RETURN OF THE DESERTERS—SHUKR ALI—LONG MARCHES—DEATH OF EIGHT
MULES AND A PONY—A CHEERING REPAST.
On leaving Camp 74 on August 3rd, we had to cross an arm of the lake, or
rather to make our way round it, for the rain had made the sand too soft
to admit of our venturing on it. After marching for some considerable
time, we therefore found ourselves just opposite our camp of the
previous night, separated only by a narrow strip of treacherous ground.
When we had gone thus far we noticed something or other moving on the
crest of the high ground above our old camp, and on closer examination,
by means of our field glasses, discovered that these moving objects were
no other than the reappearance of the deserters. Soon afterwards another
one came into sight, and then another. It struck us as highly probable
that there had been some disagreement in the party, and that they were
already beginning to taste the fruits of their crime.
We pretended to take no notice of them whatever, but rather increased
the rate of our marching, keeping the animals close and compact, so that
they might see for themselves how easy it was for us to manage without
them. We could see them steering for our last night's encampment, where
they no doubt stopped to regale themselves over a meal with the flour
they had taken away, and to inspect and take whatever they fancied of
the things we had left behind.
In order to save ourselves the trouble of searching for roots for our
fire and vegetables on arrival at camp, we used each of us to pick
up whatever we could during the march, putting the droppings of wild
animals and roots into one bag, and the vegetables into another, which
were hung on the back of one of the spare mules.
During our march of sixteen miles we saw nothing more of the
deserters. We came to the conclusion that they must either have spent
a considerable time over cooking their flour, and would catch us up
again afterwards, or else we thought it just possible that having seen
us marching along apparently without any difficulty, and having found
their big cooking pot at the camp, they had concluded that it would be
a hopeless task to pursue us any further, and had decided to steer a
course of their own for Lhassa.
After passing over undulating grassy country, we halted on the south
side of a salt-water lake, Camp 75, hidden in a secluded nook amidst the
hills which rose from the water's edge. On the north side, some four or
five miles off, ran a range of hills topped with snow peaks.
We found, by choosing a spot like this, that the muleteers could not
have discovered our whereabouts from any high ground they would cross,
and that to do so they would have to come right up to us. Our march had
taken us over seven hours, so that as soon as camp had been pitched and
water brought, it was time to collect and picket the mules for the night
between our two tents, and begin our night watches.
During these lonely night watches, the absolute silence that reigned in
this uninhabited country can never be described. The slightest movement
of man or beast was so easily heard that it would have been impossible
for a stranger to approach unnoticed. One's thoughts on these solitary
occasions would wander far, far back, to others who slept peacefully
amidst a scene of luxury and comfort. In order to keep ourselves awake
and warm, we used to keep a pot of water in the red-hot ashes of our
fire, and brew ourselves a cup of cocoa. I remember every step I took,
or anything I laid hold of, seemed to make such a noise, that every
moment I expected every one to awake, forgetting that sleep was sounder
then than at other times.
The night passed off quietly, and at 4 o'clock we were all five of
us busily engaged packing and loading up for another long march. So
intent were we upon our work that at first we failed to notice that the
deserters had actually reappeared, and were standing in doleful plight
some little way off, without venturing to come up to us. Thereupon
Malcolm and I approached them, chiefly with the object of searching the
bundles they were carrying, to see whether they had any flour left, or
anything else that would be useful to us. Strange to say, one of them,
and the greediest, Mahomed Rahim, had brought on his shoulder the huge
cooking pot in which the tea and soup used to be cooked for all the men.
It was evident that he, at any rate, had hopes of our taking them into
our service again, in which case he must have thought of the praise he
would get from the other men for having thus exerted himself.
It was far from our intentions to take them on again as our servants,
and how could we have been expected to? Had we felt that they would
have served us faithfully, we should have unhesitatingly forgotten and
forgiven their folly, but we instinctively felt that the only chance
we had of accomplishing our journey without mishap was to throw off
for good and for all these most ungrateful, unreliable men, who were
bringing their own destruction upon themselves.
