AN UNKNOWN PASS
It was at a place called Garbyang, close to the Tibetan boundary, that I
made my last preparations for my expedition into Tibet. A delay at this
place was inevitable, as all the passes over the Himahlya range were
closed. Fresh snow was falling daily. I intended to cross over by the
Lippu Pass, the lowest of all in that region; but having sent men to
reconnoitre, I found it was impossible at that time to take up my entire
expedition, even by that easier way.
I had a Tibetan tent made in Garbyang. Dr. H. Wilson, of the Methodist
Evangelical Mission, whom I met at this place, went to much trouble in
trying to get together men for me who would accompany me over the
Tibetan border. His efforts were not crowned with success. The thirty
men I had taken from India refused to come any further, and I was
compelled to get fresh men from this place. The Shokas (the local and
correct name of the inhabitants of Bhot) were not at all inclined to
accompany me. They knew too well how cruel the Tibetans were. Many of
them had been tortured, and men could be seen in Garbyang who had been
mutilated by the Tibetans. Indeed, the Tibetans often crossed the border
to come and claim dues and taxes and inflict punishment on the helpless
Shokas, who were left unprotected by the Government of India.
[Illustration: INVOLUNTARY TOBOGGANING]
The Jong Pen of Taklakot, a high official at the Tibetan frontier, upon
hearing of my proposed visit, sent threats that he would confiscate the
land of any man who came in my employ. He sent messengers threatening to
cut off my head if I crossed the boundary, and promised to flog and kill
any man who accompanied me. On my side I had spies keeping me well
informed of his movements. He kept on sending daily messengers with more
threats. He gathered his soldiers on the Lippu Pass, where he suspected
I might enter his country.
Before starting with my entire expedition I took a reconnoitring trip
with only a few men, in order to see what tactics I should adopt in
order to dodge the fanatical natives of the forbidden land. To go and
find new ways on virgin mountains and glaciers was not easy work. During
our rapid scouting journey we had a number of accidents. Going over a
snow-slope one day I slipped and shot down a snow-slope with terrific
speed for a distance of three hundred yards, just escaping getting
smashed to pieces at the end of this involuntary toboganning. One of my
carriers, who carried a child on the top of one of my loads, had a
similar accident, with the result that the child was killed.
On returning to Garbyang I found that the Tibetans had tried to set the
natives against me. Tibetan spies travelled daily between Taklakot and
Garbyang, in order to keep the Jong Pen informed of my movements. The
Jong Pen sent an impudent messenger one day to say that he had plenty
of soldiers guarding the Lippu Pass, and that he would kill us all if we
came. If he caught me alive he would cut off my head; my body, he said,
he would sew in skins and fling into the river. I sent a messenger back
to the Jong Pen to inform him that I was ready to start, and that I
would meet him on the Lippu Pass; that he had better beware, and get out
of my way. The messenger who brought him this news barely escaped with
his life. He returned to me, saying that the Jong Pen was preparing for
war, that he had gathered all his soldiers on the top of a narrow pass,
where they had piled up a great number of large rocks and smaller
ammunition to be rolled down upon us when we should be coming up the
mountain-side.
Having collected men enough, after much trouble, I one day unexpectedly
mustered them, and that same night made a sudden start. The Tibetans,
suspecting that I might be leaving that day, cut down the bridge over a
rapid and deep torrent forming the boundary between India and Nepal.
This inconvenienced me, as I had to find my way on our side of the
stream, which was very rugged. This gave us additional trouble. Some of
the precipices we had to cross were extremely dangerous.
I reached the highest village in the Himahlyas, a place called Kuti, at
an elevation of 12,920 feet. Here I hastily made my final preparations
for the last dash across the frontier. Every available Shoka had joined
my party, and no inducement brought more volunteers. I needed two extra
men. Two stray shepherds turned up half famished and naked, with long,
unkempt heads of hair, and merely a coral necklace and a silver bangle
by way of clothing. With these two men my little force was brought up to
thirty strong.
