CHAPTER LXII
ADVENTURES OF OURSELVES AND PUPPY IN NAGRONG
OnMarch 6 we made another hop towards our destination. It is difficult to travel over the high plateaus of Tibet in winter, and we could not march more than four hours a day. The morning was clear, but we had not gone far beyond a small lake, with its mantle of ice covered with driftsand and dust, before the storm increased in violence and made me reel in the saddle. The clouds of dust became thicker, the sandspouts were dark reddish-brown at the base, and the gusts tore up furrows in the ground like ploughshares, while frequently spiral forms were seen which could only be produced by cyclonic whirlwinds. On the left hand shimmered a lake, its surface partly white with gypsum and salt, partly streaked brown with driftsand, and with open water only in two places; it was the ghost of a lake which was doomed to disappear.
Two built-up fireplaces served us capitally for a camping-ground on the shore where the grazing was good. On the eastern side of the lake was a brick-red ridge of medium height, which I wished to paint in order to record the effective tones in the dust mist. I waited for the others with Kutus and Gulam, and we had scarcely induced a fire to burn before the storm rose at noon to a hurricane. Now everything vanished—lake, ridge, all except the nearest tufts of grass. The fire was fenced in with stones and clods lest it should be blown away, sand and minute pebbles beat against my dry skin coat, and I had to cover all my face, for the skin smarted as though lashed by whip-cord, if it were exposed for a second to the wind. Fortunatelythe others made their way to us. Every man had to lend a hand to raise my tent. At length Gulam came crawling backwards and yelled into my ear that the tent was ready. With straddling legs and all my muscles on the stretch I fought my way to it, and was glad to catch hold of a tent rope before I was blown down. At last I was under cover and could recover my breath. The tent cloth was puffed out like a balloon, and threatened every moment to burst with a report. The sand and rubbish beat upon it, producing a deafening noise. It was as dark as at twilight, and the wind roared and whined through the grass. The men tried to set up their own tent, but when the wind had overturned it twice they let it lie, weighting it with the baggage that it might not fly away. Five Ladakis lay in the lee of my tent rolled up like hedgehogs, and I let them come in, where they sat silent and motionless for a couple of hours. The others had crept under the ruins of their unfortunate tent. Puppy and Little Puppy lay in a corner and kept each other warm. However, the temperature was 35.8°, and we had not had such warmth for three months. A long and dismal evening! It was with difficulty I got a piece of bread, a cup of tea, and a piece of dried meat. We were deaf and dizzy when at length we sought repose under our rugs, while the storm continued to rage outside.
I awoke to hear the same old music, and to go out to my horse was like plunging into icy-cold water. Neither the sky nor the horizon was visible, and the mountains were dim shadows. With Kutus and Gulam I led the way, following a path trodden by men. Dark, chill, and doleful was the land of eternal twilight, frost, and the wicked demons of the air. After a march of 8 miles we halted at the edge of a belt of ice, a frozen stream in several branches, which ran to the south-west. The gale flew over the clear sheet of ice, and the red dust was swept over it like flames. With the assistance of Kutus I slid over to the other side, and in the shelter of the opening of a small valley we made the usual fire.
The caravan came to the edge of the ice. It was impossible to sand a path, for the grains would have beenswept away. The animals were led across singly, each helped over by several men. For all that a mule fell and gave a fearful wrench to one of its hind legs, and with great difficulty it was helped up to the camp. All of us had grey distorted faces, our eyes ran, full of sand and dust. My lips bled and my teeth were black. March is the worst month, but we had never experienced such bad weather before. What is the use of looking forward to spring when the days are darker as time goes on?
The injured mule had evidently dislocated its leg. It was thrown down and a rope was fastened round its hoof and the end was pulled by the men. When it was at full stretch Lobsang hit the rope hard with a tent-pole in order to set the dislocated joint in place again, but I could not perceive that the operation had any effect. No; the mule was lost to us just when we could ill afford to lose one of our best animals.
And it was lost indeed, for on the morning of March 8 it could not take a step. It was sad to pass the death sentence, and a pitiful sight when the fresh warm blood spurted out in powerful jets and moistened the barren soil. It lay quiet and patiently, and after a few convulsions expired, and was left in solitude when we moved on over the dreary waste.
But before starting I had ascended a hill and looked around. Which was more expedient—to travel north-east or south-west? Both directions lay out of our course. I decided for the south-west, and hastened down to my tent, where Gulam served up breakfast. Brown Puppy and Little Puppy gave me their company to get their share. Little Puppy had grown so much that he could do what he liked with his mother. When I gave her a piece of meat the young one flew upon her and took it away. I had to hold Little Puppy that his mother might eat in peace. When we set out, Puppy and the yellow dog remained behind with the slaughtered mule, finding a convenient point of departure in an open wound in the soft muscles of the neck. There they stood gorging when we started along the ice-belt of the stream towards the south-west.
With my usual followers I rode in advance. Thesuffocating, blinding, deafening storm was right in our faces. Gulam walked in front, stopped, looked through the field-glass, and gave me the sign to dismount. The stream swept round the foot of a cliff in front of us.
“What is it?” I asked Gulam when we came up to him.
“A large stone house with a wall and a couple of smaller huts. They are not visible at this moment because of the mist, but they lie close to the foot of the mountain.”
“Yes; now they can be seen. It is strange that no dogs rush at us.”
“What is to be done? Shall we turn back? Surely a chieftain lives here, and he will come and search us down to the skin.”
“No; it is too late, for we must have been seen already.”