We made a single exception, in taking again into our service one man, by
name Shukr Ali. We had a liking for him, and knew he was blessed with a
family. He came under the condition that if he worked well and honestly,
he would be entirely forgiven his misconduct, and would receive his
entire wages, like the two men who had remained faithful. From what
Shukr Ali told our two men, it was quite certain that our decision with
regard to the remainder was not ill-judged.
After the delay we moved off steadily again, and for the first time
found wild rhubarb growing. Besides this, we had found a moth and a
beetle. All this encouraged us in the belief that we must be drawing
nearer to more genial climes, and possibly, too, to some habitations of
men.
Whilst making these long marches of sixteen or eighteen miles a day,
which would take us eight or nine hours, we used to call a halt about
half-time for a few minutes, when we found a place where extra good
grass was growing, that whilst the mules grazed, all might recoup
themselves with a little rest, and satisfy in some slight degree the
hunger from which we always suffered, by eating some cold meat and any
vegetables we could find.
One afternoon, after pitching camp, I had gone to the top of some
adjacent hills to collect onions, for they generally grew on the higher
ground. Whilst so employed, I chanced, as one was wont to do, to look
round the surrounding country, and saw in the distance some men coming
along in the same direction that we ourselves had come. Of course, I
knew it must be another reappearance of the deserters. Not wishing to
speak to them any more, nor that they should speak to our two men for
fear they might contaminate them, I shouted to Shahzad Mir to take his
gun and meet them, and forbid them to follow us any further. Until we
felt certain that they had ceased to track us, the watching over our
mules was a constant anxiety for all.
As a matter of fact, the occasion when Shahzad Mir turned these men
back was the last on which we saw them. The nights we spent afterwards
watching over our little camp, in half expectation of their sudden
reappearance, were, as it turned out to be, only a waste of rest and
energy, for we never saw these men again, and whether they found their
way to Lhassa is a doubtful question. Whatever fate befel these wretched
men, it was brought on by their own deeds, and against our most earnest
endeavours to do all in our power for them. Whatever was in store for
them they most assuredly deserved. They had tried and hoped to leave
us to fate in the midst of solitude, and had curiously enough served
themselves out with this very same punishment.
After this event all went smoothly and cheerily; all worked equally
and with a will as one man. The mules, too, grew stronger on the
excellent grass we had come to, and wild onions and rhubarb were
abundant everywhere. Afterwards grass became scarce again, and one day
we had to march twenty miles before a spot suitable to camp in could
be found. Here lay a small lake, which, to our disappointment, was of
brackish water, resulting in our having to resort to our original plan
of digging. The night by this lake, Camp 78, was warm, the temperature
not falling below forty degrees Fahr. Ahead of us the land appeared to
be studded with lakes, and we decided to steer along the north side of
them.
As rain had fallen during the early morning the tents were heavy, but
the level marching in some degree compensated for this misfortune. That
which we had surmised to be a number of lakes proved to be one salt
one, which alone relieved the barren country we had quite unexpectedly
marched into. The prospect, too, of shooting any game was disheartening,
nor did there seem any chance of the mules getting any more grass. Yet
once again, when our fortune was at a very low ebb, providential and
unaccountable help was at hand, for suddenly there appeared in this
desert country a solitary antelope. Our only reason for his being there
was that he had lost his way. He was astonishingly tame, and easily
shot. Even more wonderful still was our finding, in the middle of this
expanse of sand, salt and gravel, a kind of oasis, consisting of about
an acre of rising ground, covered with beautiful grass, and when we
began to dig we found good water just below the surface. Instead of
reading about some fairy tale, we were really acting one.
Soon after pitching our camp in this garden of plenty rain fell heavily.
We thought of the deserters, and wondered what shelter or food they
had providentially found. During the night the rain ceased, and a hard
frost set in. When we began to load up, we found our tent was just like
a sheet of thin iron, and the only way of folding it up was to bend the
ends over and then stand on them.
We crossed some hills, and then descended into a valley of sandy soil.
