The chaos of rocks and sand, walled in by vermilion and orange
mountains, on which the village of Shergol stands, offered no
facilities for camping; but somehow the men managed to pitch my tent
on a steep slope, where I had to place my trestle bed astride an
irrigation channel, down which the water bubbled noisily, on its way
to keep alive some miserable patches of barley. At Shergol and
elsewhere fodder is so scarce that the grain is not cut, but pulled
up by the roots.
The intensely human interest of the journey began at that point. Not
greater is the contrast between the grassy slopes and deodar-clothed
mountains of Kashmir and the flaming aridity of Lesser Tibet, than
between the tall, dark, handsome natives of the one, with their
statuesque and shrinking women, and the ugly, short, squat, yellow-
skinned, flat-nosed, oblique-eyed, uncouth-looking people of the
other. The Kashmiris are false, cringing, and suspicious; the
Tibetans truthful, independent, and friendly, one of the pleasantest
of peoples. I 'took' to them at once at Shergol, and terribly faulty
though their morals are in some respects, I found no reason to change
my good opinion of them in the succeeding four months.
The headman or go-pa came to see me, introduced me to the objects of
interest, which are a gonpo, or monastery, built into the rock, with
a brightly coloured front, and three chod-tens, or relic-holders,
painted blue, red, and yellow, and daubed with coarse arabesques and
representations of deities, one having a striking resemblance to Mr.
Gladstone. The houses are of mud, with flat roofs; but, being
summer, many of them were roofless, the poplar rods which support the
mud having been used for fuel. Conical stacks of the dried excreta
of animals, the chief fuel of the country, adorned the roofs, but the
general aspect was ruinous and poor. The people all invited me into
their dark and dirty rooms, inhabited also by goats, offered tea and
cheese, and felt my clothes. They looked the wildest of savages, but
they are not. No house was so poor as not to have its 'family
altar,' its shelf of wooden gods, and table of offerings. A
religious atmosphere pervades Tibet, and gives it a singular sense of
novelty. Not only were there chod-tens and a gonpo in this poor
place, and family altars, but prayer-wheels, i.e. wooden cylinders
filled with rolls of paper inscribed with prayers, revolving on
sticks, to be turned by passers-by, inscribed cotton bannerets on
poles planted in cairns, and on the roofs long sticks, to which
strips of cotton bearing the universal prayer, Aum mani padne hun (O
jewel of the lotus-flower), are attached. As these wave in the wind
the occupants of the house gain the merit of repeating this sentence.
The remaining marches to Leh, the capital of Lesser Tibet, were full
of fascination and novelty. Everywhere the Tibetans were friendly
and cordial. In each village I was invited to the headman's house,
and taken by him to visit the chief inhabitants; every traveller, lay
and clerical, passed by with the cheerful salutation Tzu, asked me
where I came from and whither I was going, wished me a good journey,
admired Gyalpo, and when he scaled rock ladders and scrambled gamely
through difficult torrents, cheered him like Englishmen, the general
jollity and cordiality of manners contrasting cheerily with the
chilling aloofness of Moslems.
The irredeemable ugliness of the Tibetans produced a deeper
impression daily. It is grotesque, and is heightened, not modified,
by their costume and ornament. They have high cheekbones, broad flat
noses without visible bridges, small, dark, oblique eyes, with heavy
lids and imperceptible eyebrows, wide mouths, full lips, thick, big,
projecting ears, deformed by great hoops, straight black hair nearly
as coarse as horsehair, and short, square, ungainly figures. The
faces of the men are smooth. The women seldom exceed five feet in
height, and a man is tall at five feet four.
The male costume is a long, loose, woollen coat with a girdle,
trousers, under-garments, woollen leggings, and a cap with a turned-
up point over each ear. The girdle is the depository of many things
dear to a Tibetan--his purse, rude knife, heavy tinder-box, tobacco
pouch, pipe, distaff, and sundry charms and amulets. In the
capacious breast of his coat he carries wool for spinning--for he
spins as he walks--balls of cold barley dough, and much besides. He
wears his hair in a pigtail. The women wear short, big-sleeved
jackets, shortish, full-plaited skirts, tight trousers a yard too
long, the superfluous length forming folds above the ankle, a
sheepskin with the fur outside hangs over the back, and on gala
occasions a sort of drapery is worn over the usual dress. Felt or
straw shoes and many heavy ornaments are worn by both sexes. Great
ears of brocade, lined and edged with fur and attached to the hair,
are worn by the women. Their hair is dressed once a month in many
much-greased plaits, fastened together at the back by a long tassel.
