small camping grounds the officials from Rudok sometimes place a
detachment of soldiers to prevent any foreigners from entering the
country from that quarter. Although ignorant of it at the time, we
discovered afterwards that we were in reality lucky not to have already
met with opposition to our journey.
Far snugger than these two spots was the place called Nurtse, where we
halted for the night. From here onwards our flock of sheep began to give
way, and we had to sell fourteen of them to our yakman for seven rupees.
Our men might have eaten mutton all day long, and yet would have failed
to keep pace with the death of the poor sheep.
We passed over a good deal of snow, the remnant of the winter, yet
nothing sufficiently bad to impede us at all. We saw very little to
shoot excepting a few kyang which were, of course, of no use to us. The
kyang or wild ass of Tibet and Ladakh usually stands about fourteen
hands; he is of a light brown colour, with white throat, belly, and
legs; rather heavy in neck and shoulders, he is, nevertheless, a
graceful mover, and there are few prettier sights than a herd of them
scampering over some wide plain. Perhaps they have been startled by
the unwonted sound of a rifle; off they go, full gallop. Soon curiosity
outweighs fear, and back they come to have a look at the intruder. All
standing in line they gaze at him from a hundred yards or so, apparently
considering whether he is really dangerous or not; then, at a word
from the leader, they wheel round and are off again, only to repeat the
performance a few moments later, a performance that has ruined many a
well-planned stalk before now.
Our guide, who in his time had been a salt collector, and knew the lay
of the country, proved himself to be invaluable. Without him, the route
we took would have been very hard indeed to find, and to him we owed the
steady progress we daily made, not that we went at any rapid rate, or
as a rule for any great length of time each day, but we were marching
in the right direction, we were travelling east. By reason, too, of the
assistance we received from the hired yak, we were able to ride ponies,
and it was our wont, after starting off our sub-surveyor in front of
every one else, to start ourselves ahead of the caravan, with our cook,
Lassoo, likewise mounted. We carried our rifles and ammunition, while
he carried in his saddlebags our cold breakfast with some tea leaves
and a kettle to boil them in. As soon as we considered that half the
march had been covered, we would halt by a stream, if there were one,
or by a patch of snow, and boil our water. During these operations the
caravan would catch us up again and march on ahead of us. In this way
we were enabled to keep an eye upon our men without appearing to do so
and thereby raise their suspicions.
On the third day from Niagzu we made our breakfast halt by the side of
a valley close to some white stones. From this point two more lines of
white stones lay at intervals, separated at an angle of some twenty
degrees, and ran right away across the valley and over the opposite
hills. We were told that this was a gazelle trap laid by the nomads. As
soon as they can contrive to get gazelle into the space between these
two lines, they drive them along between them. The gazelle being afraid
of the stones continue to be driven on to where the stones meet, where
they are easily captured, and sometimes a big haul is made. Although we
saw plenty of gazelle about here, they were very timid, and as we had
no time to go in for a recognised stalk, we shot none at this period,
nor did we drive any between the two lines of white stones!
On the same evening, after crossing a waterless, stony plain for several
miles, we reached Lake Treb, so famous for the salt that is taken
away from its neighbourhood and carried into Ladakh. Salt, in fact, is
collected from any spot within a hundred miles of Ladakh wherever it
can be found. We had been marching twelve hours upon arrival at this
lake, and it was already dark. Our chances of finding fresh water were
very small, for our guide informed us that there was none to be had till
we reached the other side of the lake, another four miles. Certainly
there was no water running into the lake from this side, and the guide's
statement would have been correct, had we not luckily found two small
patches of snow and a little grazing close by.
Marching after sunset is without doubt a mistake, for when a halt is
made the animals are unloaded carelessly and the loads are thrown about
in any fashion; the men become tired and short-tempered, and should
there be no moon, there is necessarily much delay in searching for the
things that are required, especially when candles are at a minimum.
The animals' grain is wasted as well as the men's rations, tents won't
pitch, the water won't boil, animals stray, and everybody is blaming
some one else.
All such petty annoyances, however, are very soon forgotten again, when,
after a sharp frosty night, a glorious morning like that we experienced
at Lake Treb announces the commencement of another day. Everything, even
the crystallised salt, sparkled in those first brilliant rays, nor was
there the remotest breath of wind; all was perfect stillness.