There was also rich grass, and several small streams flowed across
the valley, taking their rise from the snow peaks north of us. Here
we saw immense herds of antelope, all females and young ones. They
were so timid that it was impossible to get nearer than 600 or 700
yards to them. Far away in the hills, too, we saw numbers of yak. We
concluded that as thousands and thousands of wild antelope had chosen
this pasture-land to live in, surely it must be a befitting place also
for nomads and their flocks. We wondered why there was nobody living
there, and still more that we could find no signs that anybody ever had
done so. In this valley we even found a wild orchid. On arrival—we had
marched sixteen miles in six hours—all the twelve animals were in fit
and strong condition.
During the next day's march we again saw thousands of antelope, and
the country was everywhere well watered, with abundance of good grass,
rhubarb, and onions. All day long we had been gradually mounting, and
just before halting, at a spot which we considered to be the top of our
pass, we saw in a nullah close by a wild animal resembling a prodigious
cat. Coming to close quarters, I killed her with my shot-gun; and on
proceeding a little further up the nullah I found the remains of a young
antelope, and, crouching under a rock near to the carcass, two small
thickly-coated animals, no doubt the young ones of the mother I had just
slain. They were strong little fellows, with large powerful paws, and
difficult to hold; one in fact was as much as a man could manage. The
dead mother we skinned, and brought her skin and skull back to India.
We also made arrangements for keeping the two young ones, in hopes of
bringing them back alive. We put each in a separate nosebag, tied up in
such a way that the head remained outside. They were then hung, one on
each side, on the back of a spare mule, and thus carried with impunity.
Our route took us along the edge of a fresh-water lake, on the banks of
which was very fine vegetation. We discovered we had made a mistake the
previous evening in imagining we had reached the summit of the pass, for
after leaving the lake we had twelve more miles of uphill marching over
a good deal of heavy ground and most barren country, the only vegetation
being rhubarb. Several nullahs, too, had to be crossed. As we drew near
the top three of our animals became completely knocked up, necessitating
a rearrangement of the loads, and all the others were showing signs that
they would suffer the same plight, had we insisted on continuing our
march.
After climbing uphill all day long, we were thus compelled to halt for
the night in one of the most unsuitable places conceivable. We were
right on the summit of the pass, and ahead of us we could see nothing
but absolutely barren land; therefore, to have gone any further would
have only increased our difficulties, for more animals would certainly
have succumbed after a very short distance. We calculated that by giving
the mules a night's rest and some of our very limited store of grain,
they would recover sufficiently by the morning to enable us to descend
again until we found some more grass.
[Illustration: THE LAST CAMP OF OUR TWELVE MULES.]
After unloading, we all sallied forth in different directions in search
of roots for making a fire, but none of us were successful; all we could
discover anywhere was the rhubarb and other hardy plants that will exist
in these desolate high-lying places. Ever since the desertion of our
muleteers we had carried along with us the poles of the tents we had
discarded, so as to be prepared for a crisis of this description, so
although our search was in vain, we were able to make sufficient fire
to make tea with.
During our hunt for the firewood heavy clouds had been gathering, and
occasional showers had made themselves unpleasant. As soon as we had all
returned a steady rainfall set in. Our mules had been picketed close
to our little tent, for fear of their straying after grass during the
night. Altogether our encampment at the top of this desolate pass, some
17,000 feet high, presented a very forlorn picture. Everything was wet
or damp, and the poor mules stood with drooping, dripping heads. Still
we had hopes of a frost setting in and the ground becoming hard for
marching over in the morning. Our two little cats even seemed to feel
our deplorable condition, for nothing would induce them to eat any of
the raw meat we were able to spare them.
Soon after sunset intense darkness came over everything, and trusting
for better fortune the following day, we soon fell asleep. During the
night Malcolm happened to go outside the tent, and then returned to
rouse me, saying that he thought some of the mules were dead. At first
I could scarcely realize or grasp his meaning; a disaster of this
description seemed to me incredible. I came out with him, and found
six of the twelve lying down as though they were dead. Although it had
ceased to rain, there were no stars visible, and the night was still
and damp. We roused the men, who brought the candle lantern, and we
discovered the astounding truth. Four of them lay stiff and dead—poor
brutes! they had done yeoman service for us. Two others were very nearly
dead; but even with the united efforts of all six of us we could get
neither of them to stand up for a single minute, and they soon followed
the fate of the other four.
