HUNGRY FUGITIVES
At 1 P.M. we woke up, drenched to the skin, for the sun, which had come
out after the storm had abated, had thawed the thick coating of snow
over us. The elevation of this camp, according to my aneroids, was
18,000 feet. The wind, from the south-east, cut like a knife, and we
suffered from it, not only on this occasion, but every day during the
whole time we were in Tibet. This wind began to blow with great
fierceness and regularity at one o'clock every afternoon, and it was
only toward eight o'clock in the evening that it sometimes abated and
gradually ceased. Frequently, however, the wind, instead of dropping at
this time, increased in violence, blowing with terrible force during the
whole night.
As we were making ready to start again, with limbs cramped and stiff,
the sky again became suddenly covered with heavy gray clouds, and fresh
snow fell. There was no possibility of making a fire, so we started
hungry and half frozen, following a course of 70 deg. (b.m.). We waded
up to our waists through a freezingly cold stream, and, climbing steadily
higher and higher for a distance of six miles, we at last reached
another and loftier plateau to the north-east of the one where we had
camped in the morning. The elevation of this second plateau was 18,960
feet. I was surprised to find four lakes of considerable size close to
one another on this high tableland. The sun, breaking for a moment
through the clouds, shone on the snow-covered tops of the surrounding
mountains, silvering the water of the lakes, and displaying before us a
wild and beautiful scene.
We were too hungry and tired to care greatly for beautiful sights. All
we thought of was to find, as quick as possible, a suitable place where
we could rest our wearied bodies, either under the shelter of the higher
hills around the plateau or in one of the depressions in the ground. I
was anxious to push across the plateau and descend on the north-east
side to a lower altitude, where we might likely find fuel, but my men,
half starved and fagged, would go no farther. Their loads, now soaking
wet, were considerably heavier than under ordinary circumstances. We
were all panting on account of the thin air at that great height. No
sooner had we come to a partially sheltered spot between the larger lake
and the most eastern sheet of water of the group than my men collapsed
and said they were unable to proceed. I was concerned about them. They
refused to take cold food, believing it would cause their death. I could
not see how they could recover sufficient strength for the next day's
marching unless I kept them properly fed. By promising that they should
not die, I finally persuaded them to eat a little _satoo_ (flour) and
_ghur_ (sweet paste). Unluckily, no sooner had they eaten some of the
mixture, upon which they drank cold water, than nearly all were seized
with violent pains in their stomachs, of which they complained most of
the night.
Experience had taught these mountaineers that eating cold food at great
elevations was more dangerous than eating no food at all. I regretted my
ill-timed, if kindly meant, advice. One is apt to judge other people by
one's self. Personally I never found any different effects from hot or
cold food, plentiful or not, at high elevations, on the sea-level, or at
intermediate altitudes.
Soon after sunset the cold was intense. It was still snowing hard. Our
wet garments and blankets were beginning to freeze. I lighted a small
spirit-lamp, round which we all sat close together, making such a
shelter as we could with our frozen wraps. I even attempted to cook some
concentrated broth on the flame, but, owing to the high altitude, the
water took a long time to lose its chill, not to speak of the time it
took to boil. When it was just getting tepid the flame went out, and I
could not afford more spirits of wine to light the flame again. So the
cooking had to be abandoned, and as the night grew colder and colder, we
huddled together under our respective blankets in order to sleep. We had
made a protecting wall with our baggage. My men covered their heads with
their blankets, but I never could adopt their style of sleeping, as it
seemed to smother me. I always slept with my head uncovered, for not
only could I breathe more freely, but I wished to be on the alert should
we at any time be surprised by the Tibetans. My men moaned and groaned
and their teeth chattered during the night. I woke many times with a bad
pain in my ears, caused by frost-bite; my eyes, too, suffered as the
eyelashes became covered with icicles. Every time I tried to open my
eyelids there was an uncomfortable feeling, as if the eyelashes were
being torn off. In the intense cold the lids became fast frozen directly
they were closed.
At last the sun rose. The night had seemed endless. When I tried to
raise the blanket in order to sit up, it seemed of an extraordinary
weight and stiffness. No wonder! It was frozen hard, was as rigid as
card-board, and covered over with a layer of snow one foot thick. The
thermometer during the night had gone down to 24 deg.
I called my men. They were hard to wake. They were entirely buried under
the snow.
"_Uta! uta! uta!_" (Get up! get up! get up!) I called, shaking one by
one, brushing off the snow from over their blankets.
"_Baroff bahut_" (There is much snow), remarked one man, as he put his
nose outside his blanket and rubbed his eyes, smarting from the white
glare of the snow around us. "Salaam, sahib," he added, when, having
overcome his first surprise, he perceived me, and he raised his hand
gracefully up to his forehead.
The others behaved in a similar manner. Kachi was, as usual, the last
one to wake.
"Oh, Kachi," I shouted, "get up!"
"_Oh, bahiyoh!_" (Oh, father!) yawned he, stretching his arms. Half
asleep, half awake, he looked round as if in a trance, muttering
incoherent words.
