ACROSS THE WINTRY HIMALAYAN PASSES BACK TO KASHMIR
Leaving Karasu, we marched through a barren and desolate countryside
to Tagharma, in the Sarikol Pamirs. One feels that it is a very old
land, but there is little tangible evidence of its antiquity. The
mud-daubed stone houses of the villages are probably the counterparts
of those that stood here two thousand years ago; no doubt many of the
rocks used in the buildings are identical, but there is nothing to
tell one so. Everything of man’s handiwork has taken on the ageless
dun hue of the desert. On some big boulders near where we made our
noonday halt, there were scratched rough likenesses of the ovis poli.
Tagharma might claim title as an oasis because of the presence of a
few straggling willow-trees. Here the Rajah of Sarikol came to meet
us, a pleasant-appearing boy clad in a tunic of purple plush. His
retainers were a fierce-eyed, hawk-featured set; totally unlike our
Kirghiz friends in bearing and physique. Some travellers credit this
obvious Aryan race to Alexander the Great’s expeditionary force,
which must have been marvellously prolific if all the isolated Aryan
tribes found throughout this part of the Himalayas are really from
remnants of that army.
Next morning we rode in to Tashkurghan, running the gauntlet of a
series of refreshment booths set out for us by hospitable Beys.
Rustum Bey was the first to halt us and escort us into the dried
mud shelter in which he had spread carpets for our reception. Here
we drank the inevitable tea of ceremony from the grimy china bowls,
and ate a few nuts and watermelon seeds. We had already taken an
early tiffin in order to leave us free to start immediately on our
bundobust when we should arrive at Tashkurghan, so at each additional
gathering we dreaded still further the drinking and eating which the
acceptance of the courtesy would call for.
Last of all out rode the Amban, and of a truth “the nightmare Life
in Death was he.” It seemed impossible that he could sit upon his
horse unsupported, so emaciated was he. His skin was drawn tight over
his features, like old yellow parchment. The guard that accompanied
him was the most motley troop that I have ever in my wanderings come
across. In comparison with it, the raggedest group of South American
insurrectos would have appeared like a battalion of West Point cadets.
Tashkurghan has had a long and eventful history, but little remains
to show for it. It is mentioned in Ptolemy’s “Geography,” and way
before the days of Marco Polo it was a centre where the trade from
the Far East met that of Persia. The ruins of the ancient stone fort
(Tash—stone, kurghan—fort) can still be traced; the Amban inhabits
the modern one. Probably most of the material in the new fort was
originally used in the old. The bazaar is a single street a hundred
yards long, boasting perhaps six shops. The sentiments of Thangbrand,
Olaf’s priest, kept running through my mind, but, profiting by his
difficulties, I did not say:
“What’s the use
Of this boasting up and down,
When three women and a goose
Make a market in your town?”
The old gray-bearded Aksakal quartered us in his house, which stood
in what was the most extensive and attractive garden in town—there
were four small trees in it. Tashkurghan is Nadir Beg’s home, and he
brought to see us his small son, an attractive alert boy of eight.
The Aksakal had six or seven children, one of whom, a round-eyed
youngster of some four summers, was quite evidently his favorite. He
was a solemn little fellow, and took deep interest in everything that
we did, following us about with great dignity. We gave him a store of
treasures in the shape of large red and green buttons, empty tobacco
tins, and other odds and ends.
We had decided that Tashkurghan would be the best place at which to
make the final cuts in our equipment before starting back across the
passes to Kashmir. Of necessity, having no idea how long we would
have to spend in the Pamirs after ovis poli, we had brought with us
from Kashgar a certain amount of surplus equipment. Now that we had
secured the group of the great sheep, we determined to put in only
two more hunting days. If fortune favored us and we got a couple more
rams, so much the better, but our followers seemed so apprehensive
of the snow-covered passes ahead that we did not feel justified in
spending much additional time on the Pamirs.
The process of cutting down was not accomplished without considerable
effort. The Oriental has strongly embedded in him the habit of
acquisition. If you throw anything away, it is ten to one that some
one of your servants will salvage it, no matter how utterly useless
it may be. Thus you will find that your endeavor to lighten loads
has merely meant a redistribution. Ted and I finally adopted the
principle of presenting anything that we no longer required, and
which we knew could be of no service to our men, to some needy or
deserving native. Vigilance could not invariably be relaxed even
then, for the gift might be requisitioned from its new owner.
The time had come when we no longer needed the evening clothes which
had served us so well for our ceremonial calls upon the Ambans of
Turkestan. Nadir Beg fell heir to mine, but Ted’s was kept and
presented to a follower of the Mir of Hunza, who made himself
particularly useful to us.
Occasionally we hid our lesser belongings as a sort of Easter-egg
hunt for the inhabitants of some village where we had spent the
night. In this way I concealed in the felt lining of a yourt in which
we had slept an old pair of cotton pajamas. It so happened, however,
that the yourt was dismantled upon our departure, and we had not gone
many miles before a Sarikuli came galloping after us, waving the
discarded pajamas. Still, in one way or another, our efforts were
crowned with success, for when we started down the Hunza we had only
twelve pony-loads all told, and among them were comprised six ovis
poli skins and eight heads.
After much consultation Rahima advised Payik Nullah as the most
profitable place to put in our last days after poli. The new caravan
which we had engaged in Kashgar had proved to be far and away
the least efficient of any of the caravans we had had. They were
hopelessly dilatory in getting under weigh in the mornings, and
marched at a snail’s pace when once they did get going. We hoped that
by making good marches and letting them come in after dark, we could
give them a practical lesson in the advantages of early starting and
steady marching. We explained this principle to them on the first
evening on which they came in, complaining and groaning, in the cold
and dark, but they were apparently hopelessly shiftless, and unable
to profit by even the most practical illustrations.
We determined, therefore, to give our slow-moving caravan the
advantage of the last days’ hunting, and by sending it on ahead we
hoped that it would reach Misgar before us. We were most fortunate
in having the very efficient Nadir Beg with us, for in putting him
in charge of this advance caravan, we knew that it would be capably
managed.
The first night out from Tashkurghan we halted at Jurgal Gumbaz,
and on the second at Jayloo, where we found a most welcome stone
hut in which we waited snugly for the shiftless caravan, instead of
shivering under the shelter of a rock, as we had anticipated.
A couple of hours’ marching next morning brought us to Payik Karaul,
and here, with a few horses bearing our bedding and food, we left
the main road. We followed up Payik Nullah for some fifteen miles,
until we came to where the yourts of Daoud Beg were pitched. He had
come to Tashkurghan to meet us, and his nephew Palang was reputed,
and rightly so, to be the best shikarry around. We had brought no
tent, but a roomy yourt in which a fire of yak dung burned proved far
superior to any tent. Daoud Beg’s numerous offspring crowded in to
look the strangers over, and on them we bestowed the gaudy buttons
which we always carried in our pockets to serve on such occasions.