How I regretted that we had not travelled to the north-east! But we must put on a good face in our unlucky situation. We passed the village at a distance of 100 yards, and halted in the shelter of the dark porphyry crag crowned by twochhortensand amani. At least it was pleasant to get shelter for a moment. It was like taking refuge in a gateway when it pours. All around was dead and dreary; no one was seen; only a couple of jackdaws croaked, and a hare sped out of its form so near us that we could have caught it with the hand if we had been alert. Kutus and Gulam went out to gather fuel. I searched the suspicious neighbourhood with the field-glass, where treachery seemed to lurk behind every projection. It cleared a little towards the south-east, enough for me to detect a black tent of unusual size about 200 yards off. Four strings with prayer-streamers were stretched out from a high pole. I had been in hopes that we should get past the first dwellings, as no dogs had shown themselves, but I had never heard of an uninhabited tent. And the outward appearance of this tent indicated the presence of an important chief. Thanks to the mist, we had stumbled right on to his camp, and he would not be caught napping by poor strolling Ladakis.
Gulam had been to the large house, the yard door of which stood open, and had found in a shed a large quantity of fuel of a kind of shrub the Tibetans callombo. So we waited and waited, expecting to see the caravan emerge from the mist, but when nothing was heard of it Kutus went out to search. It had wandered quite out of its course, and had made a long circuit round the house and tent, for the leaders were convinced that I wished to slip by unnoticed. A horse had fallen, and now we had only two left, and 5 mules out of 40 animals.
The three tents were set up in a line close together, and Abdul Kerim went with Kunchuk to the large tent. We saw through the mist that a man came out to meet them, and that all three went into the tent, and then we waited with our hearts in our mouths. The men returned at dusk with good news. The tent was inhabited by a lonely old Amchi-lama,i.e.a monk-doctor, who at the same time looked after the souls of the Nagrong nomads, determined from astrological books the lucky and unlucky days for baptisms and other affairs, and assisted people with the same remedies when they were sick, died, and finally were buried. He was from Sera in Lhasa, and had lived three years in Nagrong. The tent was a movable temple, furnished inside with altars, burning butter lamps, and votive bowls, where the hermit performed service—we heard him beating a temple drum at midnight. It belonged, as well as the large house, to the Gertse Pun Bombo, or the chief of the Gertse district, who a few days before had gone off a day’s journey to the east, with his flocks, children, and all, but was soon expected back in consequence of a dispute between two of his subjects. Perhaps, after all, it was well we travelled south-west instead of north-east, for we might have fallen into the jaws of the Gertse Pun himself. This potentate comes to Nagrong in late summer and takes up his abode in the stone house, while a hundred nomad tents are set up around and a fair is held.
The old lama had no servants, but every third day a man came to bring him wood. He must find it dull in the long winter evenings, when he hears the storm roaringoutside, and silence reigns within around the gods who answer his prayers and the rolls of his drum with a smile of reconciliation. But probably he is a philosopher and has no fear of the dangers of the night. In his tent lay several sacks full oftsamba, barley, rice, and butter, but he had no authority to sell anything without the permission of the Gertse Pun. Instead, he pointed out where the tent of the Pun’s brother-in-law stood, where all kinds of prime goods could be bought.
We therefore decided to remain where we were over March 9, and Abdul Kerim with three attendants sought out the brother-in-law, met with a friendly reception, and bought five sheep and two goats, besides two sheep-loads of rice and as much barley, and also a bag of tobacco, which the men had long wanted. All day long I was a prisoner in my tent; my period of freedom was over. And when the evening came and enveloped the dreary Nagrong valley in its shadows, I could think of nothing else but my old trusty comrade, the oldest of all that had been with me in Tibet, Brown Puppy. In the company of the yellow dog she had remained in the morning with the mule which had dislocated its leg, and I had seen nothing of her since. We had hoped, however, that she would find us again, as she had so often done before, but now we were convinced that she had lost our trail, and, desperate and crazy with anxiety, was seeking for us over hill and dale, only to wander farther and farther from the right direction. It was useless to send men after her, and it was not advisable to divide our small party at such a critical time. The dogs had remained a long time tearing at the mule’s neck, and when at last they were satiated they had started to follow us and had lost our track in the terrible wind and sand clouds. If they once crossed over ice they would never find our track again. Now thoughts of my old tent companion worried me more than anything else. Only that very morning she had lain on her felt rug in the usual corner, and we had breakfasted together. Where was she? what was she doing at this moment? Day and night she would run barking and whining over desolate Chang-tang with her nose to theground, searching for our track till her paws were torn and painful. What would she do when night came down with its dreadful darkness and its prowling wolves? Were the dogs keeping together, or were they seeking us along different paths, having lost each other? Would Puppy some time find a home with friendly nomads and lead a comfortable life again, or would she come to want and be tied outside a poor tent, and, pining in hopeless sorrow, remember her past life, which, from when she lapped milk in my room at Srinagar, had been spent in my caravan? I was never to receive an answer to these questions, for the parts she and the yellow dog played in our romance were ended. For the future her life would shape itself differently, but I was never to gain any knowledge of the remaining chapters of her existence. I lay awake at night thinking of her misfortune, and looked every morning to see if perchance she had come back in the night and was lying in her usual corner, and I fancied I heard her trotting outside my tent in the dusk, or thought I could distinguish the profile of a lonely half-starved dog on a mound or crag with its nose up and howling at the storm. For some time I suffered from a delusion, imagining that a shade, the restless soul, the invisible ghost of a dog followed me wherever I went. I felt the presence of an invisible dog which followed me into my tent, and among the Tibetans, and always whined and pleaded for help, and I was worried that I could give no help or consolation to my lost, wandering friend. But soon we had other things to think of, other dogs became my friends, and we were daily entangled in a skein of troubles which must lead to a crisis, and the cares of the past paled before the gravity of the moment.
March 10. Such a day as this is interesting to look back on, but it was hard and cruel as long as it lasted. Before six o’clock I was awakened with the disquieting information that two Tibetans were approaching our tents. I made haste to dress myself and paint my face and hands black with a thin coating. Meanwhile the strangers arrived and were invited into Abdul Kerim’s tent, where I heard them talking pleasantly about sheep and money—so theywere not spies; our time had not yet come. One of the guests was the brother-in-law, the other a neighbour of his, who, when he heard what a good price we paid for sheep, said he was ready to sell us four he had brought with him, as well as a lively goat. Abdul Kerim had received a general order to buy all the sheep he could procure, so he took them. The goat was, as has been said, a lively beast, and he ran off at once and could not be caught again.