Far away south of us lay a towering range of snow peaks. Their
distance seemed to increase their overpowering grandeur and one could
with difficulty cease to gaze at each outline of this pure white
magnificence. To east and north of us lay Lake Treb, backed by more
ranges of mountains. Even Lake Treb itself, which on a dull day would
have probably produced a suicidal despondency in the gayest of hearts,
seemed to throw aside its natural gloom and rejoice like its grander
neighbours at the cheer and brightness of the sun's first rays.
We were almost tempted to try a swim in the salt water, but on close
examination we found the shore sloped down in terraces to the water's
edge, where it became soft and treacherous. All this distinctly showed
that the size of the lake must have been for many years gradually
decreasing, and one is led to believe that such is the case in regard
to most salt lakes in Tibet. The water, we were surprised to find, was
not nearly so brackish as the surroundings would have induced one to
believe. The only life we saw about it were a few Brahmini ducks and a
couple of geese, which latter did not settle on the lake.
[Illustration: CROSSING THE NAPU LA (18,500 FEET HIGH).]
Throughout Tibet we never saw any kind of game on any salt lake, with
the exception of the Brahminis. At the east side of the lake lies the
foot of the Napu La (pass).
All the way, a track leads up a narrow, stony, and rocky gorge, an
almost impossible road after a fall of snow. To have taken our own
animals over this pass carrying heavy loads would have been ruination
to our plans, and we more than ever congratulated ourselves on having
engaged the assistance of these fifteen extra hired animals. During
these few days too, a certain amount of grain and bhoussa had been
eaten, so that our mules and ponies on this occasion were not really
heavily laden. At the top of the pass was the usual pile of stones
and sticks which always have been erected in these regions, to denote
that the summit is reached. The stones had been piled up in the centre
of the col, while a little snow lay on the adjacent heights, which it
connected.
A snap shot with the Kodak at some of our poor animals after a four
hours' climb was an opportunity not to be lost, for the pass was
nearly 18,500 feet above the sea level.[1] After descending for a short
distance, we saw below us a fine glacier sloping downwards from north
to south; to have attempted to cross it would have been madness itself.
Around its southern edge we found a narrow and very steep track, which
we followed, and as soon as we had found some fair grass, lower than and
beyond the precincts of the glacier, we halted for the night, the place
being called Tanjun. Although our own animals had managed thus early to
cross this pass, yet it was not until the following afternoon that the
hired yak arrived.
At this stage we began to taste of difficulties and casualties. First
of all our hired transport would go no further, and henceforth we were
entirely dependent upon our own animals. One of our men, too, Bakr Hadji
by name, a Yarkandi, declared that he could proceed no more. He lay on
his back, and, rolling his eyes, moaned continuously. We pitied him,
for he seemed a fairly decent sort of fellow, but we had no desire, so
early in our trip, to be encumbered by a sick man. We concluded that
he was suffering from mountain sickness, though all the Argoons came
to us protesting that Bakr Hadji was a Yarkandi, and like all other
Yarkandis had a "chota dil," or in other words, was chicken-hearted;
they maintained that they themselves were of very different kidney, and
prepared to follow us wherever we might choose to go. It was, at any
rate, manifest that our men had no intention of turning back just at
present, for with the return of the hired yak-men an easy opportunity
was open to them, and in all probability it would be their last. Our
guide, who had served us so well, agreed to come along with us one more
day.
Our road lay through a broad valley, which stretched away eastwards,
with a small stream which took its rise from the glacier running down
its centre. On either side were small grassy nullahs, suitable spots for
encampments. The guide told us that in two or three days we should find
ourselves amongst men living in a district called Rundore, and that we
should have met men before had not a great many of them been summoned
to strengthen the post at Rudok. He himself was anxious to turn back
before coming amongst the men of Rundore, for he was convinced that he
would meet with but scant civility for having been the cause of bringing
us that way.