Before daylight next morning Loosu brought us in the two cups of tea
that form chota hazri (little breakfast) and, inspirited by them,
we reluctantly crawled out of our warm bedding-rolls. Our saddles
had been put on yaks, for we had some steep and rocky climbing ahead
of us. The shaggy coats of the yaks were white with hoarfrost, as
we clambered stiffly into our saddles. Our path lay over a steep
pass, on the farther side of which we found ourselves in the Russian
Pamirs. By this time the sun was up, and, although we were still
most grateful for our heavy leathern coats with their sheepskin
lining, we felt less the necessity for concentrating our thoughts
entirely upon keeping warm, and were able to give some attention to
the neighboring mountainsides. The first thing we saw was a big red
fox homeward bound from his night’s rambles, and shortly afterward
Palang made out a herd of arkal or ovis poli ewes. It was not until
after we had seen still another lot of ewes that Khalil picked up two
rams. One was standing and the other lay stretched out on the rubble.
We could see that the former had a fine head; that of the latter was
only partly visible, and did not look as good. The wind, of course,
was wrong, which, together with the conformation of the country,
called for a long and roundabout stalk. We were able, however, to go
the greater part of the way on our yaks. Bos Grunniens has been well
named; he grunts and pants like an asthmatic patriarch as he climbs,
but he plods along regardless, and the minute you stop him he starts
eating snow, or boortsa, if there be any about. Before we came to the
last rise dividing us from our quarry, a fox jumped up and trotted
across ahead of us. We feared it would move the poli, and either it
or something else did, for when we had reached the vantage-point
from which they should have been visible and within range, they were
nowhere to be seen.
Cautiously we examined the country roundabout, but they had evidently
gone some distance, so we kept on along the ridge, making numerous
halts to spy out the land. We came upon a herd of females and young,
and watched them through our field-glasses as they pursued their
noonday occupation of feeding and sleeping. We had a little cold
mutton and bread with us, and while we were eating it, sheltered as
well as possible from the bitterly cold wind that whipped across the
ridge, Palang went ahead, scouting on his own. Half an hour later he
appeared on a ridge, waving to us to join him. We were not long in
reaching him, and he explained with whisper and gesture that he had
seen the rams lying down below some big rocks.
It was necessary to proceed very carefully and slowly, for, although
the wind for once favored us, the slide rock was treacherous and a
rolling stone would quickly put the poli on the alert and probably
send them off at the double. Step by step we picked our way among the
boulders. We came to where Palang had seen the rams, and, peeping
over, we caught a glimpse of the head of one of them. He seemed to be
standing up, but drowsing on his feet. Ducking back, we continued
along the ridge to a heap of rocks we had marked down as the end of
our stalk. We reached it in safety, and, peering over, saw a fine
poli ram only seventy-five yards away. Ted had won the toss for
first shot. As soon as I heard the report of his rifle, I also let
drive, quickly reloading in case the second ram should show up. Ted
had fired his second shot at his ram, when the other poli popped
into sight; I quickly let drive, and after that the shooting became
general. We each fired four times, and each bullet scored a hit. I
was able to get several snapshots of one of the wounded animals. They
were fine big fellows; Ted’s had a fifty-three-inch horn and mine a
fifty-two.
We were eager to secure another female for the museum group, so
after a last congratulatory look at our prizes, we left Rahima and
Khalil to take the skins off while we faced the main ridge again with
Palang. It was a stiff climb, and when we had made the ascent we
found that the ewes upon which we had designs had decamped. Climbing
or even walking on the level at these high altitudes involves much
more labor than can be imagined by those who have not experienced it.
In Persian this region is called the Bam-i-Dunya, the Roof of the
World, and from this is, I suppose, derived the name Pamirs, for “B”
and “P” are easily interchangeable. It is indeed a roof, and a high
one; we were often hunting at an altitude of 17,000 feet.
[Illustration: RAHIMA, PALANG, KHALIL, AND T. R. WITH T. R.’S BIG
POLI]
Palang was both indefatigable and cheerful, so on we went in search
of the ewes, but it was almost too dark to shoot before we came
upon a bunch. There was no chance for a stalk, so we chanced a few
long-range shots without success. It was a stiff pull back to camp;
there was no moon, but the white of the snow gave some light, and
the stars shone out in glittering brilliancy. Daoud Beg had sent
out two ponies, but we were glad to change back to our yaks for the
final descent from the pass. The dark and the hidden stones bothered
the yaks not a bit; the steepest and most uncertain short cut only
incited them to additional speed when they were headed down-hill.
However, you soon acquired a blind and unreasoning confidence in
their ability to keep their feet under any circumstances. On the
steep slopes the snow lay in strips and patches that shone with a
phosphorescent glow in the dark. In spite of the bitter cold we could
find thought to thoroughly enjoy the wild scene, doubly so with the
knowledge of the two fine poli that our shikaries had brought in
ahead of us. It was nearly half past eight before we were thawing
ourselves out at the welcome yak-dung fire in our yourt.
We had still one day more that we felt justified in allotting to
ourselves for hunting, and we determined to make a last try for the
extra ewe that we wanted. In the morning, therefore, we sent our
two shikaries down to Payik Karaul with the pack-ponies, while we
took Palang and a couple of other local shikaries and went off to
Gunjabat Nullah, reputed a most likely ground. Riding up the ravine
we came upon both sheep and ibex heads, all old and weather-beaten.
The first game we saw was a large herd of ibex; we watched them
through our glasses, and estimated two of the large males as having
horns at least forty-five inches in length, a very good size for
the Himalayan ibex. It was not, however, ibex that we wanted, so we
continued our search. It was only a few minutes later that we made
out four poli rams. They looked larger than any one we had yet seen,
so we immediately set out upon a lengthy and toilsome stalk which
if successful should bring us within good range. For four hours we
struggled along through deep snow and slide rock. Palang was most
distrustful of avalanches—he had lost four friends in one—and we did
our best to avoid setting anything in motion. The only restful part
of the stalk was when we tobogganned down a steep bit of mountainside
in the track of an avalanche. It would have been better fun had we
not realized that for every foot we gaily coasted we would have to
elsewhere plod upward a corresponding distance. Several immature
avalanches came down, while the two shikaries and I were making our
way along the foot of the hill, and I did not pay much attention
to them. Of a sudden I heard them shout, and looked up to see Ted
humming down in the middle of a small avalanche. Fortunately he
was able to keep on the surface, so that when the snow slowed up he
extricated himself without having suffered any damage.
It was tedious work winning our way up to the ridge from which we
hoped to make the tag end of the stalk, and disappointment was
awaiting us at the top; the sheep were no longer there. The man who
had stayed behind with the yaks, and who had been instructed to
watch the rams, told us that they appeared to get our wind when we
were about half through the stalk, and that by the time we appeared
on the crest they had been gone for two hours! Whatever it was that
disturbed them, it had done its work thoroughly, for the poli had
left the country at a round trot, and put a good day’s march between
us and themselves. During the rest of the day we saw nothing but a
herd of female ibex, so empty-handed we worked our way back to the
main nullah and headed down to Payik Karaul. For the latter part of
the ride Ted and I shifted back to ponies. Work as hard as we could,
it seemed impossible for us to keep our yaks going at any reasonable
pace, except when they were bound down-hill. The Sarikulis could keep
them going apparently without effort. Our escort, which consisted
of three men, also changed mounts; one climbed on to a huge camel,
another got on a pony, and the third shifted to a fresh yak. As they
rode along, all three abreast, ahead of us, we could only regret that
it was too dark to use the camera.
