AMONG ENEMIES AND ROBBERS
On my last scouting journey up the hill above Terror Camp I had seen, by
the aid of my telescope, the encampment of a guard of Tibetans about
three miles north of us.
In the morning we dug up the main part of the baggage we had buried, and
made ready to start. One of my men, named Nattoo, came forward and
professed to be able to guide me directly to the Mansarowar Lake. He
seemed anxious to undertake this task, saying that there would be no
chance of being seen by Tibetans by the route he knew, and therefore we
might march during the daytime.
Led by this man, we started up the creek. I was astonished at the
willingness with which the Shokas agreed to proceed. In a short time I
felt convinced that Nattoo was deliberately taking us to the spot I most
wished to avoid. On my remonstrating and stopping farther progress in
that direction, the Shokas mutinied, and, laying down their loads, tried
to escape. Chanden Sing quickly barred their way ahead in the narrow
creek. I prevented their escape from the opposite side. They had to
surrender. They were all severely punished there and then. On being
closely cross-examined, they confessed that they had made a plot to
hand me over to the Tibetan guard, in order to escape themselves the
horrors of torture by the Tibetans. This last act of treachery, coming
after what had happened during the night, and from the very men to whom
I had been so kind, was too much for me. I used a stick, which Chanden
Sing handed me, freely on their backs and legs--Nattoo receiving the
largest share of blows, because he was undoubtedly the leader of the
conspiracy.
On climbing to a high point of vantage I made another discovery. Besides
the guard we had to the north of us, both east and west our way was
barred by Tibetan soldiers. It was not possible to get on during the day
without being seen. I absolutely refused to go back south. I held a
council with my men, now apparently resigned to their fate. They agreed
to accompany me as far as the Maium Pass (on the road to Lhassa), which
we reckoned we could reach in fifteen to eighteen marches. They further
agreed to endeavor to obtain yaks and food for me, and I was then to
dismiss them.
From the summit of the hill I had climbed I had taken careful bearings.
At night, aided by my luminous compass, I led my men high up along the
mountain range at an average elevation of 1500 feet above the
Gyanema-Taklakot track.
The night was dark and stormy. We encountered much difficulty on our
journey forward, owing to the slippery ground. Where it was not slippery
we trod over troublesome loose stones. We could not see far ahead.
Though we well knew from the angle of the slope that we were travelling
along a precipice, we could not distinguish anything under us except a
very bright streak far, far down below--undoubtedly the river.
I could not explain the luminosity of the water. It did not seem to come
from reflection of the light of stars or the moon, because the sky was
cloudy at the time. The river had a curious greenish tint, closely
resembling the light produced by an electric discharge. In the more
dangerous spots we had to proceed for long distances on all-fours. Even
then we felt hardly safe, for we could hear the sound of the stones
rolling down the steep slope, and by the length of time they took to
reach the bottom we knew that we were proceeding over a precipice of
extraordinary height. So difficult and painful was the walking that it
took us about four hours to go some three miles. We felt so exhausted
that from time to time we had to lie down and rest, shivering with cold.
Our hands were bleeding from cuts caused by the sharp stones. I mustered
my men. Poor Mansing, the leper, was missing. When we last spoke to him
he was moaning under his load, and he constantly stumbled and fell. Two
men were sent in search, but after an hour's absence they failed to
discover him. Faithful Chanden Sing and the Shoka Dola were then
despatched to his rescue. After another hour of anxiety the two
returned, bringing the unfortunate coolie with them. The poor fellow's
hands and feet were badly cut. The pain in the latter was so great that
he could no more stand erect. He had fallen in a faint from exhaustion,
and it was by a mere chance that in the darkness Chanden Sing stumbled
against his senseless body. Apart from his life, his loss would have
been a serious matter to me, as he carried my bedding and photographic
cameras.