One of the two shepherds interested me. He was sulky. He seldom uttered
a word, and when he did, he never spoke pleasantly. He looked painfully
ill. Motionless, he would sometimes stare at a fixed point as if in a
trance. His features were peculiarly refined and regular, but his skin
had the ghastly, shiny, whitish tinge peculiar to lepers. I paid no
special attention to him at first, as I was busy with other matters; but
one day while on the march I examined him carefully, and discovered that
the poor fellow had indeed all the symptoms of that most terrible of all
diseases, leprosy. His distorted and contracted fingers, with the skin
sore at the joints, were a sad and certain proof. I examined his feet,
and found further evidence that the man was a leper.
"What is your name?" I inquired of him.
"Mansing," he said, dryly, becoming immediately again absorbed in one of
his dreamy trances.
In looking over my followers I was amused to see what a strange mixture
they were. There were Humlis and Jumlis, mountain tribesmen living near
the Tibetan border; they wore their long black hair tied into small
braids and a topknot. There were Tibetans, Shokas, Rongbas,
Nepalese--all good mountaineers. Then there were Chanden Sing and
Mansing belonging to the Rajiput caste. There were a Brahmin, two native
Christians, and a Johari. Then Doctor Wilson. What a collection! What a
confusion of languages and dialects! An amusing feature of this odd
crowd was that each particular caste looked down upon all the others.
This, from the beginning, occasioned a good deal of trouble among my
men. I was glad of this, as it seemed a sort of guarantee that they
would never combine against me. One of the most peculiar men I had with
me was a Tibetan brigand, a man with the strength of an ox. His history
did not bear a close examination. He had killed many people. He asked to
be employed by me, as he had quarrelled with his wife, and refused to
live with her any longer. In camp he went by the name of _Daku_ (the
brigand). The son of one of the richest traders of Garbyang, a young
fellow called Kachi, also accompanied me. He was intelligent, and could
speak a few words of English. I had employed him to look after the men
and to act as interpreter, if necessary. His uncle Dola was employed in
the capacity of valet and cook.
Instead of proceeding by the Lippu Pass, where the Jong Pen was waiting
for me with his men, I made forced marches from Kuti in a different
direction altogether. I meant to cross over by a high untrodden pass,
practically unknown, where no one could suspect that a caravan would
enter Tibet. My men were good. We marched steadily for several days over
very rough country, getting higher and higher toward the eternal snows.
We suffered considerably in crossing the rapid and foaming torrents.
They were often quite deep, and the water was so cold from the melting
snows that we were nearly frozen each time we waded through them. We
crossed several large flat basins of stones and gravel which appeared
to have been lake-beds. In these basins we found deltas, formed by the
stream dividing in various directions. We suffered tortures in crossing
barefooted one cold stream after another. Some of my men narrowly
escaped frost-bites, and it was only after rubbing their feet violently
that the intense pain ceased and circulation was at last restored. The
soles of my feet and my toes were badly cut and bruised. Every stone in
the streams seemed to have a sharp edge. I, too, suffered agony after I
had been in the water for some time. Never until that day did I know
what a great comfort it was to possess a pair of warm socks! The last
basin we crossed was at an elevation of 15,400 feet. We made our camp
there. The thermometer registered a minimum temperature of 24 deg.,
whereas the maximum temperature that day was 51 deg. Fahrenheit.
One of the main drawbacks of travelling at great elevations was the want
of fuel. There was not a tree, not a shrub, to be seen near our camp.
Nature wore her most desolate and barren look. Failing wood, my men
dispersed to collect and bring in the dry dung of yaks, ponies, and
sheep to serve as fuel. Kindling this was no easy matter. Box after box
of matches was quickly used, and our collective lung-power severely
drawn upon in blowing the unwilling sparks into a flame a few inches
high. Upon this meagre fire we attempted to cook our food and boil our
water (a trying process at great elevations). The cuisine that night was
not of the usual excellence. We had to eat everything half-cooked, or,
to be accurate, practically uncooked. The night was a bitterly cold
one, and snow was falling heavily. When we rose in the morning snow was
two feet deep around us. The glare was painful to our eyes. I mustered
my men. Mansing was missing. He had not arrived the previous night, and
there was no sign of the man I had sent in search of him. I was anxious
not only for the man, but for the load he carried--a load of flour,
salt, pepper, and five pounds of butter. I feared that the poor leper
had been washed away in one of the dangerous streams. He must, at any
rate, be suffering terribly from the cold, with no shelter and no fire.