The head-dress is a strip of cloth or leather, sewn over with large
turquoises, carbuncles, and silver ornaments. This hangs in a point
over the brow, broadens over the top of the head, and tapers as it
reaches the waist behind. The ambition of every Tibetan girl is
centred in this singular headgear. Hoops in the ears, necklaces,
amulets, clasps, bangles of brass or silver, and various implements
stuck in the girdle and depending from it, complete a costume pre-
eminent in ugliness. The Tibetans are dirty. They wash once a year,
and, except for festivals, seldom change their clothes till they
begin to drop off. They are healthy and hardy, even the women can
carry weights of sixty pounds over the passes; they attain extreme
old age; their voices are harsh and loud, and their laughter is noisy
and hearty.
After leaving Shergol the signs of Buddhism were universal and
imposing, and the same may be said of the whole of the inhabited part
of Lesser Tibet. Colossal figures of Shakya Thubba (Buddha) are
carved on faces of rock, or in wood, stone, or gilded copper sit on
lotus thrones in endless calm near villages of votaries. Chod-tens
from twenty to a hundred feet in height, dedicated to 'holy' men, are
scattered over elevated ground, or in imposing avenues line the
approaches to hamlets and gonpos. There are also countless manis,
dykes of stone from six to sixteen feet in width and from twenty feet
to a fourth of a mile in length, roofed with flattish stones,
inscribed by the lamas (monks) with the phrase Aum, &c., and
purchased and deposited by those who wish to obtain any special
benefit from the gods, such as a safe journey. Then there are
prayer-mills, sometimes 150 in a row, which revolve easily by being
brushed by the hand of the passer-by, larger prayer-cylinders which
are turned by pulling ropes, and others larger still by water-power.
The finest of the latter was in a temple overarching a perennial
torrent, and was said to contain 20,000 repetitions of the mystic
phrase, the fee to the worshipper for each revolution of the cylinder
being from 1d. to 1s. 4d., according to his means or urgency.
The glory and pride of Ladak and Nubra are the gonpos, of which the
illustrations give a slight idea. Their picturesqueness is
absolutely enchanting. They are vast irregular piles of fantastic
buildings, almost invariably crowning lofty isolated rocks or
mountain spurs, reached by steep, rude rock staircases, chod-tens
below and battlemented towers above, with temples, domes, bridges
over chasms, spires, and scaffolded projections gleaming with gold,
looking, as at Lamayuru, the outgrowth of the rock itself. The outer
walls are usually whitewashed, and red, yellow, and brown wooden
buildings, broad bands of red and blue on the whitewash, tridents,
prayer-mills, yaks' tails, and flags on poles give colour and
movement, while the jangle of cymbals, the ringing of bells, the
incessant beating of big drums and gongs, and the braying at
intervals of six-foot silver horns, attest the ritualistic activities
of the communities within. The gonpos contain from two up to three
hundred lamas. These are not cloistered, and their duties take them
freely among the people, with whom they are closely linked, a younger
son in every family being a monk. Every act in trade, agriculture,
and social life needs the sanction of sacerdotalism, whatever exists
of wealth is in the gonpos, which also have a monopoly of learning,
and 11,000 monks, linked with the people, yet ruling all affairs of
life and death and beyond death, are connected closely by education,
tradition, and authority with Lhassa.