The two Tibetans went off to the lama’s tent to drink tea, but the critical time was not yet over, for probably they would return to see us start. Therefore, while the tents were still standing, I set out with Tubges, Little Kunchuk, and “Snoring Kunchuk,” as we called Sonam Kunchuk on account of his terrible timber-sawing propensities, when they drove our thirty-one sheep down the valley. As we went off the Tibetans came out and watched us, but did not suspect anything wrong. To escape detection I had hurriedly turned to sheep-driving (Illust. 318), but I soon found that I had no natural aptitude for this occupation, so invigorating, but so trying to the patience. I fancied I imitated my Ladakis as closely as possible, whistled and shouted in the same way, and threw out my arms when a sheep left the crowd, but the animals showed me not the least obedience, but went where they liked when I was near. After an hour’s walk in the teeth of the wind I had had enough, and while the other shepherds went on with the sheep, Kunchuk and I stayed in a cranny out of sight of the lama’s tent, while I could look over all the valley.
At length the other men came with Abdul Kerim riding at their head. Our coats and turbans were of the same colour, so that any Tibetans who happened to be watching could not tell if it were Abdul Kerim or I that was riding. I now took my horse and went on in front with my usual companions. At eleven o’clock the storm rose to a furious pitch and dashed in our faces. Driftsand swept over the ground in dense masses; we were nearly suffocated, and we seemed to stand still while the country moved past us at a giddy pace. We crossed the valley inorder to follow its western flank. The clouds of dust obscured the sun; nothing could be seen beyond a distance of 20 yards; chaos surrounded us. We stopped to get our breath, and lest we should miss the others, but as soon as they appeared like phantoms in the mist we set off again. I have experienced many sandstorms in Takla-makan and the Lob-nor desert, but hardly any so bad as this was. In Turkestan one simply encamps when a storm comes on, but what is the use of encamping to await the end of a storm which lasts thirty days? We strayed among small dunes, and, though the valley fell in the direction we were travelling, we seemed as though we were mounting to a lofty pass in consequence of the pressure of the storm. The driftsand rattled against my dry, hard coat, which, from the constant friction, became heavily charged with electricity. About every other minute there was a discharge, and I felt uncomfortable and often painful prickings, especially in the soles of the feet, the hands, and knees. At every such discharge the horse also pulled up and became nervous. At last, when my grey Tikze horse refused to go further, and we had quite lost sight of the others, and could not see where we were going, we came to a halt and huddled together with our backs to the wind. The electrical discharges continued even now, but were weaker. If I placed the tip of a finger near Gulam’s or Kutus’ hand a small electric spark was felt and seen, and both of us felt the shock. The men were exceedingly astonished, and hoped it was not witchcraft.
We sat waiting for three hours, and were prepared for an uncomfortable night. But Kutus came upon the other men just when they were giving up all attempt to find us before night. We encamped among the dunes, and before long all articles which were set out in my tent vanished under a thick layer of sand.
On the morning of the 11th the storm had somewhat abated; and, wearied and stiff after our experiences of the previous night, we continued our journey southwards and encamped at a deserted sheepfold. By nine o’clock compact sandspouts twisted slowly over the plain like spectres, so the storm was again at its usual height. We hadtsambafor only one day, but it did not count for much as long as we had such a good supply of meat. We were glad to get out of reach of the Gertse Pun; in this drifting sand it was impossible to find our trail—yes, even for our own dogs. Little Puppy did not miss his mother, but felt very important at being sole master on the ground, and barked at our sober sheep. It was, however, a serious matter for us that we were deprived of our night-watch in districts where we had most need of them. We must try to procure fresh dogs as soon as possible.
On March the 12th we marched the usual weary 6½ miles to the east-south-east through a fine, broad, longitudinal valley, and pitched our camp in a hollow full of rubbish. Our three tents were now always placed close together, so that, if any stranger came unexpectedly to my tent, I could crawl into Abdul Kerim’s without being seen from outside. My Ladakchapkanbegan to assume a more satisfactory colour, but we still did all we could to defile it and make it sooty and greasy. Little Puppy lent me his assistance by biting and tearing the sleeves so that they hung in rags. It would not be long before I had the appearance of a regular ruffian.
It snowed heavily all night, and in the morning the snow lay so deep, and the country was so thickly covered, that we thought it best to remain stationary. We were still farther removed from Brown Puppy, and it was vain for her to seek our trail. Perhaps it was providential that both she and the white horse were lost before they could betray us. Tibetans have wonderfully sharp eyes for animals, and recognize them again when they have seen them only once. Now the danger was over, for all the veterans had gone. Perhaps Puppy sacrificed herself that I might be successful! All the same, I seemed to see her wandering disconsolate and distressed about the desolate wastes in the north.
CHAPTER LXIII
THROUGH THE HIGHLANDS OF BONGBA
WhenI awake to another day of uncertain fortune and adventures life seems gloomy and solitary, and the longer the time the more I long for an end of my difficulties. When Gulam awoke me on the 14th, he complained that Abdul Kerim did not keep the watch I had given him in order; either the watch or the caravan leader was at fault, but he believed it was the latter, for the watch could not be blamed if it were wound up only every other day. Gulam affirmed that when Abdul Kerim was asked what o’clock it was, he always answered seven, whatever time it might be in the twenty-four hours.
The thermometer fell to −11° in the night, but the day was fine. The wind blew as usual, but the sun came out and we thought of spring again. Three shepherds were taking some hundreds of sheep to the west, which had been driven off from their pasturage by the recent snow and were looking for uncovered land. We were only a day’s journey from the Tong-tso (14,800 feet), they said, and the Tong-tso was the point from which we were to start southwards to traverse unknown country. If I succeeded in crossing it only by a single route, all the troubles of the past winter would not have been in vain. The shepherds’ information was correct, for the next day we bivouacked on the western shore of the Tong-tso, which we found exactly at the place where the immortal pundit, Nain Sing, inserted it on his map. To the south-east towered the huge massive Sha-kangsham, along the northern foot of which I had ridden in 1901.