A drizzling rain now set in, as by the light of the lantern we set about
dragging the carcasses aside and removing their blankets to place on the
survivors. Beyond this, we could do nothing more but wait for daylight.
Then more disaster was added to our sad plight, for another mule died,
and we doubted whether there would be any to survive this black night.
We concluded that they must have eaten some poisonous plant, for their
bellies became distended, they lost all power in their legs, and their
groans were pitiable to hear. Our survivors consisted of four mules
and one pony, and we now had to set about reducing our baggage to five
loads. All that we could possibly do without had to be abandoned—in
fact, we only kept one little tent, our bedding, guns, ammunition, and
instruments. The two little wild cats were left there to feed on the
dead bodies, and should certainly have thrived well. It was 11 o'clock
before we dared venture on a descent of the pass, for the ground had
become very heavy and sodden.
As we moved off we left a sad scene behind us; seven dead carcasses lay
there, and all kinds of things scattered about everywhere. Although we
selected the nullah that afforded the best road, still at each step
the poor mules sank into the mud above their fetlocks, and sometimes
they sank down altogether, when the load had to be taken off, the
animal dragged out, and reloaded. We knew our march would have to be
a short one, and resolved to halt the moment we reached any grass.
But our misfortunes had not yet come to an end, for, after going a
short distance, our last pony collapsed completely and died. Shortly
afterwards, another mule was added to the list. Three mules alone
remained, and we could not know but that they, too, at any moment might
die.
After we had gone about four miles, but only with the greatest
difficulty, we found a little, but good, grass growing on the bank close
by the stream which flowed down the nullah we were following. We at
once halted and unloaded the three survivors, who were soon revelling
in it. We then sent back and fetched the things we had discarded on the
way, and set about re-arranging the remainder of our baggage into three
loads. We agreed, too, that all should carry a load strapped like a
knapsack on our backs, as well as a rifle and some ammunition, although
these latter we had been carrying the whole way. Luckily we found the
droppings of wild yak on this patch of grass, so were able to make a
fire.
Our little tent just admitted of our bedding being placed on the ground
with a box between as a table, while the men rigged one up with some
poles and shawls, and made themselves very snug. Rain again fell that
afternoon, and continued to do so throughout the night, until a frost
set in, and the rain was changed to snow. We dared hardly think of what
was happening to the three mules which had been left free to graze, for
there was nowhere else to wander to. At daylight we found the ground
covered with four inches of snow, which made us fear the worst. On
going outside we found, to our great joy, the three survivors had in
no way suffered throughout the night. We made up our minds to husband
their strength, and treat them with the greatest care. We were certainly
better off as regards grain than we had ever been before, and, instead
of driving the mules any more, it was arranged that we should each take
turns in leading one. Thus we could pick out the firmer ground, and very
often assist the mule where he would otherwise have gone blundering on.
As we left camp 83, a very reduced little party, but full of hope, we
found the going even heavier than it had been the previous day, for
the animals constantly collapsed in the soft soil on the banks of the
nullah; and we came to the conclusion that we were taking too much
strength out of them in comparison with the ground we were actually
covering, and that, therefore, our wisest plan would be to halt on
the first grassy ground we might come to, and there wait in hopes of
the weather improving. We had hardly gone two miles when we called
a halt. We had found some good grass, and plenty of onions. The sun,
too, began to shine, and we trusted we had come to an end of the rain
and snow, and that the ground would soon dry up and admit of an early
start the following morning. We made a splendid fire with our old tent
and bed-poles, and cheered every one up with a good meal of venison and
fried onions.
Having thus well fortified ourselves, we shouldered our guns and sallied
forth in search of game and to explore ahead for the morrow. We failed
in finding anything to shoot, but collected a few more flowers. Our
best plan appeared to be to follow the nullah alongside which we had
encamped.