Passing along faces of precipices and over waterless plateaux of
blazing red gravel--'waste places,' truly--the journey was cheered by
the meeting of red and yellow lamas in companies, each lama twirling
his prayer-cylinder, abbots, and skushoks (the latter believed to be
incarnations of Buddha) with many retainers, or gay groups of
priestly students, intoning in harsh and high-pitched monotones, Aum
mani padne hun. And so past fascinating monastic buildings, through
crystal torrents rushing over red rock, through flaming ravines, on
rock ledges by scaffolded paths, camping in the afternoons near
friendly villages on oases of irrigated alluvium, and down the Wanla
water by the steepest and narrowest cleft ever used for traffic, I
reached the Indus, crossed it by a wooden bridge where its broad,
fierce current is narrowed by rocks to a width of sixty-five feet,
and entered Ladak proper. A picturesque fort guards the bridge, and
there travellers inscribe their names and are reported to Leh. I
camped at Khalsi, a mile higher, but returned to the bridge in the
evening to sketch, if I could, the grim nudity and repulsive horror
of the surrounding mountains, attended only by Usman Shah. A few
months earlier, this ruffian was sent down from Leh with six other
soldiers and an officer to guard the fort, where they became the
terror of all who crossed the bridge by their outrageous levies of
blackmail. My swashbuckler quarrelled with the officer over a
disreputable affair, and one night stabbed him mortally, induced his
six comrades to plunge their knives into the body, sewed it up in a
blanket, and threw it into the Indus, which disgorged it a little
lower down. The men were all arrested and marched to Srinagar, where
Usman turned 'king's evidence.'
The remaining marches were alongside of the tremendous granite ranges
which divide the Indus from its great tributary, the Shayok.
Colossal scenery, desperate aridity, tremendous solar heat, and an
atmosphere highly rarefied and of nearly intolerable dryness, were
the chief characteristics. At these Tibetan altitudes, where the
valleys exceed 11,000 feet, the sun's rays are even more powerful
than on the 'burning plains of India.' The day wind, rising at 9
a.m., and only falling near sunset, blows with great heat and force.
The solar heat at noon was from 120 degrees to 130 degrees, and at
night the mercury frequently fell below the freezing point. I did
not suffer from the climate, but in the case of most Europeans the
air passages become irritated, the skin cracks, and after a time the
action of the heart is affected. The hair when released stands out
from the head, leather shrivels and splits, horn combs break to
pieces, food dries up, rapid evaporation renders water-colour
sketching nearly impossible, and tea made with water from fifteen to
twenty below the boiling-point of 212 degrees, is flavourless and
flat.
After a delightful journey of twenty-five days I camped at Spitak,
among the chod-tens and manis which cluster round the base of a lofty
and isolated rock, crowned with one of the most striking monasteries
in Ladak, and very early the next morning, under a sun of terrific
fierceness, rode up a five-mile slope of blazing gravel to the goal
of my long march. Even at a short distance off, the Tibetan capital
can scarcely be distinguished from the bare, ribbed, scored, jagged,
vermilion and rose-red mountains which nearly surround it, were it
not for the palace of the former kings or Gyalpos of Ladak, a huge
building attaining ten storeys in height, with massive walls sloping
inwards, while long balconies and galleries, carved projections of
brown wood, and prominent windows, give it a singular
picturesqueness. It can be seen for many miles, and dwarfs the
little Central Asian town which clusters round its base.
Long lines of chod-tens and manis mark the approach to Leh. Then
come barley fields and poplar and willow plantations, bright streams
are crossed, and a small gateway, within which is a colony of very
poor Baltis, gives access to the city. In consequence of 'the
vigilance of the guard at the bridge of Khalsi,' I was expected, and
was met at the gate by the wazir's jemadar, or head of police, in
artistic attire, with spahis in apricot turbans, violet chogas, and
green leggings, who cleared the way with spears, Gyalpo frolicking as
merrily and as ready to bite, and the Afghan striding in front as
firmly, as though they had not marched for twenty-five days through
the rugged passes of the Himalayas. In such wise I was escorted to a
shady bungalow of three rooms, in the grounds of H. B. M.'s Joint
Commissioner, who lives at Leh during the four months of the 'caravan
season,' to assist in regulating the traffic and to guard the
interests of the numerous British subjects who pass through Leh with
merchandise. For their benefit also, the Indian Government aids in
the support of a small hospital, open, however, to all, which, with a
largely attended dispensary, is under the charge of a Moravian
medical missionary.
Just outside the Commissioner's grounds are two very humble
whitewashed dwellings, with small gardens brilliant with European
flowers; and in these the two Moravian missionaries, the only
permanent European residents in Leh, were living, Mr. Redslob and Dr.