There are two passes from the Pamirs over into the Hunza Valley—the
Mintaka and the Killik. The former offers the more direct route, but
is much more difficult to negotiate in bad weather. Our Sarikuli
friends insisted upon taking us over the Killik, assuring us that by
so doing we would reach Misgar sooner than if we went the shorter
way. We marched from Payik Karaul to a group of yourts known as Khush
Bel; it was well over thirty miles and our Kashgar caravan men ran
true to form in getting off late, so that it was not until after nine
that they came in—a frozen and woebegone lot.
On the way we met the mail runner that comes through once a week from
Gilgit to Kashgar. The fact that he had chosen the Killik impelled
us to put more faith in the selection of our Sarikulis. This mail is
run through in relays, and takes about a month to get from Srinagar
to Kashgar. The runner told us he had seen poli rams near Khush Bel.
Of course they had decamped by the time we reached there, but not far
from the yourts we came upon the skulls of several big rams; they had
been killed by wolves when the snow lay deep and the weight of their
great horns wore them down when they tried to run from their foes.
It must have been several years ago, for there was one head just
short of sixty inches that I would have liked to have taken along
had it not been so weather-worn as to make it useless. We had been
continually on the lookout for good pick-ups, but this was the only
one that we came on which was larger than those we shot.
At Khush Bel we were lodged in a yourt for the last time; we saw
none after we had crossed the Killik. On the Pamirs we noted one
reversal of nature as we had hitherto found it. The cats were most
friendly and came up to be stroked and petted, while the dogs were
unchangeably savage, and showed no inclination to be conciliated.
There were only a few cats, but they were fine large fellows; one
tried to get into my bedding-roll with me on a particularly cold
night.
We crossed the Killik under favorable conditions; the ascent was long
but gradual; the altitude was only 15,600, which seemed low after the
great heights which we had topped between Leh and Yarkand. On the way
over it came on to snow, but when we started to descend, it was not
long before we left the snow behind.
The country for some time was unbelievably barren and desolate. We
had heard a place mentioned, Shirin Maidan, the translation being the
Polo Field. On reaching it we were disappointed to find it was merely
a small plateau a couple of hundred yards long and half as wide, the
only level spot of that size for miles around. The larger of the
stones had been dragged off and ranged on either side. The Hunza men
are very keen on polo, but as far as we could see, the only time when
they could use this field would be on their way across the pass.
Our halt was to be Mukurshi, the junction of the Killik and Mintaka
River, and a few miles before we reached it we quite unexpectedly
began to come upon small bushes and even trees—willows and stunted
cedars. Our two Sarikulis were mounted on yaks. They were riding
along in the lead, except for Rahima, who had left his pony and
walked on ahead. The trail was very steep and winding. Rahima sat
down beside it to wait for us just where it made a sharp turn. As
the leading yak pushed his head around the bend, he caught sight of
Rahima and took fright. I heard his snort, and saw him plunge off
the trail down the all but perpendicular mountainside. It seemed as
if nothing could save him or his rider; a pony could not have kept
his footing for an instant, but would have rolled over to be dashed
to pieces long before he struck the stream below. By some miraculous
process known only to yaks, the beast did keep his feet, and, after
plunging down a short way, straightened himself out and slanted
across the face of the mountain to reach the trail a little way on.
Neither yak nor rider seemed in any degree flustered.
Mukurshi we found uninhabited, but there were many willow-trees
growing in the small delta between the two streams, and plenty of
dead branches with which we made a roaring fire, a fine contrast to
the less spectacular but by no means to be despised fires of yak dung
to which we had been confined during our hunting on the “world’s
white roof-tree.”
Next day saw us at Misgar, a tiny village where we once more made
the acquaintance of telegraph-poles, that invariable harbinger of
civilization. There were a couple of lonely telegraph operators,
exiled for a year to this far-flung outpost. At Misgar we sent back
our Kashgar caravan. It was the first caravan from which we had
parted without regret. Its members had been thoroughly incompetent
without any disarming or redeeming features.
All down the Hunza gorge we used mixed caravans, a few ponies, a
donkey or two, and the balance in porters. The entire outfit was
generally changed twice a day, and as we got lower down the valley
we changed more often. The worst day we had in this respect was on
the march between Minapin and Chalt, only about fifteen miles, but
calling for six shifts. When we swapped transport at a village there
was never much delay, and the porters swung along at a round gait
which put them at their journey’s end in jig-time. The longest march
we made was of twenty-six miles; but we kept up a good average,
for with winter coming on we had no desire to delay in reaching
the passes over into Kashmir. On the fifteen-mile stretch which I
have mentioned, the multiplicity of shifts was further complicated
by the fact that they took place at the most inconvenient places.
Often the village where the coolies lived was some distance off up
the mountainside. The men who had finished their turn would squat
beside the loads and start upon a series of catcalls to summon their
successors from hut and field. We needed a lot of small change to
effect payment, for the coolies on the shorter hauls drew only an
anna—about two cents—apiece. The Hunza men we found to be marked
individualists; they rarely travelled in a long, sheep-like column.
Usually they hove up in the early morning, shouldered their loads,
and set off in groups of ones and twos. They were a cheerful,
uncomplaining set of men.
In spite of its cumbersome size, I had toted with me my old copy of
Knight’s “Where Three Empires Meet,” and the anticipated pleasure of
rereading it while passing through the country about which so much of
it had been written, more than repaid me for the space it had taken
in the yakdan. It is unfortunately very rarely that books of travel
and adventure are well enough written to hold the attention of any
save those who are intimately acquainted with or deeply interested
in the country with which they deal. Knight’s books have ever proved
such a happy exception; and I have followed him to many parts of
the world since my mother first gave me the “Voyage of the Falcon.”
Among the Himalayan hunting-books my personal favorite remains Major
Kennion’s “Sport in the Further Himalayas.” Rahima Loon in his
younger days hunted with Kennion and had many a tale to tell of the
remarkable stalks that the Major had made.
Between Misgar and Gilgit we passed through the countries ruled by
the Mirs of Hunza and of Nagar. The account of the campaign in which
they were brought to realize the advisability of allowing subjects of
the British Raj to pass unharmed through their dominions is vividly
told by Knight. Both rulers claim descent from Alexander the Great
through a mountain spirit that Alexander is supposed to have met on
the Hindu Koosh. The Hunza branch of the family is very European
in feature; all of its members with whom we came in contact were
red-headed. The present Mir dyes his red hair black, but his sons
leave it its natural hue.
We noticed a good deal of change in the color and profiles of the
inhabitants as we came on down the valley. In the upper part the
men were whiter in color and more aquiline in feature than were
those lower down. The Mir of Hunza’s subjects are usually known as
Kanjutis, and the upper reaches of the Hunza River below the junction
of the Killik and Mintaka streams is called the Kanjut River.
At Gircha, a short day’s march below Misgar, we were met by the Mir.
His travelling orchestra came out to escort us into town. It was led
by an old greybeard playing an abbreviated trumpet. There were two
other trumpets, two kettledrums, and two large drums. On one side of
the latter the drummer beat with his hand and on the other side with
a stick.
