WATCHED BY SPIES
A few hours' rest, a hearty meal, and by 9 A.M. we were ready again to
start, this time with the entire expedition, over the easier Lumpiya
Pass. The thermometer registered 40 deg. inside the tent. The minimum
temperature outside, during the night, had been 14 deg. We followed the
Kuti River at the foot of the mountain range. On rounding a prominent
headland, where the Kuti River flowed through a narrow passage, we saw
on a mound fourteen stone pillars and pyramids with white stones on them
and some Tibetan "flying prayers," mere strips of cloth flapping in the
wind. It was from this point that the ascent of the Lumpiya Pass began.
Our route gradually ascended, going north-west first, then swinging away
to the north-east, until we attained an elevation of 17,350 feet on a
flat basin covered with deep snow. So far we had gone on with no great
trouble, but matters suddenly changed for the worse. Each coolie in the
long silent row at the head of which I marched sank in snow up to his
knees, often up to his waist. Their dark faces, wrapped tightly round in
turbans, stood out in sharp contrast upon the white background. Some
wore fur caps with ear-flaps. All had sheepskin coats and high boots.
Many used snow-spectacles. Watching this silent procession of men with
heavy loads upon their backs, struggling higher and higher with piteous
panting, one could not help wondering anxiously as to how many of them
would return to their own country alive. Moving cautiously to avoid
treacherous crevasses, I made my way ahead to a spot six hundred feet
higher, where I halted for a while on a rocky island fairly clear of
snow. As coolie after coolie arrived panting hard, he dropped his load
and sat quietly by the side of it. There was not a grumble, not a word
of reproach for the hard work they were made to endure. Sleet was
falling, and everything was wet and cold. From this point there was a
steep pull before us. To the left we had a glacier, the face of which
was a precipitous wall of ice about one hundred feet in height. Like the
Mangshan glacier, it was in horizontal strata of beautifully clear ice
with vertical stripes of dark green.
The doctor and I went ahead. In our anxiety to reach the summit we
mistook our bearings. With great fatigue we climbed an extremely steep
incline. Here we were on a patch of troublesome loose stones, on which
we struggled for over half an hour, until we reached the summit of the
range, 18,750 feet--considerably higher than the pass itself. Most of
the other men had proceeded by a dangerous way skirting the glacier.
The wind from the north-east was piercing, and the cold intense. From
this high point we obtained a beautiful bird's-eye view of the Tibetan
plateau. Huge masses of snow covered the Tibetan side of the Himahlyas,
as well as the lower range of mountains immediately in front of us,
lying almost parallel to our range. Two thousand feet below, between
these two ranges, flowed, in a wide barren valley, a river called the
Darma Yankti. This river is the principal source of that great river
which afterward takes the name of Sutlej. I was glad to be the first
white man to visit the place where it has its birth. In the distance a
flat plateau, rising some eight hundred feet above the river and
resembling a gigantic railway embankment, could be seen for many miles.
Far away to the north stood a chain of high blue mountains capped with
snow--undoubtedly the Gangri chain with the Kelas peaks.
The strain of exertion in this rarefied air brought about a painful
incident. Exhausted from cold and fatigue, a man called Rubso, a
Christian convert, was seized with cramp. He was lying in a
semi-conscious state, his teeth chattering, his features distorted and
livid; his eyes were sunken and lifeless. We carried him under the
shelter of a rock and rubbed him vigorously, endeavoring to restore his
circulation. He eventually recovered enough to come along.
From our high point we now had to descend to the pass six hundred feet
lower. We made our way along dangerous rocks and debris. I was clinging,
with half-frozen fingers, to a prominent rock when I heard screams of
distress from below. On the steep incline of snow two coolies, with
their respective loads, having lost their footing, were sliding at an
incredible speed. They finally reached the bottom of the basin, where
the change in the descent made them turn involuntary somersaults, while
their loads flew off in every direction. I was relieved when I saw the
men getting up again. One of them staggered, and fell back a second time
as if dead. Hastening over the slippery rocks, and then down over loose
stones, I reached the pass. This was 18,150 feet above the sea. Two
reluctant men were sent to the relief of the coolie in distress. He and
his load were at last carried up to the place where I was. He had been
badly shaken and was aching all over, but was able to continue with us.
We hurried down the steep slope on the Tibetan side, to get away quickly
from the bitterly cold, windy pass. Describing a wide curve, and then
across several long snow-beds, we at last reached the river-level, and
pitched our tents on snow at an elevation of 16,900 feet. There was no
wood; no yak or pony dung, no lichens, no moss, and therefore nothing
with which we could make a fire. My men believed that eating cold food
at high elevations, when the temperature was low, led to certain death.