It was long after sunrise when, with the aid of my telescope, I
discovered the rescued man and rescuer coming toward us. They arrived in
camp an hour or so later. Mansing had been found sound asleep, several
miles back, lying flat by the side of the empty butter-pot. He had eaten
all the butter. When we discovered this every one in camp was angry. The
natives valued fat and butter as helping to keep them warm when going
over those cold passes. With much trouble I rescued Mansing from the
clutches of my other men, who wanted to punish the poor leper severely.
In order that this might not happen again, I ordered Mansing to carry a
heavy load of photographic plates and instruments, which I thought would
not prove quite so appetizing.
While we were camping a flock of some six hundred sheep appeared, and
with them some Tibetans. As I had pitched my Tibetan tent, they made for
it, expecting to find some of their own countrymen. Their confusion was
amusing when they found themselves face to face with Doctor Wilson and
myself. Hurriedly removing their fur caps, they laid them upon the
ground and made a comical bow. They put out their tongues full length,
and kept them so until I made signs that they could draw them back, as I
wanted them to answer several questions. This unexpected meeting with us
frightened them greatly. They were trembling all over with fear. After
getting as much information as they seemed to have, I bought their
fattest sheep. When the money was paid there was a further display of
furred tongues, and more grand salaams when they departed, while all
hands in my camp were busy trying to prevent our newly purchased animals
from rejoining the flock moving away from us. On our next march these
animals were a great trouble. We had to drag them most of the way.
Kachi, who had been intrusted with a stubborn, strong beast, which I had
specially promised my men for their dinner if they made a long march
that day, was outwitted by the sheep. It freed its head from the cord
with which Kachi was dragging it, and cantered away full speed in the
opposite direction to the one in which we were travelling. It is well
known that at great altitudes running is a painful operation, for the
rarefied air makes such exertion almost suffocating. Yet Kachi, having
overcome his first surprise, was soon chasing the escaped beast, and,
urged by the cheers of my other men, succeeded, after an exciting race,
in catching the animal by its tail. This feat is easier to describe than
to accomplish, for Tibetan sheep have very short, stumpy tails. Kachi
fell to the ground exhausted, but he held fast with both hands to his
capture, and finally the animal was secured with ropes.
Climbing over rolling ground, we rose to a pass 15,580 feet high--over a
thousand feet higher than Pike's Peak, in Colorado. Then crossing a
wide, flat land, we followed the Kuti River, with its high, snowy
mountains to the west and east. The line of perpetual snow was at 16,000
feet; the snow below this level melted daily, except in a few shaded
places. Red and white flowers were still to be seen, though not in such
quantities as lower down. We saw many pairs of small butterflies with
black-and-white wings.
After a while there was yet another bitterly cold stream to ford, two
small lakes to skirt, and three more deep rivers to wade, with cold
water from the snows reaching up to our chests. We had to make the best
way we could through a large field of iron-bearing rock, which so
affected my compass that for the time it became quite unreliable, owing
to its deviation.
Mile after mile we marched over sharp stones, wading through another
troublesome delta fully a mile in width with eight streams, and crossing
a flat basin of pointed pebbles. At last, to our great comfort, we came
to smooth grass-land.
Here the Kuti River flowed through a large basin, not unlike the one
near which we had camped the night before. It looked like the bed of a
lake, with high vertical rocks on the left. As we went on to the
north-west the basin became wider and the Kuti River turned to the
north-west, while the Mangshan River, descending from the east, joined
the first stream in the centre of the basin. In wading through the
numerous branches of the two rivers we felt more than ever the trials
and weariness of the day before. The water seemed colder than ever. Our
feet were by this time in a dreadful condition, bleeding and sore,
because it was constantly necessary to walk barefooted rather than keep
removing our foot-gear every few minutes. Aching and chilled, we
stumbled on, in and out of the water, always treading, it seemed, on
sharply pointed stones. The pain had to be borne patiently. At last we
reached our camping-ground, situated under the lee of the high chain of
mountains to the north of us and on the northern bank of the Mangshan
River. Directly in front of us stood the final obstacle--the great
backbone of the Himahlyas. Once across this range, I should be on the
high Tibetan plateau so accurately described as "the roof of the
world."