The Mir is a fine-looking man and a pleasant companion. He speaks
Hindustanee, so we could dispense with interpreters. He was on
his way up to a favorite hunting nullah, and had with him three or
four hawks which he used on chukor. He tried a few shots with my
Springfield rifle and made excellent practice.
That evening we dined in state with him, and an excellent dinner we
had, for although I have never known Rousslia’s superior as a Safari
cook, still a change, when not for the worse, is always agreeable.
We had now cut down our equipment to the extent that we had only the
clothes we stood in. The tuxedos which had served us so faithfully
at many an Amban’s feast we had given away as baksheesh. The Mir
presented each of us with a Hunza choga, a long, loose sort of
wrapper; Ted’s was made from goat hair and embroidered with silk,
mine was woven from ibex hair but unembroidered. These we slipped
on over our worn hunting-clothes, and felt greatly bettered in
appearance.
After dinner we adjourned to the garden to see some Kanjuti dances.
There were various kinds, ranging from a slow and stately affair
in which several men recited in Persian as they danced, to a wild
performance where two men rushed about whirling their swords, and
slashing the air so close to each other’s heads that it was a miracle
that no ears parted company with their owners. The whole scene was
lighted by a roaring bonfire; beside it were ranged the men who beat
their tomtoms in accompaniment to the performers, and massed behind
them were the wild-featured tribesmen. It was a savage picture
lit by the flickering tongues of flame one instant, and the next
only half discerned in the darkness. Now one of the swordsmen was
rushing about the circle in feigned flight, closely followed by his
victorious antagonist. The excitement mounted like strong wine to the
heads of the spectators, and they shouted mad encouragement. It was
easy to see that we were among a warlike people, who until recently
had made the greater part of their livelihood through raiding the Leh
and Yarkand caravans, and carrying off and selling as slaves such
members of the neighboring tribes as they could overpower or capture
by stealth.
Their warlike valor may be gauged by the fact that in the short
campaign against them in which Knight took part, out of the handful
of British officers engaged therein, no less than three won the
coveted Victoria Cross.
Since leaving the Tian Shan we had passed through various seasons.
Before coming over the Muzart Pass we had been in late autumn, in
Turkestan we had found ourselves in late summer, and then in early
fall. In the Pamirs it had been bleak winter, but now as we dropped
farther down the Kanjut Valley we were once more in the fall of the
year. The colors were particularly beautiful against the barren
background of the sterile mountains. The maple and poplar leaves
were yellow, and the apricot-trees were red; a few of the walnuts
were still green. At first the oases were small, but they steadily
increased in size; some, the larger, showed a perfect wealth of
color, reminding us of fall days on Long Island, with the dogwood in
full glory. We often watched the goatherds shaking a golden rain of
leaves from the trees, while their flocks waited expectantly beneath
to browse upon them.
The Kanjutis are far from rich; they lead a hand-to-mouth existence,
and during the summer months some villages subsist entirely on ripe
fruit. The wolf is never far from the door, even at the best of
times, and one of the reasons why there are so few foreigners allowed
in the Hunza country is that the use of the natives as porters takes
them from their work in the fields, and still further limits the
grain supply. Of course, there aren’t very many porters available,
anyway.
The trail down the valley we found in excellent shape; the worst
going we encountered was where it crossed the Batura glacier, and
there for two or three miles it was hard work for the coolies and
ponies.
At Gulmit the Mir has a house where he spends a couple of months
each fall, and here we met his eldest son. We had passed another
brother near Mukurshi. He was on his way to visit a wife who for some
reason chose to live near Tashkurghan. With the Mir there was a third
grown son and a small boy of five, a pretty dark-eyed little fellow,
quite evidently the Benjamin of the family, for the Mir kept the
child always beside him, and was obviously very proud of him. Old
Daoud Beg at Payik and the graybeard Aksakal of Tashkurghan also had
Benjamins. It seemed a common trait among these people to favor the
child of their advanced years above his elder brothers and sisters.
When we asked the Mir how many sons he had—in enumerating their
progeny our friends here never counted in their girl children—he
threw up his hands and said it was really impossible for him to say.
In a fairly literal sense he is reputed to be the father of his
country. I may add, however, that the sons whom we met all did him
credit.
The capital of the kingdom is Baltit, the centre of a group of
villages collectively known as Hunza. The Royal Palace overlooks the
whole from the eminence of a small hill. It is a roomy, rambling
patchwork Eastern affair, with no pretension to architecture of any
sort. Below it fell tier after tier of terraced field and orchard.
Deep lanes lined with high stone walls wove an intricate pattern
through the whole. On the tops of some of the low stone houses heaps
of golden red corn were lying, adding a glorious splash of color
to the already brilliant effect of the turning leaves. The Kanjuti
likes color, and many of them we passed on the road had yellow or
red chrysanthemums stuck in their caps. As a whole, they seemed a
cheerful lot, ever ready with a pleasant smile and a salaam. Many of
them struck us as being easy to mistake for Italians, and, curiously
enough, their language sounded much like Italian. In saying this, I
hasten to add that I am not trying to suggest any kinship between the
two peoples.
We rode on through Baltit and crossed the river over into the domains
of the Mir of Nagar, spending the night at an attractive little town,
Minapin. We were right beneath mighty Rakaposhi, towering above
us with its altitude of 25,550 feet. Ten days before a terrific
wind-storm had rushed down from its rugged slopes, cutting a swathe
400 yards wide through the edge of Minapin, but biting more deeply
into the adjoining hamlet of Pisan. Two men, four horses, and many
goats were killed, but more fatal than any loss of life had been the
damage done to the fruit-trees, mercilessly mowed down in scores
before the storm. Their loss meant that next summer starvation would
stare the villages in the face.
[Illustration: BALTIT IN THE HUNZA VALLEY]
Bird life was abundant in the lower valley. At Mukurshi we had seen
only a few finches, but near Misgar we met an old friend whom we had
first seen in the Sind Valley, a lovely little water-bird, with a
black head, white waistcoat, and red coat and tail. We came across
our first magpie sitting on an ice rock in the middle of the Batura
glacier, with not another live thing for miles around. Lower down
magpies became very common, flitting about on every side, uttering
their rusty chatter. Our best friends were the pigeons, but I doubt
if they reciprocated the feeling, for many was the good meal we made
from roasted pigeon. Chukor also helped supply the deficiencies of
our larder. We had with us an old three-barrelled gun. At first it
had a tendency to explode the shells whenever you snapped the breech
shut. Cherrie set about remedying this, and was so successful that
the gun would not go off even when you wished it to. Then the local
gunsmiths in the larger towns where we halted tried a hand at it.
After that it was “regularly irregular,” as Ted put it. Sometimes
both barrels could be fired, sometimes one, sometimes none. At last
it got so that Khalil was the only person who could coax a shot out
of it, and for some weeks he alone used it. After Gilgit a rapid
disintegration set in, and even Khalil had to abandon it.