They preferred to remain without food altogether. Night came, and with
it the wind blowing in gusts, and piling the grit and snow around our
tents. In the night, when a hurricane was raging, we had to turn out of
our flapping canvasses several times to make the loosened pegs firmer.
Refastening the frozen ropes was icy-cold work. At 2 A.M. the
thermometer was down to 12 deg.; at 9 A.M., in the sun, it went up to
26 deg., and inside the tent at the same hour we had a temperature of
32 deg.--freezing-point.
In a hurricane of grit and drenching rain we packed our traps as best we
could and again started. To my surprise, as I was marching ahead of my
men, I noticed, some two hundred yards from my former camp, a double
line of recent footmarks in the snow. Those coming toward us were
somewhat indistinct and nearly covered with grit; those going in the
opposite direction seemed quite recent. After carefully examining these
footprints, I became certain that they had been left by a Tibetan. Where
the footprints were nearest our camp, marks in the snow showed that the
man had at different points laid himself flat on the snow. We had
evidently been spied upon and watched during the night. My men, who were
already showing fear of the Tibetans, were now all anxiously stooping
over these footprints. Some of them thought that the stranger must be a
_daku_ (a brigand), and that at night we should be attacked by the whole
band; others maintained that the spy could only be a soldier sent by the
Gyanema officers to watch our movements. This incident was held by them
as an evil omen.
We were travelling on flat or slightly rolling barren ground. We waded
across another cold river with water up to our waists. My men became so
tired that one mile further we were obliged to halt. The elevation of
this point was 16,650 feet.
The cold was intense. Again we had no fuel of any kind. A furious wind
was blowing. Snow fell heavily in the evening. My carriers, half
starved, ate a little _satoo_ (a kind of oatmeal), but Chanden Sing, a
Rajiput, could not, without breaking his caste, eat his food without
undressing. It was two days since he had eaten his last meal, but
rather than break the rules of his religion, or take off his clothes
when it was so cold, he chose to curl up in his blanket and go to sleep
fasting.
Inside the tent the temperature was 28 deg. Fahrenheit, or below
freezing-point. There was a foot of snow upon the ground, and it was
snowing heavily. The carriers, huddled close together so as to keep
warm, attempted to sleep in order to forget their hunger.
Two or three hours later the weather cleared. The coolies, half starved,
came to complain that they were again unable to find fuel to cook their
food, and that they would leave me. It was a trying time. I immediately
took my telescope and climbed to the top of a small mound. It was
curious to see how much faith the coolies had in this spy-glass. They
believed, in a child-like fashion, that with it I could see through
mountains. I came down with the good news that one day's march beyond
would bring us to a spot where fuel was plentiful.
They cheerfully hastened to pack up the loads, and set forth with
unusual energy in the direction I had pointed out. We followed a course
parallel to the high, flat plateau on the other side of the stream. This
snow-covered plateau extended from south-west to north-east. Beyond it
to the north could be seen some high, snowy peaks--in all probability
the lofty summits south-east of Gartok. To our right we were flanked by
high, rugged mountains, with streams here and there dashing down their
sides. Six hours' brisk marching took us to a sheltered spot where a few
lichens and shrubs were growing. If we had suddenly descended into the
Black Forest of Germany or the Yosemite Valley with their gigantic
trees centuries old, our delight could not have been greater, yet the
tallest of these shrubs stood no higher than six or seven inches from
the ground, while the biggest piece of wood we collected was no larger
around than an ordinary pencil. With all possible haste all hands went
to work to root up these plants for fuel.
When night came the same number of hands were busy cooking and swiftly
ladling out such steaming food as was available from the different pots
to the mouths of the famished coolies. Happiness reigned in camp. All
recent hardships were forgotten.
A fresh surprise was awaiting us when we rose. Two Tibetans disguised as
beggars came to our camp. They pretended to be suffering from cold and
starvation. I gave orders that they should be properly fed and kindly
treated. On being cross-examined they confessed that they were spies
sent by the officer at Gyanema to find out whether a white man had
crossed the frontier, and whether we had seen him.
We had so many things to attend to in the morning, and it was so cold,
that washing had really become a nuisance. I, for my part, gave it up,
at least for the time. We were sunburnt, and we wore turbans and
snow-glasses, so the Tibetans departed under the impression that our
party consisted of a Hindoo doctor, his brother, and a caravan of
servants (none of whom had seen a white man), and that we were now on a
pilgrimage to the sacred Mansarowar Lake and Kelas Mount.
In the presence of the men we treated this as a great joke, but, all
the same, Wilson and I anxiously consulted as to our immediate plans.
Should we make a rapid march during the night over the mountain range to
our right, and strike east by the wilds, or should we face the Gyanema
leader and his soldiers?
We decided to meet them rather than go out of our way. I gave orders to
break camp at once.