Sleet and rain commenced to fall. The cold was intense. We continued to
climb steadily, Chanden Sing and I helping the poor leper along. The
march soon became less difficult, as we were following a depression
formed by the action of melting snows. We were sheltered from the
piercing wind, which had been driving the sleet hard into our faces. We
slowly covered some three more miles. During that time the storm passed
away, leaving the atmosphere beautifully clear. When we reached the pass
(over 17,000 feet high) a curious optical phenomenon astonished us all.
The larger stars and planets, of a dazzling brilliancy, such as I had
never in my life seen before, seemed to swing to and fro in the sky with
rapid and sudden jerks, describing short arcs of a circle, and returning
each time to their normal position. The effect was so weird that I at
first believed something had gone wrong with my vision, but my
companions saw the same phenomenon. More curious still was the illusion
of the stars nearer the horizon disappearing and reappearing behind the
mountain range. The oscillations of the heavenly bodies nearer the
horizon were less rapid, but the angle of the arc described measured
almost double that traced by the stars directly above our heads. The
oscillations of the latter were, especially at certain moments, so rapid
that the star itself, instead of having its normal appearance, formed a
continuous streak of light on the deep-blue background of the sky. This
strange optical illusion, which began soon after the storm had cleared
away, lasted some time. Gradually the oscillations became less violent,
and stars and planets eventually resumed their normal steadiness,
shining with great brilliancy and beauty.
We crossed the pass, and halted directly on the northern side of it.
My followers suffered intense pain. Their feet were in a terrible
condition. The minimum temperature was 12 deg. Fahrenheit. We did not
pitch our tent, and when we went to sleep there was only a blanket
between us and heaven. When we woke in the morning we found the
thermometer had risen to 30 deg. We were enveloped in thick mist,
which chilled us to the marrow of our bones. I had icicles hanging
from my mustache, eyelashes, and hair. My cheeks and nose were
covered with a thin layer of ice, caused by the breath settling and
congealing on my face.
During our night marches up and down mountain ranges of great height we
naturally had many adventures and escapes. In constant storms of grit
and snow we crossed range after range, travelling at night and hiding
during the day, always camping at great elevations. We underwent
considerable privations. I steered my men toward the Rakastal, or
Devil's Lake. One day, having risen to 17,550 feet, we obtained a
magnificent view of the two great sheets of water, the Lafan-cho and
Mafan-cho, more commonly known to non-Tibetans under the names of
Rakastal and Mansarowar lakes.
To the north of the lakes stood the magnificent Tize, the sacred Kelas
Mountain, overtopping by some 2000 feet all the other snowy peaks of
the Gangri chain. This chain extended roughly from north-west to
south-east. From this spot we could see more distinctly than from Lama
Chokten the band round the base of the mountain, which, according to
legend, was formed by the rope of the Rakas (devil) trying to tear down
this throne of Siva.
Tize, the great sacred peak, was of fascinating interest, owing
to its peculiar shape. It resembled the giant roof of a temple.
Perhaps it lacked the gracefulness of sweeping curves. Tize was
angular--uncomfortably angular. Its height, the vivid color of its
base, and the masses of snow that covered its slopes certainly gave
it a peculiar attraction. Otherwise it struck me as being intensely
unpicturesque--at least from the point from which I saw it and from
which the entire face of it was visible. When clouds toned down and
modified its shape, Tize appeared at its best from a painter's point of
view. Under these conditions, I have thought it beautiful, especially at
sunrise, with one side tinted red and yellow, and its exposed rocky mass
standing majestic against a background of shiny gold. With my telescope
I could plainly distinguish, especially on the east side, the defile
along which the worshippers make the circuit at the base of the
mountain. I was told that some pilgrims actually march round it on the
snowy ledge directly over the base, just above the darker band of rock
described before. On the south-west side could be seen, on the top of a
lower peak, a gigantic _obo_ (a pyramid of stone).
The journey round Tize usually takes three days. Some accomplish it in
two days, and under favorable circumstances it has even been done in
one day. It is usual for the pilgrims to say certain prayers and make
sacrifices as they proceed. The more fanatical perform the journey
serpentwise, lying flat on the ground at each step. Others do it on
their hands and knees, and others walking backward.