We reached Gilgit on October 30, having come down from Misgar in
seven days. Major Loch, the Political Agent,—Administrator of
Native Affairs,—put us up at his most comfortable house, loaned us
his clothes to enable us to appear a little less disreputable, and
did everything to help us through to Kashmir. I think that what we
appreciated most of all was the delicious ale with which he greeted
us on our arrival. We objected only as much as bare politeness and
our knowledge of the difficulty with which all transport reached
Gilgit dictated, when he insisted in giving us some more for the trip
down.
The little willow-shaded European graveyard at Gilgit is a résumé
of what life on the far Asian frontier means. Among the few graves
there were that of Hayward the explorer, murdered by the tribesmen,
one of a young officer who had fallen over a precipice when hunting
ibex, one of another officer killed in a punitive expedition in
the mountains, still another of a political agent who had died of
enteric. Last there was the pitiful little grave of a baby still
born, with the mother so far from all comfort and assistance.
In front of Major Loch’s house stands a large cannon that was
brought back after the capture of Baltit in 1893. The story runs
that a Chinaman from Yarkand told the then Mir that he could cast
him a cannon larger than that owned by any of his neighbors. The Mir
accordingly confiscated all the metal pots and pans in his capital,
and from them the cannon was cast. The Mir next prudently insured
that none of his neighbors should possess a larger one by cutting off
the Chinaman’s head. The piece was certainly a triumph when the rough
facilities the maker had to hand are considered. It is far superior
to several smaller pieces that stood near it. Major Loch told us that
one of his predecessors had taken it out and used it on a punitive
expedition against some of the near-by tribesmen.
We left Gilgit on October 31, and marched thirty-five miles to Bunji.
The next day took us through what used to be the village of Ramghat,
but a year ago a great rock avalanche swept down and levelled the
greater part of the houses. Our march had taken us down the Gilgit
River to where it empties into the Indus; it is here that the great
bend of the Indus occurs, and this Haramosh country harbors on its
wild, barren mountains the best markhor. It was tantalizing to be
so near and yet be forced to hurry past. We soon left the Indus and
turned off up the Astore River, which we would follow now until we
came to the dreaded Burzil Pass.
At the little village of Astore we saw the solitary grave of
Lieutenant Davison, who had taken part with Knight in the Hunza
campaign.
Ted and I still had with us our faithful riding ponies that we had
brought from the Tian Shan. We had spared them wherever possible, but
they were fairly fagged, so we walked the greater part of each day’s
march. We were so hard by now that a fifteen-mile trek did no more
than give us a good appetite!
In the Astore Valley we were once more in the land of trees; that
is to say, what might be called wild trees, in contradistinction to
those that could grow only where man had through irrigation builded
an oasis. It was sad in the deserted oases to see the trees standing
gaunt and bare and dead. Now, for the first time since leaving the
Tian Shan, the hillsides were covered with evergreens—tall pines and
gnarled cedars. The smell of the cedar berries at one leap took me
back to childhood days in the Fairy Apple Orchard of Sagamore.
On November 5 we faced the Burzil Pass. The previous evening we
had reached the wind-swept Dak Bungalow at Chillum Chauki. It had
been snowing all afternoon, and the men shook their heads gloomily
at our chances for getting over the pass on the morrow. The Burzil
used annually to take a very considerable toll of human life, but
since the British took over the administration of the Srinagar-Gilgit
route, substantial rest-houses have been built at intervals along it,
and on the summit of each of the two passes stone shelters have been
set up. It is the peculiarly savage wind that is particularly feared
on the Burzil crossing; when this is accompanied by blinding snow, it
is a dangerous combination to take on. Add to both the constant dread
of avalanches.
[Illustration: CROSSING THE BURZIL IN WINTER]
At quarter to three in the morning I awoke and went out to look at
the weather. The snow had temporarily stopped, so we lost no time
in stirring up our men. The new ponies we had hoped to get at Godai
were not forthcoming, so we found ourselves dependent upon a troop
of unladen ponies which by a fortunate chance we met here, awaiting
a good opportunity to return to Gurez. Major Loch had instructed
Jemadar Jan Mohammed to go with us from Astore across the Burzil. He
proved invaluable in helping us rout out the pony men and persuade
them to try the pass. Even so, it was half past seven before we got
the first reluctant lot of ponies started. By then it had once more
started to snow, and before we had gone far on our way to the little
stone hut marking the first stage, the dreaded wind had risen,
and we could readily appreciate our followers’ feelings toward the
Burzil. Fortunately, the storm abated when we reached Sardar Chauki,
so after a slight demur we got the caravan under way to face the last
stiff ascent up the pass.
We had six local men with us to break trail and see that we did not
lose our way. They took turns in leading, and it was no light task.
We could not help thinking how invaluable web snow-shoes would have
been as we watched our guides plunge waist-deep into the snow. The
ponies struggled pluckily in their wake. We were shod in grass shoes;
failing snow-shoes there is nothing to compare with them for this
sort of work.
Just before we reached the top we came upon two mail-runners
floundering down toward us, and much surprised to see a pony-train
tackling the pass in such weather. At length we caught sight of
the stone hut that marks the summit. Here our trail-breakers used
every effort to prevail upon us to let them turn back, but by dint
of much persuasion and the thrusting of additional baksheesh into
their hands, we got them started down the other side. The snow was
once more falling thickly, and it was becoming colder every minute.
Ted caught a glimpse of a solitary marmot. Some of the ponies began
to show signs that they had gone far enough. One white horse in
particular kept floundering off the trail into drifts and evincing
every desire to remain where it lay. However, we were getting down;
we had passed a pill-box house built up on stilts twenty-five feet
above the ground. This was a landmark to the men. They explained that
the snow-drifts piled up level with its floor. A mile or so on, to
our surprise, we came upon a few lightly laden ponies attempting to
get over to Sardar Chauki. One of the trail-breakers glanced at me
out of the tail of his eye, and began groaning and humping his back;
as we reached the oncoming ponies he threw himself down beside the
trail in a dismal heap. It was really wasted histrionics, for on
seeing the approaching caravan, we had decided that we might as well
send our six voorloopers back with it. Upon being told of this, the
sick man made a most rapid recovery. They were all afraid that the
pass would now be closed for many days.
We now had an easy trail to follow and made the rest of the distance
without trouble. At the Dak Bungalow of Burzil Chauki we stopped at
half past five and made a cup of tea. We had breakfasted at five
in the morning, so we were very hungry. Then we pushed on down the
valley, another five miles to Minamarg, completing a twenty-four-mile
march, with every one in excellent spirits at having the Burzil Pass
behind us.
It was snowing hard next morning, and though we could look back
toward the Burzil with satisfaction, we could not but feel a certain
apprehension about the Raj-diangan. We rode down along a rushing
stream, with steep hills rising on either hand. Sometimes the trail
wound through fine forests; elsewhere there were open grass-covered
stretches. Sheltering beneath the tufts of grass were myriads of
finches; as they rose it seemed as if the hillside had in some
miraculous fashion started to life.
Two easy marches took us to the foot of the Raj-diangan Pass over to
Tragbal. This was the last barrier that separated us from Kashmir,
and the Weather Gods were kind. A brilliant frosty morning saw us
across. It was a long, easy ascent, but the ride along the ridge that
forms the summit proved bitterly cold. The strong wind that drove the
snow along, obliterating the trail under deep drifts, convinced one
of with what ease the pass could collect its toll from the caravan
rash enough to attempt the crossing in the face of a blizzard.