Now we had to find a convenient pass over the mountain which barred our way to the south. A gap was seen to the south-east, and we directed our steps towards it. On our right, two tents stood at the foot of a hill, and Abdul Kerim was sent to them while we encamped in a deep narrow ravine, at the bottom of which we found a large quantity of wind-driven kiang dung and dry tufts of grass. On his return, our good leader reported that he was rudely received by two men, named Nakchu Tundup and Nakchu Hlundup, who came from the district Nakchu, three days’ journey distant to the south, and had a wife in common. They first asked how many we were and how many guns we had, just as though they wished to know whether they and their neighbours might venture to attack us. They then said that they had seen a man riding at the head of our party, while all the rest, Abdul Kerim included, went on foot, and that it was not hard to guess that the mounted man was a European. When Abdul Kerim replied that no Europeans travel in winter, for they are too much afraid of the cold, and that we were only wool-buyers from Ladak, the Tibetans shook their heads and answered that they had never heard of Ladakis travelling in this country in winter. But, nevertheless, Abdul succeeded in gaining their confidence, and when he had paid double the market price for two yaks and six sheep, the Tibetans forgot their suspicions, all for the sake of filthy lucre. The purchase was to be completed the following morning. Then the new animals were fetched, and their carrying power was a welcome assistance to our animals. Fortunately, the nomads had in general the greatest respect for our tents. It was important for us to make liberal bargains with men who at first had been hostile to us. On the other hand, they often abstained from betraying us, even if they had suspicions, for if it were known that they had been well paid, the nearest chief would confiscate their receipts and would also punish the unfortunate men who had dared to traffic with suspected individuals.
During the day’s march I rode in front as usual, with my two companions on foot. A tent lay concealed behind a cliff, and we did not notice it until we were some waypast it, and then it was too late to dismount. Two fellows were outside and looked after us, and if they compared notes with their neighbours they would have good cause for suspicion. At our camp that day we had a visit from an old man and two young people, who had their tent near and came to see what kind of men we were. They said that they were very poor, and begged for some coppers. We were on the border of the district Bongba-changma, which contains 300 tents, and, like the whole province of Bongba, is subject to the governor Karma Puntso, whose tent stood at a distance of six days’ journey to the south. He was a man of twenty-five years of age, lived in a large tent, and had been in office only a year, since his father died. It was assuring to know that he could have no experience of Europeans and their crafty ways. After the strangers had received a couple oftengasfrom Abdul Kerim, they went home again in the rays of the evening sun, delighted to find that we were not robbers.
Then the temperature fell to −16°; the winter was remarkably trying, but the day, March 18, was still fine, and I travelled all the way on foot, driving the sheep while we were passing several tents. Among them was that of our old man of the day before, and he proved to be a man of property, who sold us various much-needed articles of food. On the way Tubges shot seven partridges, whereupon two Tibetans came forward and protested, saying that only Europeans shot partridges. Abdul Kerim assured them that he preferred partridges to mutton. Again there was talk of Karma Puntso. Perhaps it would be better to choose another way. No; then the governor would be still more suspicious. We encamped on the northern side of a small pass, where we had no troublesome neighbours.
March 19. Breakfast, a delicate partridge and a cup of tea, was just over when it was announced that three Tibetans were coming up to our tents. But they stopped at a respectful distance, and Abdul Kerim went up to them. My tent was opened in this direction, but was closed again just in time. The Tibetans’ errand was to ask if we had any medicine suitable for a man who had a painin the foot. In reality, their object was to spy upon us when we set out, for they stayed all the time and looked about. After my hands and face had been coloured black, I stole by the secret passage into Abdul Kerim’s tent, while Kutus and Gulam crawled by the same way into mine to pack up. Then I went with Lobsang and Kutus, and drove the sheep up the track leading to the pass (16,135 feet). We had not gone far when Abdul Kerim came riding on my horse and made frantic gestures to us to stop. A Tibetan horseman, followed by a big dog, would meet us in a few moments on the path. We therefore took a roundabout way among hillocks, while the caravan encountered the Tibetan. In this way we escaped the danger. Soon came Kunchuk and Sedik, leading the dog with a rope on either side—a savage brute, which barked till he foamed at the mouth, and tried to bite those who were taking him away from his master. He was of the species calledtakkar, and Takkar was his name. He reminded me of a St. Bernard; he was coal black, with a white patch on the chest and neck, and was as savage as a wolf. They had bought him for 2 rupees.
Moreover, Abdul Kerim had also bought the rider’s horse for 86 rupees, and he came jogging cheerfully after us as we rode down from the summit of the pass to a longitudinal valley abounding in tents and herds of sheep and yaks, and at two spots were seen mounted men, who looked uncomfortably like a levy. The new horse was eleven years old, the owner said, and if he passed well over his fifteenth year, he would live to thirty—but we did not want him so long. He was a new member of our troop and excited general interest, and Takkar became quieter when he saw an old friend and comrade in misfortune.
At the camp we had to be careful, for nomads dwelt near and shepherds wandered with their flocks on the slopes around. To prevent Takkar from running away he was tied by the neck to a tent pole, an operation by no means easy. He was tied fast with ropes, his legs were fettered, and a felt mat was thrown over him, on which four men sat while the others made him fast to the pole.Immediately he was let loose he rushed at those nearest him, but was held back by the pole. It was a sin to drag him from home against his will; he was another Uncle Tom who suffered for our sake, but I hoped that we should soon understand each other. To console him in his captivity he was given the blood and entrails of the slaughtered sheep.