After we had marched down the valley for about a dozen miles, we
overtook two nomads, and having supplied them with some tobacco and
other small articles we thought they would appreciate, we entered into
negotiations as to their willingness to come along with us and show us
a road that ran eastwards, receiving in return for their services food
and money, and some small present, such as a knife. They became in time
ready to accept these proposals, and promised to show us the way to
Mangtza-Tso (or lake) where they said we should arrive in four or five
days. They, however, feared the Rundore men, and said that they would
undoubtedly stop our progress, should they happen to learn that we were
in their vicinity. Yet they hoped before meeting with any opposition
to take a turning up a certain valley to the left, and thus escape
observation.
Throughout this valley we found sand-grouse, kyang, yak, and the heads
of several dead ovis ammon; doubtless some of the adjacent ranges
abounded in game. But at the present time we were still living on our
sheep, nor had we time to waste in shikar pure and simple, for however
fine a head we might have knocked over, we could never have dreamed
of carrying it with us; besides, we valued each cartridge, and had no
inclination to waste any on a useless errand.
[Illustration: OUR THREE RUNDORE GUIDES.]
It was remarkable that although we were over 16,000 feet high, above the
sea level, yet we were glad to cast aside our lambskin waistcoats and
thickly-lined puttoo coats, and bask in the sun over our breakfast in
our shirt-sleeves, while some of our men became ill, partly on account
of the warm climate during the day, but chiefly from the excessive
amount of mutton they ate. At night-time there were well over twenty
degrees of frost.
We had not marched very far with our two guides before they pointed out
to us two roads. One road continued down the valley we were in for a few
more miles, and then turned up to the left hand along another nullah.
The second road led over the hills into the same nullah, cutting off a
corner. We had already discovered that with baggage animals the longest
way round is the shortest way there, or in other words, that a dozen
miles of level marching is easier for them, and takes less out of them,
than half a dozen miles of steep climbing, which almost invariably did
harm to one or more animals. We therefore sent on the mules to make the
detour, while we ourselves cut across the hills. Even during this short
climb we saw both ovis ammon and goa, and hitting off the nullah before
the arrival of our caravan, we sat down by the stream that wound its
way to the main one, and, having found some dry droppings, made our fire
and the water boil.
As time wore on, we began to grow anxious about our caravan, and
suspected that something adverse must have happened. We were just about
to retrace our steps, when the leading mules made their appearance
round the corner, and in less than an hour we were once more amongst
our followers. The only deficiency was the absence of the two guides,
who having pointed out this route, had refused to go any further.
Now we saw the folly of having left our caravan even for that short
period, for had we been present we should never have allowed the guides
to leave us in that fashion. We now began to suspect there was something
in the wind, and decided that our best plan would be to march as far as
we could, and perhaps avoid contact with anybody.
Our road unfortunately began to wind too much to our left, and, not
wishing to run the risk of taking our animals in the wrong direction,
we called a halt, resolving to explore further ahead, and find out
whether there was not some other nullah that ran more eastwards, before
launching forth the whole of our caravan along an uncertain route.
Shortly after we had unloaded, and while the animals were picking up
what little grazing they were able to get, our two guides suddenly
reappeared accompanied by several other men, and, during the evening,
others continued to flock in from Rundore. We invited the headmen to
our tent and endeavoured to persuade them to allow some one to show us
the way to Mangtza-Tso. At first they would not hear of such a proposal;
they denied the existence of any road, and even hinted at opposing us.
Thereupon we adopted fresh tactics, and quietly told them that if such
were their game we should retrace our steps down the nullah we were in
and march down the main nullah right through the Rundore district on to
Lhassa. This produced a consultation resulting in their willingness to
show us a road that would take us direct to Mangtza-Tso. Everything was
finally settled agreeably to both sides, and we became friends for the
time being.
On their departure from our presence, we were congratulating ourselves
upon the good fortune that continued to follow us, when to our
astonishment some officials from Rudok rode in in hot haste, and
throughout the night and following morning we constantly heard fresh
arrivals, the rapid jingling of the bells which were hung round the
ponies' necks proclaiming how hurriedly they were riding. It was dark,
and we could hear men's voices from the stream that ran down the centre
of the nullah, while we ourselves had encamped close to the mountain
side. We could see they had lit some fires and were sitting and standing
around them, occupied in eager conversation. From the light of the
flames we could see their matchlocks standing up against one another on
the ground. Our hopes, which only a short time ago had been so sanguine,
had now received a severe blow, and we wondered, yet guessed, what the
intentions of these men might be.