"Good-morning, sir. Oh ... much snow. Oh ... look, sir, two _kiangs_
there! What is '_kiang_' in English?"
"Wild horse."
"'Wild' you spell w-i-l-d?"
"Yes."
Here the note-book was produced from under his pillow, and the English
word duly written down.
Odd creatures, these Shokas! The average European, half starved and
frozen, would hardly give much thought to exact spelling under such
trying circumstances.
Poor Mansing, the leper, suffered terribly. He groaned pitiably through
the entire night. I had given him one of my wrappers, but his
circulation had been badly affected by the intense cold. His face was
gray and cadaverous, with deep lines engraved upon it from suffering.
His feet were so frozen that it took him some time before he could stand
upon them.
Again the Shokas would eat nothing because snow was still falling. We
started toward the north-east. After a mile of flat we began a steep
descent over unpleasant, loose debris and sharp rocks. The progress was
rapid but painful. Looking at the country below through my telescope, I
saw shrubs and lichens far down in the valley to the north-east, and
also a tent and some sheep. This was unfortunate, for we had to alter
our course in order not to be seen. We again climbed up to the top of
the plateau and went around its summit unperceived, striking a more
easterly route. Toward sunset we began our descent from the latter
point. We crossed the river with no great difficulty. Having selected a
nicely sheltered depression in the ground, I pitched my little tent
there, by the side of a pond of melted snow. We all set out collecting
lichens and shrubs in order to make a fire, and each man carried into
camp several loads of fuel. In a moment we had three big fires blazing,
and not only were we able to cook an excellent dinner and drown our past
troubles in abundance of steaming tea, but we also managed to dry our
clothes and blankets. The relief we obtained from the warmth of these
fires was wonderful. In our comparative happiness we forgot the
hardships and sufferings we had so far encountered. With the exception
of a handful of _satoo_, this was the first solid meal we had eaten
during the last forty-eight hours. In those two days we had travelled
twenty miles, each of us carrying a weight averaging over sixty pounds.
We were now at an elevation of 16,500 feet, which seemed quite low after
our colder and loftier camping-grounds. The reaction was pleasant, and,
as far as I was concerned, the outlook had changed from one of deepest
depression to a condition of comparative cheerfulness and contentment.
In front of us, to the north-east, was a high mountain.--Farther toward
the east could be seen a narrow valley between two hill ranges, while a
river passed through a picturesque gorge in the direction of the
Mangshan Mountain.
It was necessary for me to proceed along the valley to the east, for in
so doing we should save ourselves trouble, time, and exertion, though
perhaps we might meet Tibetans, especially bands of robbers. This part
of the Nari Khorsum province was said to be infested with brigands. We
had, therefore, to proceed cautiously, especially as my Shokas seemed
quite afraid. We had hardly gone half a mile over the rolling country,
and I had stopped behind my men to take observations with my prismatic
compass, when my carriers suddenly threw themselves flat on the ground
and began to retreat, crawling on hands and knees.
"_Daku! daku!_" (Brigands! brigands!) they whispered, as I got near
them.
It was too late. We had been detected, and a number of dacoits, armed
with matchlocks and swords, came rapidly toward us. It has always been
my experience that, in such cases, the worst thing to do is to run away,
for nothing encourages a man more to attack you than to show that you
are afraid. I therefore loaded my Mannlicher rifle. My bearer did
likewise with the Martini-Henry. I gave orders to the Shokas to squat
down by their respective loads and to remain still. My bearer and I
strolled toward the fast-approaching band, now less than a hundred yards
distant. I shouted to them to stop. Chanden Sing signalled to them to go
back. They took no notice of our warnings, and came on all the faster
toward us. Undoubtedly they thought that we were merely Shoka traders,
and expected to find an easy prey. They had conceived a good plan of
attack. When they prepared to rush us, on getting near enough, they
separated with the obvious intention of attacking us on all sides.
"_Dushu! Dushu!_" (Go back! Go back!) I cried angrily at them, raising
my rifle to my shoulder and taking a steady aim at the leader. Chanden
Sing did the same with one of the other men. This seemed to have a good
effect upon them, for they immediately made a comical salaam and took to
their heels, Chanden Sing and I pursuing them for some distance in order
to get them well out of the way. We watched them from a mound close by,
and discovered that a short distance off these robbers had many
companions, as well as some three thousand sheep, presumably the results
of their last robbery. We motioned to them to get away from our course,
and finally, driving their sheep before them, they went off in the
direction I pointed out to them. When they were clear of us, and my
Shokas, who thought their last hour had come, had partly recovered from
their fright, we proceeded on our journey, entering the narrow valley
between the two hill ranges which I have already mentioned.
That we were now in a much-frequented region could be plainly seen by
the numerous camping-grounds along the stream. Our success of the
morning had raised our spirits, and we marched merrily, keeping to the
left bank of the watercourse. A steep climb brought us to a plateau at
an altitude of 16,400 feet, from which we obtained a fine view of the
snow range, running east to west from the Mangshan Mountain to the Lippu
Pass, and beyond, to the north-east, the four lofty peaks of Nimo
Nangil, 25,360 feet, 22,200 feet, 22,850 feet, 22,670 feet high. This
plateau sloped gently, and was broken by many deep crevasses, conveying
the waterflow down into the Gakkon River.