We crossed another small pass (19,537 feet) on the 20th, and the insignificant lake Shar-tso, where a fine spring bubbles up out of the ground by the shore. From a couple of tents to the west we bought tea, butter, andtsambasufficient for several days, and heard again about Karma Puntso. This time it was said that he lived three days to the west, and we hoped to slip past without any disturbance. The country about camp 359 is called Luma-shar, and we stayed on the northern bank of the large river Kangsham-tsangpo, which comes from the northern flank of Sha-kangsham, the huge massive which I left to the south of my route in 1901, and which showed us a magnificent view of its western side. The mountain lay about a couple of days’ journey to the south-east.
The next day we were to cross the river, an exceedingly unpleasant business; for though there had been 32 degrees of frost in the night the ice, except close to the bank, would not bear. Abdul made an attempt with his horse, but the animal came down on his nose in the middle of the river. Then Lobsang took off his boots and went across the river barefooted, and came back again to help in conducting our pack animals gently and firmly across. To get the sheep over was the worst difficulty; they had to be pushed and pulled by the horns, one at a time. Almost all the men of the caravan got a refreshing bath in the stream (Illust. 363).
On the other side we ascended to a small pass where there was a splendid view over the ridge, which seemed to run west-south-west from Sha-kangsham and which barred our way to the south. Abdul Kerim, Kunchuk, and Sedik went with an exhausted mule to a few tents standing to the right of our route, with the object of bartering the worn-out beast for a couple of sheep, but the nomads saidthey would not take it as a gift. Instead, our men bought rice, sour milk, butter, salt, and a sheep, so that we were provided for some days. From the camp also Abdul Kerim took a long walk to some tents in the neighbourhood. Now poor Abdul Kerim had to do penance for his sins, and if he had erred in taking too little barley from Ladak, he made up for it by his conduct on this adventurous journey.
From camp 360 the highest peak of Sha-kangsham lay south, 73° E. (Illust. 317).
Takkar is still irreconcilable, and heartily detests Kunchuk who bought him. But he also barks at us as soon as we show ourselves outside the tents. On the march he is resigned as long as he is near our new horse, but at other times he is savage. The only one that dares go near him is Little Puppy, who teases and sports with him and bites his ears. Takkar treats Little Puppy with supreme contempt, and only when the young one presumes to snatch his new uncle’s food he growls angrily, but then Little Puppy pricks up his ears, puts his head on one side, and looks at him. He little thought that the new dog could have bitten off his head like a chicken’s if he had wished. In reality, Takkar was glad to have a playfellow in his captivity, though at first he held himself aloof to maintain his dignity.
The next morning Lobsang and Tubges went back to the nomads’ tent and returned with three more sheep, a lump of butter, and a bag of tobacco. Their appetites were wonderful to behold. The others had left for them half a pot of tea mixed with butter, thick and red. One cup disappeared after another, and they emptied the pot to the last drop. Then they took some meat out, which they ate up like wild beasts. What was left they stuffed into their waistbelts, to have it handy in case they were hungry before we reached the next camp.
We continued on our way to the south, passing on our left hand an open plain which extended up to the foot of the skirts of Sha-kangsham. We passed tents and flocks at one or two places, and encamped on a hill of loose material beside a spring. The nomads around had nothingto sell, but gave Abdul Kerim much valuable information. On such occasions Kunchuk used to sit and secretly note down all the geographical names. Among other details we now heard that if we held on our journey to the south for seven days we should fall in with a rich merchant from Lhasa, named Tsongpun Tashi, who was wont to take up his quarters in winter in the heart of the Bongba province to sell tea to the nomads. We might be certain that if we came into the neighbourhood of his camp we should again be in a critical situation.
Now Lobsang and two weather-beaten Ladakis complained that they slept badly, because it was too warm in the tent. The former wore a set of underclothes, and above only a garment of thin woollen material. In this costume he had travelled all the way from Drugub, and slept in 72 degrees of frost with only a couple of sacks over him, for he had sold his skin coat to one of his comrades at the commencement of the journey. Only a Tibetan can survive such an experience.
On March 23 we struggled up to the Chaklam-la, which we also heard called Amchen-la. The path up to it is steep, and we moved exceedingly slowly up the ascent. The sheep and the two yaks beat us hollow. From the last tent the path was visible all the way up to the pass, so I was obliged to travel on foot, and I might have collapsed from palpitation of the heart and loss of breath if Lobsang had not gone behind and pushed me. The lives of two mules had been ebbing away during the previous days, so the animals were left where nomads could take possession of them. A black horse was also giving in, and the newly bought one had to take over his load. My grey horse was no longer worth much. Chaklam-la, with its 17,339 feet, was a heavy trial to us, and I was not delighted with the view which unrolled itself to the south—a labyrinth of mountains, where it was plain to see that the ranges all stretched from east to west. From the pass there is a steep descent to the river Sangchen-chu, which flows westwards. We encamped on its bank. Now Takkar was becoming resigned to his fate. He was certainly annoyed at being tied to the pole, but he found that he got goodand plentiful food and that we were kind to him. He barked only at Kunchuk, whom he could never forgive.
When we broke up our camp on March 24, we hesitated whether we should make for the south-west or south-east, for high mountains rose to the south. If we went south-westwards we should come too near to Karma Puntso, and so we chose the south-easterly route. We had first to cross the ice of the river, 130 yards broad, where a path was sanded. The sheep had to be dragged over one by one by the horns, and the yaks would not venture on the ice till they saw that it bore the horses and mules. Gulam went first on foot, and had the usual order to give a sign if he saw a tent or shepherds. We had not gone far when he stretched out his left hand, which meant that I must dismount and go on foot while Abdul Kerim rode my horse. It was only a shepherd with his flock. As soon as the danger was past I exchanged places with the caravan leader.