In order to solve this mysterious gathering we sent and invited the
chief men to our tent. Two of them were before very long ushered in
by Esau, intelligent-looking fellows enough and open to hear all we
had to say, yet staunch in their determination to obstruct our further
march onwards up the nullah we were in. Threats, bribes of money and
goods, as well as every other kind of argument, entirely failed to carry
any weight with these Rudok officials, for they very wisely remarked
that "if we allow you to go this road, we shall for such an act of
disobedience undoubtedly lose our heads, whereas if we stop you we
shall receive a reward." They maintained that they would rather risk
being killed in attempting to oppose us than meet with certain death for
negligence of their work in letting us go through. Argue as we might,
nothing would alter their determination, namely, that the only road
open to us was back by the road we had come. It was by this time growing
late, and the officials took their leave of us.
Throughout the still night we could hear the loud talk and peals of
laughter that rang out from the groups of men who had bivouacked by the
stream.
At daybreak we discovered that more men had swollen the gathering, but
nevertheless we began to load up as usual, and having distributed our
sporting rifles and guns amongst our muleteers, tried to impress upon
them the necessity of having to fight our way through, should we meet
with opposition.
A few hundred yards from our encampment, in the direction in which
we were anxious to go, was a stone wall, built probably as a shelter
against the wind, and behind this the Rundore and Rudok men had taken
up a position, and from their demonstrations it was evident that they
did not intend to let us go by easily.
[Illustration: X WALL BEHIND WHICH THE TIBETANS FORMED UP.]
As soon as our last mule had been loaded and we had begun to move
towards the wall, our opponents rushed forth and began to drive
our animals back, meeting with little or no resistance from our
faint-hearted followers, who had no pluck to face superior numbers,
whose actions and feelings were those of fanatics. A loaded revolver
pointed at a few paces distant at the chest of one of them had no other
result than to induce the man to tear aside his garments, and, showing
his bare flesh, point to us to shoot at it. Such frenzied determination
on the part of these Tibetans proved to us that we should never make
any headway in the desired direction, and that our only chance of
being able to do so would have been to shoot the most determined of our
obstructionists. But inasmuch as we had not started on the expedition
with the remotest inclination to shoot Tibetans, we stayed our hands.
Even supposing we had shot some of them, it would have been a very
hazardous step to have risked a serious scrimmage almost on our very
frontier. We also reflected upon the results of such an affair; not only
would it bar any future travellers from peaceably entering the country
from this direction, but we ourselves would be pestered for many days
to come by an increasing force of Rundore and Rudok men following in
our rear.
Therefore, after we had been driven back some distance and were left
alone again, we pitched a fresh camp with the intention of remaining
another day, in hopes that something or other would turn up in our
favour. Perhaps we might get round these officials after all, or perhaps
others of more influence would in the meantime arrive from Rudok and
allow us to go the way we wanted, when they became convinced that we
had no intention of making an attempt on Lhassa.
Such were our faint hopes as we commenced unloading, for we dreaded
beyond measure the very idea of having to recross the Napu La a second
time, being alone dependent upon ourselves for doing so.
Throughout the morning we tried every means we could think of to be
allowed to march up this nullah, which they called Kerambutabuk. The
officials informed us that no other Englishmen had ever been there
before, and that, had their men, whose duty it was, been properly on the
look-out, we ought never to have been permitted to come so far. These
officials were quite reasonable and sensible men, and hoped we would
not fight, for they said that war between the English and Tibetans would
result in consequence.
It was a very cold and raw day we spent in this Kerambutabuk nullah,
and most of the time, too, sleet was falling. The only noise we heard,
besides an occasional sudden blast, was the firing off of the Tibetan
matchlocks further up the valley, and the tinkling bells on the ponies
of fresh arrivals as they trotted past a few hundred yards from our
tents. There had been so much ringing all day long that, by the end of
the day, quite a small army had been amassed.
We told our friends that we wished to go into Turkistan, but the upshot
of all our war meetings ended in our having to retire by the same way we
had come, namely, over the Napu La, thence northwards to the frontier
pass called Lanak La. They agreed to give us four men to show us the
way as far as Lanak La, but did not see the force of giving us any help
with our transport.