As we descended we could see stretched out beneath us the Vale of
Kashmir. Wular Lake was largely hidden by billowy clouds. At our
feet the men pointed out the village of Bandipur, and each showed
us the little hamlet in the valley where his house lay. We left the
pack-train and took a short cut down the mountainside; it was steep
and slippery, but we swung along, grabbing at branches and bushes,
jumping from rock to rock, and taking many of the falls that we
risked. Once in the valley we had a four-mile walk to the cluster of
houses where Rahima and Khalil lived. As we cut through the villages
the inmates hurried out to greet Rahima and ask him news of our
success. It was his triumphal homecoming, and, though enjoying it
to the full, he maintained a stoical and expressionless impressive
dignity throughout.
That afternoon the kitchens at Rahima’s and Khalil’s saw no idle
moment. There was no pause in the clatter of pots and pans, and no
halt in the roasting and boiling and basting and all the intricacies
of preparation of a Kashmir feast. That evening at dinner course
succeeded course, each complicated pilaff or roast or stew more
delicious than the last. All our stored energy and the physique built
by months of mountain-climbing were called upon to enable us to
survive the effects of such feasting.
Next morning we were ferried across the lake in dugouts. After seven
months we were back in the land of motor transport, but to us it
seemed outlandish to make in an hour what had been for so long the
distance of a long day’s march. That evening our wives met us at
Srinagar, and our expedition into central Asia was a closed chapter;
a memory of glorious days on the high Himalayas, of long stalks, some
successful, some otherwise, of bitter-cold days and snug evenings
in Kirghiz yourts; a kaleidoscope of toil and achievement that only
experience can purchase.
[Illustration: TERRITORY COVERED IN THE COURSE OF THE EXPEDITION]
APPENDIX
A SERAI
BY THEODORE ROOSEVELT
(SUGGESTED BY KERMIT SAYING TO ME WHILE WE SAT IN THE SERAI AT SHAMBA
BAZAAR THAT PERHAPS MARCO POLO HAD BEEN THERE)
The day is gently drawing to a close;
The caravan, slow-plodding through the dusk,
With tinkling bells and creaking leather,
Leaves the rough jungle by the broad brown river
And turns into the cultivated land.
It jogs along by fields, bright green, mud-walled
And fringed with shimmering willows,
Which look to be embroidered on the landscape
Like figures in some ancient tapestry.
At length the dusty column sights a village
Whose rough gray walls are set in lofty poplars
Which seem to stroke the sky with slender fingers.
Down the long street it jingles,
Through the bazaar where ill-wove matting roofs
Add to the gathering gloom;
Where smells of every sort hang in the air,
And bare, brown babies splash in muddy gutters.
At last the dingy old serai is reached.
The tired ponies pass its battered gate,
Then packs are stripped and all is wild confusion;
Shouted commands and loud and shrill abuse,
And stallions neighing, blend in one great babble.
And now the horses fed, the baggage piled,
The fires begin to glow, and round them gather
Dim half-seen figures in the flickering light,
Who squat and eat and puff their gurgling hookahs.
Now in a near-by stall a singer twangs
On some stringed instrument of old design,
And drones an endless plaintive melody.
Out on the near-by roofs the women steal,—
Black silent figures ’gainst the flat gray sky.
So comes the night, and so has come the night
Through dim unreckoned countless generations
To those who travel the old trails of Asia.
In this same way old Marco the Venetian travelled,
And even then the trails were very old.
So Asia does, so she has done since time,
And when our great hotels are piles of stones
And all our railroads briar-grown embankment,
So Asia still will do.
APPENDIX
The following is an itinerary of the expedition from the time
we arrived at Srinagar to the day we returned. The mileage is
necessarily only approximate, for we had to depend upon information
from the natives of the country and check it up roughly with our
estimated speed and the number of hours spent in marching. The place
names are in general spelled as they sounded when repeated to us,
so they are, of course, subject to revision upon the opinion of any
hearer.
MILES DATE
Srinagar 12 Gandabal May 19
17 Camp (near Gund) ” 20
12 Camp (near Sonamurg) ” 21
18 Baltal ” 22
(Zoji Pass) 14 Camp ” 24
18 Draz ” 25
22 Shimsa Kharbu ” 26
16 Kargil ” 27
22 Mulbekh ” 28
15 Bod Kharbu ” 29
15 Lamayuru ” 30
17 Nurla June 1
25 Nimoo ” 2
12 Leh ” 3
10 Camp near Pass ” 6
(Khardong Pass) 18 Khardong ” 7
14 Karsar ” 8
14 Taghar ” 9
15 Panamik ” 10
14 Choong Loong ” 13
12 Tutyalak ” 14
13 Camp at foot of Saser Glacier ” 17
(Saser Pass) 10 Brangza Saser ” 18
16 Remo Glacier ” 19
24 Murgu ” 20
20 Kizil Tash ” 21
23 Daulat Beg Oldi ” 22
(Karakoram Pass) 22 Brangsa ” 23
12 Camp ” 24
24 Chibra ” 25
(Suget Pass) 25 Camp ” 26
6 Suget Karaul ” 27
16 Ulbek (Kara Kash River) ” 28
22 Camp at foot of Bostan Valley ” 29
20 Ali Nazar Khurgan ” 30
(Sanju Pass) 20 Ayalak July 1
18 Akas Aghzi ” 3
12 Kivas ” 4
16 Sanju Bazar ” 5
24 Kosh Tagh ” 6
31 Bora ” 7
18 Karghalik ” 8
35 Posgam ” 10
24 Yarkand ” 11
26 Tograghi ” 14
25 Merket ” 15
25 Akadong ” 16
21 Khandi ” 17
28 Beyond Aksak Maral ” 18
27 Maralbashi ” 19
16 Char Bagh ” 20
21 Akh Tam ” 21
23 Yakka Kudak ” 22
28 Chillam ” 23
22 Hangoon ” 24
28 Yangi Shahr ” 25
4 Aksu ” 26
27 Jom ” 29
16 Arbat ” 30
22 Khurgan ” 31
18 Camp Aug. 1
22 Tango Tash ” 2
(Muzart Pass) 20 Khan Ayalak ” 3
25 Shutta ” 6
25 Agyas ” 7
30 Moin Tai ” 8
18 Kukteruk ” 9
17 Kooksu ” 10
18 Chungtai ” 11
16 Chin Bulak ” 12
20 Camp at head of Jilgalong Valley ” 13
20 Kargaitash ” 14
15 Camp on upper Kooksu ” 17
6 Kargaitash Creek ” 20
15 Muzdumas Creek ” 21
10 Camp ” 23
14 Kensu ” 24
12 Wapiti Camp ” 29
8 Camp at junction of Kensu and
Kooksu Sept. 1
18 Camp ” 2
20 Lower Torotai Valley ” 3
25 Chilukteruk ” 4
22 Camp ” 5
16 Moin Tai ” 6
30 Agyas ” 9
8 Camp ” 10
33 Shutta ” 11
25 Khan Ayalak ” 12
(Muzart Pass) 20 Tango Tash ” 14
18 Khailak ” 15
20 Kizil Bulak ” 16
18 Jom ” 17
27 Aksu ” 19
20 Aikul ” 20
40 Chillam ” 21
28 Yakka Kudak ” 22
30 Toum Shouk ” 23
30 Maralbashi ” 24
30 Karakuchin ” 25
40 Kara Youlgoun ” 26
34 Faizabad ” 27
45 Kashgar ” 28
16 Tashmalik Oct. 3
15 Tookoi ” 4
20 Beyond Gezkaraul ” 5
25 Bulun Kul ” 6
15 Kichik Kara Kul ” 7
15 Subashi Nullah ” 9
16 Kara Su ” 12
24 Tagharma ” 14
17 Tashkurghan ” 15
20 Jurgal Gumbaz ” 16
20 Atjayloo ” 17
20 Payik Nullah ” 18
34 Khush Bel ” 21
(Killian Pass) 14 Mukurshi ” 22
16 Misgar ” 28
12 Gircha ” 24
25 Passu ” 25
22 Attabad ” 26
26 Minapin ” 27
17 Chalt ” 28
15 Nomal ” 29
17 Gilgit ” 30
35 Bunji ” 31
19 Mushkin Nov. 1
17 Astore ” 2
17 Gudai ” 3
16 Chillum Chauki ” 4
(Burzil Pass) 23 Minamarg ” 5
20 Gurez ” 6
13 Karagbal ” 7
(Tragbal or 27 Bandipur ” 8
Raj-diangan Pass) Srinagar ” 9
INDEX
Afghanistan route, the, 9
Agyas, 123
Aksu, 164, 197;
the start for, 82, 94 ff.;
departure from, 202
Akyas, journey to, 186;
arrival at, 187;
return to, 192
Ali-Nazar-Kurgan, 66, 67
Amban, the, of Karghalik, 76 ff.