A little farther on I found that I had lost my cigarette case, which also contained some unmounted family portraits and one or two pieces of sticking-plaster. It would be terrible if a Tibetan found it. Only a European could own such a thing. Lobsang and Kutus went back and searched along the track while I lay and waited on a bank. They found the case, and each received a cigarette as a reward, and we sat and smoked while Abdul Kerim with Kunchuk and Tubges went down to a tent, where there were only women, and bought some provisions. At the camp in the evening snow fell, and at night the thermometer sank to zero. Now we had only 21 sheep left, and we must try to increase our flock, or, still better, buy a dozen horses. In this region, and in Bongba generally, it was difficult to buy sheep. Everywhere the nomads complained that their flocks had been decimated by the cold, wind, and snow, and the pasturage was unusually poor, because the rains had failed at the end of the preceding summer. Sheep-breeding is their means of subsistence, and if they lose their flocks they are impoverished and can do nothing but wander about begging from more fortunate people. They have therefore a decided objection todiminish their flocks by artificial means, as we may say; the flocks must fluctuate, increasing in good times and diminishing in bad, but they must not be reduced by sale. Therefore they often refuse to sell even at double the proper price. Still harder was it to buy horses in Bongba.
In the night our animals wandered back to the former camp. While Lobsang and Kutus went after them most of the day slipped by, and therefore we remained at camp 363. Kunchuk and Tubges spied a tent in a valley to the south, where they bought rice, barley,tsamba, milk, andchura—a kind of cheese, so that we had food for several days. Thus we got our livelihood in small portions, bit by bit and from tent to tent. Our own flock had now shrunk to 21 head, all carrying burdens.
A solitary wild-goose flew screaming over our camp. Had he got lost, or was he a scout sent out to see if the ice were broken up on the lakes to the north? Doubtless he would soon return to his tribe and make his report. It seemed to me that he had been despatched too soon.
From February 24 to March 24 we had traversed only 190 miles, owing to the cutting storm, loss of animals, and now at length the difficult country. We now seldom made a day’s march of as much as 7 miles.
It is most irritating that a tent, like a sentinel-box or a spying eye, always stands at the northern foot of a pass, so that I have to walk all the way. This day also, when we crept up to the Sanchen-la, a small shelter stood on the saddle, 17,572 feet high. Southwards there were still more mountains. At a distance of 20 to 25 miles north, 60° E., rose the highest peak of Sha-kangsham, a fine sight in the beautiful weather, when not a cloud obstructed the view. Five Ovis Ammons careered in nimble and elastic springs over the heights, and small agile Goa antelopes leaped along the southern slope, where we scrambled down among detritus. The Pantholops antelope is not seen in this region.
Close to where we encamped at Nema-tok was a tent, and the inmates sold us a sheep’s load of rice. An old man, whom my fellows called familiarlyavaor father, came to look at our black horse which we wished to sell, as itcould evidently not travel much farther. But the old man said he would not give a rap for the horse. He informed us that in nine days nomads from all quarters would repair to the place where Karma Puntso dwelt, to buy tea and pay their taxes to the Government. Tsongpun Tashi was a powerful and influential man, he said. We drew near to this potentate with a feeling of uneasiness and growing respect. He enjoys peculiar privileges from the Devashung. He sells tea to the nomads on credit. When they sell their sheep’s wool in summer at thetasamthey pay their debts to him intengasor in goods. Tsongpun Tashi makes a good profit on these transactions, and therefore it is to his interest to stand well with the Devashung. If he, who must have the reputation of being more intelligent and sensible than the simple nomads, were to let us pass by with impunity, he would have to answer for it to the Devashung and would lose his privileges. We were therefore evidently coming to a most critical moment.
Nothing venture, nothing have! If I would explore the blank space in the heart of which I now found myself, I must expose myself to various annoyances and run great risks. For a moderately intelligent man it could be no particular pleasure to go on foot through desolate wastes like a vagabond, and drive a flock of refractory sheep. I was already thoroughly weary of this work, for I had no talent or training to perform it properly. I had to paint myself black every morning like a negro, and I sat with a brush before the looking-glass, smearing my face three times over to produce an evenly dark complexion. My eyes were concealed with a pair of large round Tibetan spectacles with my own polished glasses fixed inside. This time I was much more carefully disguised than in 1901, when I tried to get through to Lhasa as a Mongol, but was held fast in the strong claws of Kamba Bombo. My turban was too white, so it was dipped in a dye of boiled butter and ashes, and became at once quite shabby. My soft leather boots were in holes, so that the toes came out. It was well that I ran no risk of meeting acquaintances from Stockholm or London.
This journey was painful and trying to the nerves. Day and night I lived in the greatest anxiety lest I should be discovered and ignominiously unmasked. The farther we advanced southwards the more I was troubled by this apprehension. Should we succeed, or should we be forced back when we had traversed only half the distance across the blank space? Should I never cross the Trans-Himalaya again? At every stage our watchfulness and cautiousness increased, and also the tension of our nerves. I must always be on my guard and never hold a cigarette in my hand when we were on the march. My map sheets and compass I thrust into my bosom to be near at hand. When I collected a rock specimen, took a bearing with the compass, or made a drawing near a tent, Lobsang had to screen me, and he became astonishingly adept at this game. The sun I could observe only when we were quite sure that no Tibetan could see the instrument. Sometimes I sat and drew a panorama through a peephole in the tent cloth. The sheep were my refuge, and with them I set out first, and had not to take part in the packing and loading, and I was spared from watching the animals at night, as in 1901. In both cases I was practically a prisoner in my tent, where the evening hours seemed very long. Nothing is so trying and irritating to the mind as this anxiety in which I lived, travelling in disguise, and expecting any moment to come to a crisis in my fate.
CHAPTER LXIV
TSONGPUN TASHI
March27. Nearly −4° in the night—still winter. But at one o’clock the temperature rose to 46½°—spring was coming.
An old man sold us four sheep in the morning, and then prowled about our tents. He could not at all understand why we had come hither, especially at this season, but Abdul Kerim told him that when we left Tok-jalung the most severe cold was over. This was a new story we had invented, because it was more probable than the former, and would pass better in the southern parts of the country.