Tize, or Kelas, has an elevation of 21,830 feet, and Nandiphu, west of
it, 19,440 feet. North-west of the sacred mountain are visible other
summits 20,460 feet, 19,970 feet, and 20,280 feet high.
While I was sketching this panorama a snow leopard bounded gracefully
before us. Animal life seemed to abound. I had a shot or two at a _thar_
(mountain goat), and we saw any number of _kiang_ (wild horse). We found
rhubarb, which seemed to be thriving at so high an elevation as 17,000
feet, and quantities of yellow flowers in the same locality and at the
same elevation. At 19,000 feet I netted two couples of small
white-and-black butterflies. They seemed to have great difficulty in
flying.
On nearing the lakes the atmosphere seemed saturated with moisture. No
sooner had the sun gone down than there was a heavy dew, which soaked
our blankets and clothes. We were at 16,550 feet in a narrow, marshy
creek in which we had descended precipitously from the last mountain
range. From the summit of the range we had seen many columns of smoke
rising from the neighborhood of the Devil's Lake. We judged that we must
again proceed with great caution.
We cooked our food. In the middle of the night, for greater safety, we
shifted our camp in a north-easterly direction on the summit of the
plateau. We continued our journey in the morning high above the
magnificent blue sheet of the Devil's Lake with its pretty islands.
"Sir, do you see that island?" exclaimed Nattoo, pointing at a barren
rock in the lake. "On it," he continued, "lives a hermit Lama, a saintly
man. He has been there alone for many years, and he is held in great
veneration by the Tibetans. He exists almost entirely on fish and
occasional swan's eggs. Only in winter, when the lake is frozen, is
communication established with the shore, and supplies of _tsamba_ are
brought to him. There are no boats on the Devil's Lake, nor any way of
constructing rafts, owing to the absence of wood. The hermit sleeps in a
cave, but generally comes out in the open to pray to Buddha."
During the following night, when everything was still, a breeze blowing
from the north conveyed to us, faint and indistinct, the broken howls of
the hermit.
"What is that?" I asked of the Shokas.
"It is the hermit speaking to God. Every night he climbs to the summit
of the rock, and from there addresses his prayers to Buddha the Great."
"How is he clothed?" I inquired.
"In skins."
Late in the afternoon we had an amusing incident. We came to a creek in
which were a number of men and women, hundreds of yaks and sheep, and
some thirty ponies.
The Shokas became alarmed, and immediately pronounced the folks to be
brigands. I maintained that they were not. Kachi had a theory that the
only way to tell brigands from honest beings was to hear them talk. The
brigands, he declared, usually shouted at the top of their voices when
conversing, and used language far from select, while well-to-do Tibetans
spoke gently and with refinement. I thought the only thing to do was to
go and address the people, when by the tone of voice we should find out
who and what they were. This, however, did not suit my Shokas. We were
placed in a rather curious position. In order to proceed on our journey
we must either pass through the Tibetan encampment or we must march
southward round a mountain, which would involve considerable trouble,
fatigue, and waste of time. We waited till night came, watching, unseen,
the Tibetans below us. As is customary with them, at sundown they
retired to their tents. Leaving my men behind, I crawled into their camp
during the night and peeped into one of the tents. The men were
squatting on the ground, round a fire in the centre, upon which steamed
two vessels with stewing tea. One old man had strongly marked Mongolian
features, accentuated by the heavy shadows which were cast by the light
of the fire on his angular cheek-bones and prominent and wrinkled brow.
He was busily revolving his prayer-wheel from left to right, repeating,
in a mechanical way, the usual _Omne mani padme hun_, words which come
from the Sanscrit, and refer to the reincarnation of Buddha from a lotus
flower, meaning literally, "O God, the gem emerging from a lotus
flower." Two or three other men whose faces I could not well see, as
they were stooping low, were counting money and examining several
articles of Indian manufacture which undoubtedly had been seized from
Shokas.