Karl Marx, with their wives. Dr. Marx was at his gate to welcome me.
To these two men, especially the former, I owe a debt of gratitude
which in no shape, not even by the hearty acknowledgment of it, can
ever be repaid, for they died within a few days of each other, of an
epidemic, last year, Dr. Marx and a new-born son being buried in one
grave. For twenty-five years Mr. Redslob, a man of noble physique
and intellect, a scholar and linguist, an expert botanist and an
admirable artist, devoted himself to the welfare of the Tibetans, and
though his great aim was to Christianize them, he gained their
confidence so thoroughly by his virtues, kindness, profound Tibetan
scholarship, and manliness, that he was loved and welcomed
everywhere, and is now mourned for as the best and truest friend the
people ever had.
I had scarcely finished breakfast when he called; a man of great
height and strong voice, with a cheery manner, a face beaming with
kindness, and speaking excellent English. Leh was the goal of my
journey, but Mr. Redslob came with a proposal to escort me over the
great passes to the northward for a three weeks' journey to Nubra, a
district formed of the combined valleys of the Shayok and Nubra
rivers, tributaries of the Indus, and abounding in interest. Of
course I at once accepted an offer so full of advantages, and the
performance was better even than the promise.
Two days were occupied in making preparations, but afterwards I spent
a fortnight in my tent at Leh, a city by no means to be passed over
without remark, for, though it and the region of which it is the
capital are very remote from the thoughts of most readers, it is one
of the centres of Central Asian commerce. There all traders from
India, Kashmir, and Afghanistan must halt for animals and supplies on
their way to Yarkand and Khotan, and there also merchants from the
mysterious city of Lhassa do a great business in brick tea and in
Lhassa wares, chiefly ecclesiastical.
The situation of Leh is a grand one, the great Kailas range, with its
glaciers and snowfields, rising just behind it to the north, its
passes alone reaching an altitude of nearly 18,000 feet; while to the
south, across a gravelly descent and the Indus Valley, rise great red
ranges dominated by snow-peaks exceeding 21,000 feet in altitude.
The centre of Leh is a wide bazaar, where much polo is played in the
afternoons; and above this the irregular, flat-roofed, many-balconied
houses of the town cluster round the palace and a gigantic chod-ten
alongside it. The rugged crest of the rock on a spur of which the
palace stands is crowned by the fantastic buildings of an ancient
gonpo. Beyond the crops and plantations which surround the town lies
a flaming desert of gravel or rock. The architectural features of
Leh, except of the palace, are mean. A new mosque glaring with
vulgar colour, a treasury and court of justice, the wazir's bungalow,
a Moslem cemetery, and Buddhist cremation grounds, in which each
family has its separate burning place, are all that is noteworthy.
The narrow alleys, which would be abominably dirty if dirt were
possible in a climate of such intense dryness, house a very mixed
population, in which the Moslem element is always increasing, partly
owing to the renewal of that proselytising energy which is making
itself felt throughout Asia, and partly to the marriages of Moslem
traders with Ladaki women, who embrace the faith of their husbands
and bring up their families in the same.
On my arrival few of the shops in the great place, or bazaar, were
open, and there was no business; but a few weeks later the little
desert capital nearly doubled its population, and during August the
din and stir of trade and amusements ceased not by day or night, and
the shifting scenes were as gay in colouring and as full of variety
as could be desired.
Great caravans en route for Khotan, Yarkand, and even Chinese Tibet
arrived daily from Kashmir, the Panjab, and Afghanistan, and stacked
their bales of goods in the place; the Lhassa traders opened shops in
which the specialties were brick tea and instruments of worship;
merchants from Amritsar, Cabul, Bokhara, and Yarkand, stately in
costume and gait, thronged the bazaar and opened bales of costly
goods in tantalising fashion; mules, asses, horses, and yaks kicked,
squealed, and bellowed; the dissonance of bargaining tongues rose
high; there were mendicant monks, Indian fakirs, Moslem dervishes,
Mecca pilgrims, itinerant musicians, and Buddhist ballad howlers;
bold-faced women with creels on their backs brought in lucerne;
Ladakis, Baltis, and Lahulis tended the beasts, and the wazir's
jemadar and gay spahis moved about among the throngs. In the midst
of this picturesque confusion, the short, square-built, Lhassa
traders, who face the blazing sun in heavy winter clothing, exchange
their expensive tea for Nubra and Baltistan dried apricots, Kashmir
saffron, and rich stuffs from India; and merchants from Yarkand on
big Turkestan horses offer hemp, which is smoked as opium, and
Russian trifles and dress goods, under cloudless skies. With the
huge Kailas range as a background, this great rendezvous of Central
Asian traffic has a great fascination, even though moral shadows of
the darkest kind abound.