Here, also, stood the usual tent with a view up to the pass, and I was obliged to go on foot up to the summit of the Ladung-la with its 17,395 feet. But here the view was encouraging; we had level or declining ground before us for four days. The descent from the pass to the south was precipitous, and we stumbled and slid through the rubbish, which rattled down behind us, and I had the satisfaction of ruining my boots and clothes more than ever. The valley turned off to the right, south-west, and in the Janglung district, where we encamped, a young shepherd informed us that we should come to Tsongpun Tashi’s tent next day.
Numerous springs bubbled up from the valley bottom and formed a little clear brook full of fish between grassy swards. Here some of us halted and used Kutus’s girdle as a net. At the first haul we caught 18 fish, and we did not cease till we had 160—not large ones, but quite sufficient to feed all thirteen of us. It was amusing to see LittlePuppy as he stood watching attentively and regarding the sprawling fishes, barking and shaking his head. He had never in his life seen running water before, and must have supposed that he could walk upon it as safely as on clear ice. Quite unsuspiciously he jumped down from the grass, where the brook was 2 feet deep, and entirely disappeared under the water. When he had, with much difficulty, struggled up again, he was much amazed and disconcerted, and prowled about growling with displeasure at the cold bath. After that he kept far away from the deceitful brook.
March 28. Now we saw that we could trust Takkar, so we let him loose. He did not run away, but was in the best of tempers, and flew like an arrow over the slopes, enjoying his freedom, and played with Little Puppy, who became furious when the huge brute came racing down on him with playful leaps, so that he rolled over and over on the ground.
Abdul Kerim was to go on the new horse with the Ladaki saddle, accompanied by two men, to look out for Tsongpun Tashi. He had plenty of money to buy anything he might find, and in reply to searching questions he was to say that we had orders from Gulam Razul to meet one of his caravans in Raga-tasam, which in about ten days was to leave Lhasa, and then accompany it to Ladak.
I had to ride my grey horse barebacked, but I had not got far before we passed two tents, where four Tibetans came out to look at us. Two of our men went and talked to them while the rest of us followed the brook through the valley. A little further and we had to be careful again, for there were three more tents and two large flocks, the owner of which possessed 3000 sheep. Sheepfolds, old camping-places, andmaniswere all around, for we were on a great highway, and therefore I kept close to the sheep, and whistled and shouted at them. At the mouth of a side valley, on the left, stood a large white tent with blue borders, which was said to belong to the chief of the district, the Gova Chykying. A man came out of the tent, hurried after us, and asked whence we came and whitherwe were going. Two women came out of a tent inhabited by beggars, and put the same questions. A mile or so farther we were out of sight of tents, and I jumped on my grey horse, but I could not ride far, for more tents appeared farther down the valley. We encamped by the side of the brook in the Kung-sherya country, where the valley is very broad and open, and tents are seen in many directions. From one of these, which stood below ours, a man came and made inquiries. He said that one of the tents, which looked large and important, belonged to Takyung Lama, abbot of Mendong-gompa, a monastery three days’ journey to the south-east. Now we were in a warm corner, with the district chief, a high lama, and Tsongpun Tashi as near neighbours, and the Governor of the great province of Bongba not far off. It would be a marvel if we succeeded in making our way out of this wasps’ nest. One thing was certain, that we must make off next morning, before news of our arrival had spread about.
After we had waited several hours Abdul Kerim came. We could see at a long distance that he had bought a horse, which was laden with sacks and bags containing rice, barley, butter, andtsamba. Tsongpun Tashi proved to be an old man of a poverty-stricken and mean appearance, but his large tent was full of goods, sacks, and packets of tea, and his movable shop was very well stocked. Naturally he was much surprised at the visit, but he swallowed the story that Abdul Kerim dished up for him. He had even given him the names of all the places where we ought to camp on the way to Saka-dzong and Raga-tasam, and advised us to be well on our guard in a district he called Bupgo-lathit, where there were always robbers. He related that a band of robbers had, a few weeks before, attacked and plundered Targyaling-gompa, the monastery where we had met with such a hostile reception in June of the preceding year. Forty men with horses and guns had been levied to chase the band, but Tsongpun Tashi said that these forty men were little better than robbers themselves, and that we ought to inquire about them, so as to avoid them as they returned. Abdul Kerim promised Tsongpun Tashi to barter our sick black horse for some provisions, but AbdulKerim did not know that Abdullah had already exchanged the horse at the beggars’ tent for two sheep and a goat. There the faithful horse would see happy days again when the grass grew up.
After Abdul Kerim had drunk tea he went on to visit the Gova Chykying, who came out of his tent and said that Takyung Lama had that very day imposed on him eight days’yangguk—that means that he must not transact any kind of business, but must devote himself entirely, on account of his sins, to contemplation in his own house. That was fine for us; the Gova was reduced to a negligible quantity.
March 29. Temperature 13° in the night, and 55° at seven o’clock—this is spring. Welcome mild salubrious breezes, come to thaw our frozen joints!
Early in the morning came a couple of our men tramping along with another dog, light yellow, dirty, and loathsome. He was inhospitably received by Takkar, who immediately gave him a sharp pinch in the neck, and seemed to think that the new member of the caravan was quite superfluous as long as he kept watch himself.
Far in the north a solitary Tibetan appeared, and approached our camp. I was sitting at breakfast, and was hoping that we should soon leave this dangerous place. I went out and looked through the field-glass; the stranger was making straight for our tents. Soon Abdul Kerim came and said that it was Tsongpun Tashi himself. He stopped at some distance and called to us to tie up our dogs, for Takkar had rushed at the old man, who defended himself with stones. The men were purposely slow in fastening up the dogs, in order to give me time to put the interior of my tent in order. On such occasions my note-books and instruments were crammed into a rice sack, which always stood ready. There was no other furniture, for we had burned all European articles and boxes long before.
Meanwhile, Abdul Kerim conducted Tsongpun Tashi into his tent, which stood close against mine, and I listened to their conversation at a distance of little more than a yard. By degrees the talk became, to say the least of it,lively. Tsongpun Tashi raised his voice more and more, and Abdul Kerim was evidently in a serious dilemma.