On the lower portion of this plateau, and then along the course of the
river, a track ran from Gyanema to Taklakot _via_ Kardam and Dogmar,
and another seldom-frequented track to Mangshan, south-south-west of
this place. The edge of the plateau was 15,800 feet above sea-level, and
the river 550 feet lower.
This was for us a dangerous spot, as by this time the Tibetans must be
aware that I had escaped and that I was well into their country. I knew
that soldiers and spies must be guarding all the tracks and searching
for us. This thoroughfare, being more frequented than the others, was
all the more insecure. We had to display great caution in order to avoid
detection. In Tibet the atmosphere is so clear that moving objects can
plainly be seen very far away. I looked everywhere through my telescope,
but could see no one, so we went on. My men thought it safer to descend
into one of the numerous creeks, where we should be less exposed, but we
had hardly reached the border of one of these when we heard noises
rising from the valley below.
Crawling on our stomachs, my bearer and I peeped over the edge of the
plateau. Some five hundred feet below was a Tibetan encampment, with a
number of yaks and ponies grazing. Unnoticed, I watched them for some
time. There were several soldiers, most probably posted there on the
lookout for me. With my spy-glass I recognized some of the Gyanema men.
We deemed it wise to select a spot where we could hide until night came.
After dark we descended to the river (15,250 feet), scrambled across it,
and made our way up a narrow gorge between high cliffs until we came to
a well-hidden spot, where we halted. Followed by my men, I climbed up
from rock to rock on the cliff to our left, and found a small natural
platform, sheltered by a huge bowlder projecting over it. This seemed a
safe enough spot for camping. We dared not put up a tent, and we took
the precaution of burying all our baggage in case of a surprise during
the night. Unhampered, we should at any moment be able to hide ourselves
away from our pursuers or run before them. We could always come back
afterward for our things if we had the chance.
Now that everything seemed to be running smoothly, I made a painful
discovery. It was necessary for me to move rapidly. Imagine my surprise
when I found that we were out of provisions. Before leaving the larger
body of my expedition, I had given orders to my men to take food for ten
days. The doctor, who had been deputed to see to this, had assured me
that the loads contained quite enough to last us fully and above that
length of time. Now, for some unknown reason, we had only sufficient
food for one meagre meal. We only had a few grains of salt left.
"What have you done with it?" I inquired, angrily, as it immediately
flashed across my mind that my carriers had been playing foul. I had
ordered each man to take one pound of salt.
"Yes, sahib; but we forgot to take it," said the men, in a chorus.
[Illustration: BEHIND OUR BULWARKS]
After the hardships and fatigue we had undergone, and the anxiety and
difficulty of carrying on my work of surveying, photography, sketching,
and writing, under conditions of unusual discomfort and risk, it was
indeed a hard blow to me to see my plans spoiled. We were still three
or four days' journey from Mansarowar, where I expected to obtain fresh
supplies. Again I had the choice of giving up and returning into India
or of being captured by the Tibetan soldiers, whom I had so far
successfully avoided. Though not usually affected by physical pain, I
sometimes suffer under mental stress. I felt ill and depressed. To add
bodily discomfort to my moral sufferings, I slipped, while jumping in
the semi-darkness from stone to stone across the Gakkon River, and fell
flat into about four feet of ice-cold water. The wind was high at the
time. The thermometer, after dark, went down to 26 deg. While I was
sitting in my wet clothes and talking our situation over, I became so
cold and exhausted that I felt I was about to collapse altogether. High
fever set in, and I became almost delirious. With my teeth chattering
and my temperature at its highest, all my troubles seemed greater than
they were. Failure seemed inevitable, my position hopeless. A plan
suddenly flashed across my mind. Four of my men should go disguised,
two as traders and two as beggars, into the Takla fort (locally called
_Takla khar_ or _Taklakot_), and buy food from my enemies. We, in camp,
would remain hidden until they returned. I spoke to my followers, and,
after some natural reluctance, four Shokas undertook to perform the
daring duty. Discovery would mean to them the loss of their heads,
in all probability preceded by cruel tortures. Although these men
eventually betrayed me, I cannot help giving them credit for the pluck
and fidelity they showed on that particular occasion.
During the night my men were particularly good to me. We did not sleep
for fear of being surprised by the Tibetan soldiers. We passed hour
after hour listening to Shoka stories of brigands and barbarous Tibetan
tortures. Little I knew then what was in store for me. Early in the
morning, when it grew light, we gathered a quantity of nettles, which
were plentiful near this camp, and having boiled them thoroughly, we
made of them a hearty if not quite an appetizing meal. They did not seem
unpalatable at the time, and had we possessed salt to add taste and
digestibility to our prickly diet, we might have felt quite happy. We
supplied the deficiency by mixing with them a double quantity of pepper.
At any rate, it was a relief to know that, while nettles lasted near our
camp, we should at least not die of starvation.