On the second morning, while I was taking the sketch of Usman Shah
which appears as the frontispiece, he was recognised both by the
Joint Commissioner and the chief of police as a mutineer and
murderer, and was marched out of Leh. I was asked to look over my
baggage, but did not. I had trusted him, he had been faithful in his
way, and later I found that nothing was missing. He was a brutal
ruffian, one of a band of irregulars sent by the Maharajah of Kashmir
to garrison the fort at Leh. From it they used to descend on the
town, plunder the bazaar, insult the women, take all they wanted
without payment, and when one of their number was being tried for
some offence, they dragged the judge out of court and beat him!
After holding Leh in terror for some time the British Commissioner
obtained their removal. It was, however, at the fort at the Indus
bridge, as related before, that the crime of murder was committed.
Still there was something almost grand in the defiant attitude of the
fantastic swash buckler, as, standing outside the bungalow, he faced
the British Commissioner, to him the embodiment of all earthly power,
and the chief of police, and defied them. Not an inch would he stir
till the wazir gave him a coolie to carry his baggage. He had been
acquitted of the murder, he said, 'and though I killed the man, it
was according to the custom of my country--he gave me an insult which
could only be wiped out in blood!' The guard dared not touch him,
and he went to the wazir, demanded a coolie, and got one!
Our party left Leh early on a glorious morning, travelling light, Mr.
Redslob, a very learned Lhassa monk, named Gergan, Mr. R.'s servant,
my three, and four baggage horses, with two drivers engaged for the
journey. The great Kailas range was to be crossed, and the first
day's march up long, barren, stony valleys, without interest, took us
to a piece of level ground, with a small semi-subterranean refuge on
which there was barely room for two tents, at the altitude of the
summit of Mont Blanc. For two hours before we reached it the men and
animals showed great distress. Gyalpo stopped every few yards,
gasping, with blood trickling from his nostrils, and turned his head
so as to look at me, with the question in his eyes, What does this
mean? Hassan Khan was reeling from vertigo, but would not give in;
the seis, a creature without pluck, was carried in a blanket slung on
my tent poles, and even the Tibetans suffered. I felt no
inconvenience, but as I unsaddled Gyalpo I was glad that there was no
more work to do! This 'mountain-sickness,' called by the natives
ladug, or 'pass-poison,' is supposed by them to be the result of the
odour or pollen of certain plants which grow on the passes. Horses
and mules are unable to carry their loads, and men suffer from
vertigo, vomiting, violent headache and bleeding from the nose,
mouth, and ears, as well as prostration of strength, sometimes
complete, and occasionally ending fatally.
After a bitterly cold night I was awakened at dawn by novel sounds,
gruntings, and low, resonant bellowing round my tent, and the grey
light revealed several yaks (the Bos grunniens, the Tibetan ox), the
pride of the Tibetan highlands. This magnificent animal, though not
exceeding an English shorthorn cow in height, looks gigantic, with
his thick curved horns, his wild eyes glaring from under a mass of
curls, his long thick hair hanging to his fetlocks, and his huge
bushy tail. He is usually black or tawny, but the tail is often
white, and is the length of his long hair. The nose is fine and has
a look of breeding as well as power. He only flourishes at altitudes
exceeding 12,000 feet. Even after generations of semi-domestication
he is very wild, and can only be managed by being led with a rope
attached to a ring in the nostrils. He disdains the plough, but
condescends to carry burdens, and numbers of the Ladak and Nubra
people get their living by carrying goods for the traders on his
broad back over the great passes. His legs are very short, and he
has a sensible way of measuring distance with his eyes and planting
his feet, which enables him to carry loads where it might be supposed
that only a goat could climb. He picks up a living anyhow, in that
respect resembling the camel.