“Did you not promise to give me the black horse in exchange for butter? Bring the horse immediately. If you do not keep your word, I will detain the whole pack of you here. We do not let men that break their word escape in Bongba. I thought yesterday that you were honest men, but now I see what you are up to. Now I shall begin by searching your tents.”
With that he got up as angry as a wasp and went out. But Gulam, who was always alert and never lost a word of a conversation, had let Takkar loose again. As soon as Tsongpun Tashi showed himself at the tent door the dog flew at him again. He backed, and Abdul seized the opportunity to call out in a gruff voice: “Kutus, take Hajji Baba with you and go and look for the lost horse.”
“What horse is that?” asked Tsongpun.
“It is one of our horses which has run away up the mountain, and we cannot set out till we have found him.”
“What colour is he?” asked Tsongpun with uncomfortable inquisitiveness.
“Grey,” replied Abdul Kerim, who had difficulty in concealing his uneasiness, for it was he who had pledged the black steed without knowing whether it was still in our possession.
“Very well, I shall stay here till you have found the grey horse.”
During the minute this conversation lasted Tsongpun Tashi had walked towards the opening of my tent, when Kutus came running up from the other side, seized me by the collar, and whispered “Come.” We hurried off to a crag on the north-east, and so just escaped the clutches of Tsongpun.
“What man is that?” the old man asked, pointing at me, as I was making off with clumsy waddling steps.
“Hajji Baba, one of my servants,” answered Abdul Kerim, without moving a muscle.
We did not look round as we went off to the point, and were glad when at length we were hidden by a projecting rock. Then we scrambled up a fissure whence we couldsee all around. Here we lay a weary time with our hearts in our mouths, while Tsongpun Tashi waited for the runaway horse, which had not run away at all, for all our animals stood ready laden before our tents. But he must have lost patience. After Gaffar had gone to the tent to try and get back the black horse, but met with a refusal, for the horse had been fed with barley and was getting on splendidly, Tsongpun Tashi seemed to make in that direction himself, accompanied by Gaffar. But he changed his mind, for he turned back half-way, and soon we saw him going to the fine tent of the soul-doctor, which stood about 300 yards farther down the valley. He was attended by one of our men, who helped him to carry the sacks in which the goods acquired the previous day were packed.
We remained quiet in our hiding-place of much-weathered green schist, full of quartz veins, from which we could peep out without being seen. We were supposed to be looking for the lost horse. But now the caravan was ready, and began to move down the valley past the abbot’s tent. Tsongpun Tashi’s errand had been to take farewell of the prelate, who was setting out this day for Mendong-gompa, absolutely unknown in all the maps in the world, and his yaks stood tethered and surrounded by a troop of servants. Abdul Kerim was shrewd enough to send no messenger after us, but leave us to take care of ourselves. And so we did when we had had enough of the green schist—we could not lie still till doomsday. But we had to pass the abbot’s tent, and there sat Tsongpun Tashi, unless he were among the men outside. We sneaked on. Kutus walked next the tent to screen me. My disguise was perfect, and I had a black face. We passed with some trepidation quite close to the tent; two savage dogs rushed at us and we threw stones at them, thereby deranging our order of march and making a change of front. Confounded dogs! We had passed the tent, and, so far, had done well. But if Tsongpun Tashi noticed us—and he could scarcely fail to do so, for the dogs barked so furiously—he would certainly wonder in which direction the grey horse had made off. If he had no suspicion ofus he must be, beyond comparison, the greatest ass that I had ever fallen in with.
We made haste and soon overtook the others, and were lost among them. The valley sloped down—a fortunate thing for me, as I had to travel on foot where so many pitfalls surrounded me on all sides. Abdul Kerim rode grandly on my horse at the head of the party. On the left were a white-and-blue and a black tent with twenty yaks. Two men hurried up to us, and Abdul Kerim met and spoke to them. We marched along the ice belt of the brook, and passed five more tents, and, at all, the men came out to look at us. I walked with the sheep farther from the tents than the caravan. We passed twenty tents that day; it was a dangerous stretch of country, and it was strange that we came through safely.
A woman, carrying a load of wool on her back, overtook us. She was so bold as to join herself to the caravan and ask to be allowed to put her wool on one of the yaks. Never have I so heartily wished a woman at the devil. Abdul Rasak took the woman in hand and offered to carry half her load to her tent, and so they jogged along the road far ahead, and freed us from her suspicious company.
We took it for granted that she was a spy. When we encamped below a sheepfold, there she was again, established herself inside the fold, lighted a fire and fetched water. She must drink tea before she went on homewards, she said; but fortunately she toddled off before dusk.
I sat in the setting sun and noted down the varied incidents of the day. I sat in the opening of my tent enjoying the soothing rustle of the spring, when what should I see but Takkar himself, who came up to me anxiously and humbly, made the most expressive gestures, put his head on one side and began to paw my arm. I looked at him and he looked at me, and at last we understood each other.
“I could not know,” he said, “that you were nice men when you tied me by the neck to this horrible tent pole. I thought that you would tease and torment and starve me, and throw stones and dirt at me, as the Tibetans have doneever since I can remember. But I see that you are well disposed towards me, and give me two good meals of mutton every day. I know that you, in spite of your rags, are a bombo-chimbo, and that Abdul Kerim is only a servant. Be at ease, I will not let any one come near your tent; I will watch over you at night, I will never betray you, I will follow you everywhere; you may trust in me. But now come and play with me a little; take away this useless tent pole, and let us be no longer strangers.”
His shrewd brown eyes showed plainly that this was what he meant to say, word for word. I took his shaggy head in my arms and squeezed it. Then he jumped up on me and began to dance and yelp with joy, and enticed me out of my tent. Then I took hold of him again, untied the knots, and released him from his pole, to the great astonishment of my men, who were sitting in the open around a fire. No one had ever ventured so near to Takkar, except Little Puppy, and without the slightest jealousy the little cub joined in the game, which henceforth whiled away daily a couple of hours of my weary captivity.