Having discovered the best way to pass without being seen, I went back
to my men, and led them, in the middle of the night, through the Tibetan
camp. We proceeded for a mile or so beyond the encampment. Having
selected a well-sheltered spot where we thought we could rest without
fear of discovery, we laid down our loads and tried to get a few hours'
sleep. At sunrise we were startled on finding our camp surrounded by a
band of robbers. Our friends of the previous night had followed our
tracks, and, mistaking us for Shoka traders, had now come for a little
pleasant robbery. On drawing near they were given a somewhat warm
reception. Their instant retreat was more speedy than dignified.
We wended our way along a narrow valley toward the shore of the Devil's
Lake, halting to cook our food about half a mile from the water's edge.
At this point I took observations for longitude, also the correct
elevation with boiling-point thermometers. Water boiled at 185 deg. with
the temperature of the atmosphere at 64 deg. Fahrenheit.
I had just repacked my instruments, and was lying flat in the sun, some
distance away from my men, when I thought I saw something move. Jumping
up, I caught sight of a stalwart Tibetan stealing along the ground only
a few yards away from me, with the object, no doubt, of seizing my
rifle. He was not quick enough. All he got was a good pounding with the
butt of my Mannlicher. I recognized him; he was one of the brigands we
had seen in the morning. They had followed and spied us all along.
Having got over his first surprise and begged for mercy, the bandit,
with an amusing air of assumed innocence, requested us to go and spend
the night in his tent with him and his friends. They would treat us
right royally, he said. Being well acquainted with the hospitality of
robbers, we declined the invitation. The brigand went away somewhat
shaken and disappointed. We continued our journey along the edge of the
Devil's Lake. Hundreds of hares sprang all around us. So numerous were
they that I killed several with my rifle, using bullet cartridges. There
were signs all along that at some previous epoch the level of the lake
must have been much higher than it is at present.
Marching during the day, we encountered many Tibetans, some of whom were
Dogpas, others Jogpas, both nomad bands of robbers. When they saw us
approaching they generally fled, driving their sheep and yaks in front
of them. We came upon two Tibetan women, very dirty. Their faces were
smeared with black ointment, as a protection for the skin and to prevent
its cracking in the high wind. They were dressed in long sheepskin
garments, worn out and filthy. The shaggy hair was so unwashed that it
emitted a sickening odor. I ordered them not to come too near us.
Later four Tibetans, who attempted to snatch Chanden Sing's rifle out of
his hand, received from him a battering they were not likely to forget.
After this we were left alone for the remainder of the day. In the
evening Chanden Sing fired at a black wolf which came close to camp. I
discovered, about one hundred feet above the lake-level, imbedded in the
mountain-side, a stratum of gigantic fossils, which, owing to their size
and weight, I was unable to dig out and carry away.
Feeling almost certain that we were being spied upon all the time by the
numerous Jogpas we had met, and knowing their favorite habit of
attacking strangers at night while asleep, we generally resorted to a
simple ruse. Before sunset we pretended to encamp, and having lighted a
fire to let them think that we had halted for the night, after dark
escaped, leaving the fire burning. Walking and stumbling for several
miles, we eventually found a spot high on the hillside, where we
considered ourselves safe. Snow fell heavily during the night, and as
usual we woke up with icicles hanging from our mustaches, eyelashes, and
hair. Otherwise we really felt happy and well.
It was my good-fortune to make quite sure, from many points, that the
ridge between the Rakas and Mansarowar lakes was continuous, and no
visible communication between the two lakes existed. With the exception
of a small depression about half-way across, the ridge has an average
height of 1000 feet all along--a fact which ought in itself to dispose
of the theory held by some that the two lakes are connected by a wide
channel intersecting this ridge. I ascertained from the natives that
there was no visible communication between the lakes, though the
depression in the ridge makes it probable that at a very remote period
some connection existed. The lowest point in this depression in the
centre of the ridge is over three hundred feet above the level of the
lakes.