He has an uncertain temper, and is not favourably disposed towards
his rider. Indeed, my experience was that just as one was about to
mount him he usually made a lunge at one with his horns. Some of my
yak steeds shied, plunged, kicked, executed fantastic movements on
the ledges of precipices, knocked down their leaders, bellowed
defiance, and rushed madly down mountain sides, leaping from boulder
to boulder, till they landed me among their fellows. The rush of a
herd of bellowing yaks at a wild gallop, waving their huge tails, is
a grand sight.
My first yak was fairly quiet, and looked a noble steed, with my
Mexican saddle and gay blanket among rather than upon his thick black
locks. His back seemed as broad as that of an elephant, and with his
slow, sure, resolute step, he was like a mountain in motion. We took
five hours for the ascent of the Digar Pass, our loads and some of us
on yaks, some walking, and those who suffered most from the 'pass-
poison' and could not sit on yaks were carried. A number of Tibetans
went up with us. It was a new thing for a European lady to travel in
Nubra, and they took a friendly interest in my getting through all
right. The dreary stretches of the ascent, though at first white
with edelweiss, of which the people make their tinder, are surmounted
for the most part by steep, short zigzags of broken stone. The
heavens were dark with snow-showers, the wind was high and the cold
severe, and gasping horses, and men prostrate on their faces unable
to move, suggested a considerable amount of suffering; but all safely
reached the summit, 17,930 feet, where in a snowstorm the guides
huzzaed, praised their gods, and tucked rag streamers into a cairn.
The loads were replaced on the horses, and over wastes of ice, across
snowfields margined by broad splashes of rose-red primulas, down
desert valleys and along irrigated hillsides, we descended 3,700 feet
to the village of Digar in Nubra, where under a cloudless sky the
mercury stood at 90 degrees!
Upper and Lower Nubra consist of the valleys of the Nubra and Shayok
rivers. These are deep, fierce, variable streams, which have buried
the lower levels under great stretches of shingle, patched with
jungles of hippophae and tamarisk, affording cover for innumerable
wolves. Great lateral torrents descend to these rivers, and on
alluvial ridges formed at the junctions are the villages with their
pleasant surroundings of barley, lucerne, wheat, with poplar and
fruit trees, and their picturesque gonpos crowning spurs of rock
above them. The first view of Nubra is not beautiful. Yellow,
absolutely barren mountains, cleft by yellow gorges, and apparently
formed of yellow gravel, the huge rifts in their sides alone showing
their substructure of rock, look as if they had never been finished,
or had been finished so long that they had returned to chaos. These
hem in a valley of grey sand and shingle, threaded by a greyish
stream. From the second view point mountains are seen descending on
a pleasanter part of the Shayok valley in grey, yellow, or vermilion
masses of naked rock, 7,000 and 8,000 feet in height, above which
rise snow capped peaks sending out fantastic spurs and buttresses,
while the colossal walls of rock are cleft by rifts as colossal. The
central ridge between the Nubra and Upper Shayok valleys is 20,000
feet in altitude, and on this are superimposed five peaks of rock,
ascertained by survey to be from 24,000 to 25,000 feet in height,
while at one point the eye takes in a nearly vertical height of
14,000 feet from the level of the Shayok River! The Shayok and Nubra
valleys are only five and four miles in width respectively at their
widest parts. The early winter traffic chiefly follows along river
beds, then nearly dry, while summer caravans have to labour along
difficult tracks at great heights, where mud and snow avalanches are
common, to climb dangerous rock ladders, and to cross glaciers and
the risky fords of the Shayok. Nubra is similar in character to
Ladak, but it is hotter and more fertile, the mountains are loftier,
the gonpos are more numerous, and the people are simpler, more
religious, and more purely Tibetan. Mr. Redslob loved Nubra, and as
love begets love he received a hearty welcome at Digar and everywhere
else.