Andrews, Roy Chapman, expeditions in Asia, 2, 3, 7
Antelope, the Tibetan, description of, 63
Arbat, 199
Arkal, herd of, spotted in the Russian Pamirs, 250
Asboe, Doctor and Mrs., 48
Asia, central, Mongol tribes in, 2
Astore, grave of Lieutenant Davison in, 269
Avalanches, in Baltal, 29, 34, 35
Ayalik, arrival at, 72, 79, 132
Azak-Karaul, Kalmuks in, 122
Bahadur Khan, the, 47, 48
Bai, Tula, 129 ff.; 164, 180
Bakker, Bob, 14
Baltal, avalanches in, 29, 34, 35
Baltistan, 36;
Rajah of, 35, 36
Baltit, 265 ff.
Bam-i-Dunya, 252
Bandipur, 273
Barr, 23
Bear, the great brown, 5, 34;
sighted by Khalil Loon, 149;
shot by Kermit Roosevelt, 150;
skinning of, 151
Bey, Ishmael, 104, 113, 198, 199
Bighorn, Rocky Mountain, 38
Birds of prey, 57
Blacker, Major, 24, 25
Bokharan, the, 114
Bombay, landing at, 22, 23
Bombay Natural History Museum, the, 22
Bulun, 219
Bulun Lake, arrival at, 219
Bunji, 268
Burden, Douglas, 25
Burrhel 53 ff.;
capture of, 55
Burroughs, John, 2
Burzil Pass, 269;
marmot spotted in the, 271
Butterflies, 29
Camels, 62
Chalt, 259
Cherrie, George K., 6, 11, 13, 17, 23, 28, 45, 49, 52, 56, 66, 67,
69, 82, 83, 94, 170, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 193, 195, 199,
204, 212; illness of, 183
Chillum Chauki, 270
Chin Ballak, 127
Chukors, red-legged, in Maralbashi, 91
Cock, black, collected, by Theodore Roosevelt, 186
Cutting, Suydam, 6, 17, 18, 26, 45, 49, 52, 56, 66, 76, 81, 82, 84,
89, 166, 182, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 194, 199, 204, 212;
photography done by, 183
Daulat Beg Oldi, 62
Davies, Mr., 5
Deer, Siberian roe, 26
Depsang Plain, the, 67;
ducks in, 68
Dotai, the, 95, 96
Ducks, in Depsang Plain, 68
Faizabad, 206
Feroze, 25, 27, 82
Ferrets, glimpse of, 147
Fezildin, in charge of dogs, 59, 165
Field, Stanley, 5
Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago, 5, 28
Finches, purple, at the oases, 33;
in Maralbashi, 91
Foxes, large red, 138
Foxie, death of, 75
Ganderbal, 27
Gazelle, search for, 94
Gilgit, 256; departure from, 268
Gillan, Major, aid of, 211
Gircha, 261
Godai, 270
Goitre belt, in Aksu, 95
Gulmit, 264
Gunjabat Nullah, ibex and sheep seen in, 254
Hawk, different species of, shot by Mr. Cherrie, 28, 33, 139
Hindustanee, 19, 26
Hounds cougar, 14 ff., 34;
method of shipping the, 17;
in the snow, 31, 32
Hunza route, the, 8, 26
Hunza Valley, passes into the, 256
Ibex, 5, 26, 113 ff., 139, 145, 155, 182;
first glimpse of, 107 ff.;
Gunjabat Nullah, 254;
collected, by Kermit Roosevelt, 160, 161;
by Theodore Roosevelt, 144;
female collected, 140
Illik, or Siberian roe, 112;
female bagged by Theodore Roosevelt, 186;
glimpse of, 189
James Simpson-Roosevelts-Field Museum Expedition, origin of the, 6, 7;
determination of route of, 8;
selection of literature for, 13;
selection of equipment for, 12, 13
Jayloo, 249
Jurgal Gumbaz, 249
Kadi, 57
Kalmuks, the, 115, 123, 128, 129, 130, 131, 171
Kanjut Valley, the, 263
Karachi, landing of equipment at, 23
Karakash River, the, 66
Karakoram Pass, the, 5, 6, 26, 68;
approach to, 62
Kara Su, 236;
inhabitants of, 237;
ovis poli spotted in valley of, 237
Karelini, search for, 155
Kargaitash, 124, 128, 130, 163;
female ibex collected in, 140
Karghalik, 74 ff.
Kargil, loss of a companion caravan at, 35
Karthar, meeting at, 52
Kashgar, 215,256;
desire to reach, 205;
arrival at, 207, 208, 210;
surplus equipment carried from, 247
Kashmir, 185, 210, 246, 259, 273
Kashmiri, friction with the Punjabi, and, 183
Kazaks, the, 115, 122, 123, 128, 129, 130, 160, 171, 186, 187
Kensu, the, 114 ff.