The descent to the Shayok River gave us a most severe day of twelve
hours. The river had covered the usual track, and we had to take to
torrent beds and precipice ledges, I on one yak, and my tent on
another. In years of travel I have never seen such difficulties.
Eventually at dusk Mr. Redslob, Gergan, the servants, and I descended
on a broad shingle bed by the rushing Shayok; but it was not till
dawn on the following day that, by means of our two yaks and the
muleteers, our baggage and food arrived, the baggage horses being
brought down unloaded, with men holding the head and tail of each.
Our saddle horses, which we led with us, were much cut by falls.
Gyalpo fell fully twenty feet, and got his side laid open. The
baggage horses, according to their owners, had all gone over one
precipice, which delayed them five hours.
Below us lay two leaky scows, and eight men from Sati, on the other
side of the Shayok, are pledged to the Government to ferry
travellers; but no amount of shouting and yelling, or burning of
brushwood, or even firing, brought them to the rescue, though their
pleasant lights were only a mile off. Snow fell, the wind was strong
and keen, and our tent-pegs were only kept down by heavy stones.
Blankets in abundance were laid down, yet failed to soften the
'paving stones' on which I slept that night! We had tea and rice,
but our men, whose baggage was astray on the mountains, were without
food for twenty-two hours, positively refusing to eat our food or
cook fresh rice in our cooking pots! To such an extent has Hindu
caste-feeling infected Moslems!
The disasters of that day's march, besides various breakages, were,
two servants helpless from 'pass-poison' and bruises; a Ladaki, who
had rolled over a precipice, with a broken arm, and Gergan bleeding
from an ugly scalp wound, also from a fall.
By eight o'clock the next morning the sun was high and brilliant, the
snows of the ravines under its fierce heat were melting fast, and the
river, roaring hoarsely, was a mad rush of grey rapids and grey foam;
but three weeks later in the season, lower down, its many branches
are only two feet deep. This Shayok, which cannot in any way be
circumvented, is the great obstacle on this Yarkand trade route.
Travellers and their goods make the perilous passage in the scow, but
their animals swim, and are often paralysed by the ice-cold water and
drowned. My Moslem servants, white-lipped and trembling, committed
themselves to Allah on the river bank, and the Buddhists worshipped
their sleeve idols. The gopa, or headman of Sati, a splendid fellow,
who accompanied us through Nubra, and eight wild-looking, half-naked
satellites, were the Charons of that Styx. They poled and paddled
with yells of excitement; the rapids seized the scow, and carried her
broadside down into hissing and raging surges; then there was a
plash, a leap of maddened water half filling the boat, a struggle, a
whirl, violent efforts, and a united yell, and far down the torrent
we were in smooth water on the opposite shore. The ferrymen
recrossed, pulled our saddle horses by ropes into the river, the gopa
held them; again the scow and her frantic crew, poling, paddling, and
yelling, were hurried broadside down, and as they swept past there
were glimpses above and among the foam-crested surges of the wild-
looking heads and drifting forelocks of two grey horses swimming
desperately for their lives,--a splendid sight. They landed safely,
but of the baggage animals one was sucked under the boat and drowned,
and as the others refused to face the rapids, we had to obtain other
transport. A few days later the scow, which was brought up in pieces
from Kashmir on coolies' backs at a cost of four hundred rupees, was
dashed to pieces!
A halt for Sunday in an apricot grove in the pleasant village of Sati
refreshed us all for the long marches which followed, by which we
crossed the Sasir Pass, full of difficulties from snow and glaciers,
which extend for many miles, to the Dipsang Plain, the bleakest and
dreariest of Central Asian wastes, from which the gentle ascent of
the Karakorum Pass rises, and returned, varying our route slightly,
to the pleasant villages of the Nubra valley. Everywhere Mr.
Redslob's Tibetan scholarship, his old-world courtesy, his kindness
and adaptability, and his medical skill, ensured us a welcome the
heartiness of which I cannot describe. The headmen and elders of the
villages came to meet us when we arrived, and escorted us when we
left; the monasteries and houses with the best they contained were
thrown open to us; the men sat round our camp-fires at night, telling
stories and local gossip, and asking questions, everything being
translated to me by my kind guide, and so we actually lived 'among
the Tibetans.'