Khailak, 197
Khan Ayalik, 186, 193, 194, 198
Khardong, 50
Khardong Pass, the, the start for, 49
Khurgan, camping at, 101
Khush Bel, poli rams seen near, 256
Killik Pass, the, 256, 257
Kirghiz, 122, 123, 161, 187, 229, 234, 238
Kizil Bulak, 197
Kooksu, the, 124, 128, 171
Kunick, Doctor and Mrs., 48
Ladakhis, the, 32, 33
Lama, red, land of the, 34, 35
Lamayuru, 35
Lammergeyer, 33, 62, 141;
capture of a, 162
Larks, desert, in Maralbashi, 91
Leh, 43 ff., 257;
entrance into, 44, 45, 52;
the Moravian Mission in, 48
Leh-Karakoram route, the, 9
Little Kara Kul, 221, 236
Loon, Khalil, 25, 27, 54, 55, 82, 87, 112, 113, 115, 117, 118, 131,
132, 133, 136, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 147, 148, 149, 150,
151, 153, 160, 167, 188, 194, 223, 229, 234, 238, 240, 242,
250, 252, 274
Loon, Rahima, 25, 27, 38, 51, 54, 59, 69, 82, 83, 84, 87, 105, 107,
113, 114, 116, 117, 119, 128, 129, 131, 137, 141, 146, 155,
156, 160, 161, 162, 164, 167, 170, 173, 177, 178, 180, 185,
189, 191, 194, 224, 229, 234, 238, 243, 248, 252, 258, 260, 274
McHenry, Tom, 14
Maralbashi, 195, 202, 204, 212;
animal expedition at, 90;
bazaar of, 91;
red-legged chukors in, 91;
quail in, 91;
desert larks in, 91;
finches in, 91
Marmot, 132, 142
Minamarg, 272
Minapin, 259, 266
Mintaka Pass, the, 256
Misgar, 249;
arrival at, 259
Moon Tai River, arrival at the, 182
Moravian Mission, the, in Leh, 48
Mountain-rabbit, killed by Kermit Roosevelt, 51
Mountain-sheep, 26, 145
Muharram, festival at Ayalik, 72
Mukurshi, 258, 264
Murree, 23
Mustagh Ata, 236
Muzart Pass, the, 263;
crossing of, 196
Muzart River, the, 197
Nanga Parbat, 30
Nurla, Buddhist service in, 38 ff.
Ovis ammon karelini, the, 5
Ovis ammon littledalei, the, 5
Ovis karelini, 141
Ovis karelenyi, 128
Ovis poli, home of, 3;
discovery of, 3, 4, 18, 180, 188, 211;
first glimpse of, 223;
spotted in the Russian Pamirs, 231;
heading for the Chinese Pamirs, 231;
two of the largest collected, 235;
spotted by a Kirghiz in valley of Kara Su, 237;
skinned by Khalil Loon, 238
Pamirs, the, 3, 4, 171, 180, 188, 257, 263;
desire to reach, 191;
the Chinese, 231;
the Russian, 9, 18, 226, 236;
ovis poli spotted in, 231;
herd of arkal spotted in, 250;
the Sarikol, 244
Panamik, 52;
arrangement for ponies at, 53
Partridge, chukor, at Lind, 67;
in Aksu Valley, 103
Partridges, 139
Payik Karaul, 249, 253, 255, 256
Pig, wild, 141
Pigeons, blue, at the oases, 33
Pim, Captain, of Mesopotamia, 26
Pisan, 266
Poli rams, seen in Gunjabat Nullah, 254;
in Khush Bel, 256
Prater, S. H., 22
Punjabi, friction with the Kashmiri, 183
Quail, in Maralbashi, 11
Rabbits, crop-eared, 54
Rajah of Baltistan, 35, 36
Raj-diangan Pass, the, 273
Rakaposhi, 266
Raleigh, the black hound from Mississippi, 59
Ram, a small, 132;
capture of, 134
Ramchukor, 139, 142, 146, 159, 243
Ramghat, 268
Rams, 38;
Karelini, 133, 138;
seen by Palang, 251
Ravens, 28;
in Zoji La Pass, 33;
coal-black, 62
Rawal Pindi, 25
Reading, Lord, 9
Rifles, 12, 13
Rock-pigeons, large blue, shot by Mr. Cherrie, 49;
at Sind, 67
Roe, the Siberian, 5, 112;
capture of a female, 140
Roe-deer, 132
Roosevelt, Kermit, 1, 2, 11, 14, 17, 18, 45, 49, 50, 51, 53, 55, 58,
60, 62, 66, 68, 105, 106, 107, 112, 113, 114, 117, 119, 125,
127, 157, 158, 160, 166, 167, 168, 169, 172, 178, 179, 180,
223, 224, 229, 234, 238, 241, 242
Roosevelt, Theodore, 1, 26, 29, 34, 82, 93, 129, 131, 136, 137, 139,
141, 146, 148, 184, 185, 186, 188, 191, 192, 194, 195, 247,
252, 254, 255, 269, 271
Russian Trade Delegation, the, 18
Sanju Bazaar, entrance into oasis, 74
Sanju Pass, the, 68, 71
Sardar Chauki, 271
Sasser, the start for the, 56
Sevenoaks, Captain, 27
Sharpu, pursuit of, 38
Sheep, spotted in Gunjabat Nullah, 254
Shirin Maidan, 257
Shrew, a, trapped by Mr. Cherrie, 67
Shutta, 121, 193, 197
Simpson, James, 5, 6, 11
Sind Valley, the, 27;
beauty of, 28
Snake, brown, captured by native, 87
Snow-leopards, 5, 57, 64
Sparrow-hawk, shot by Mr. Cherrie, 49
Srinagar, 24, 25, 43, 256, 274
Stag, Yarkand, 5
Subashi, 215;
arrival at, 225
Suget, the, 63, 64
Suget Karaul, 65
Sze, Minister, 9
Tagdum-Bash Pamirs, the, 8, 67
Taghar, 52
Tagharma, 244, 245
Tango Tash, camping at, 107
Tashkurgan, 215, 245, 264
Tekkes, the, 65, 193
Tekkes River, the, 124
Tekkes Valley, the, 120, 124;
population of, 122;
species of birds in, 125, 126
Tian Shan, 129, 171, 173, 180, 183, 198, 263, 269;
range, the, 128
Tiger, rare, in Central Asia, 14
Tika-illik, 132
Tragbal, 273
Turkestan, 213 ff, 263;
abundance of fruit in, 203, 204
Vale of Kashmir, the famous, 24, 273
Van der Byl, P. B., 196
Vissers, the, 8, 9
Wagtail, the, along streams, 33
Wapiti, 26, 130, 145, 171;
season for the, 186;
shot by Theodore Roosevelt, 177;
shot by Kermit Roosevelt, 190;
skinning of the, 179, 191
Warbler, a, black and rusty brown, at Sind, 6, 7
Water-ouzels, 29
Water-wagtail, the little, 29
Wolves, gray, 57, 64
Wood, Lady, 27
Wood, Lieutenant John, 4
Wood, Sir John, hospitality of, 27
Wular Lake, 273
Yaks, 50, 51, 53, 57
Yangi Shahr, 94 ff.
Yarkand, 79 ff., 84, 257;
epidemic of goitre in, 80;
splitting of expedition at, 81, 82
Yarkandi, the, 59, 66
Zoji La Pass, the, 30, 35, 44;
bird life in, 33
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected
after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and
consultation of external sources.
Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and
inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.
Page 219: “placque” changed to “plaque”