CHAPTER LXV
BUPTSANG-TSANGPO, ONE OF THE LARGEST RIVERS OF THE HEART OF TIBET
Itwas with a feeling of relief that we broke up our camp on March 30, after we had succeeded in extricating ourselves from the net which had so nearly held us fast in its meshes. Through here runs the so-called Serpun-lam, or gold-inspectors’ road, which extends through the interior of Tibet from Lhasa to Tok-jalung, and is one of the greatest high-roads of the country. We did not yet feel quite safe, but we had heard some assuring news: Karma Puntso had taken a journey of several days northwards to a place in Chang-tang where he owned large flocks of sheep. Most of the nomads in Bongba had sent their sheep to the north, where the grazing was much better. This was of great advantage to us, for now only women, old men, and children remained in the tents of Bongba, while most of the men were following the sheep. It was part of the trial of my patience that I could not have the slightest dealings with Tibetans, for I should have betrayed myself at once by my defective utterance of the language. I never talked with them, but pulled the strings of my marionettes from my place of concealment.
The wild-geese had now commenced their migrations, and we constantly heard their cries above our tents. On March 30 we found an excellent path along the river in which we had caught fish just below Ladung-la. The country was very open and flat, and we passed at some distance from twelve tents. Near the last we pitched camp 368, and bought a black horse. We had now fourhorses, of which one was a veteran from Ladak; now I rode the first horse we had bought—a brown one. The last three mules and the two yaks from the Tsong-tso were in good condition. When we encamped near natives, Takkar was tied up outside the entrance to my tent to keep off inquisitive visitors. He had been bred and reared among Tibetans, and had never seen any other people in his life till lately, and yet now he became mad with rage if he saw a Tibetan only at a distance. I had often to pay various sums in rupees to those of his two-legged fellow-countrymen whose unprotected legs he had bitten, and he was never contented without a slight effusion of blood.
We followed the river south-south-westwards for another day’s journey to camp 369, where some poor nomads were encamping by a sheet of snow. Sha-kangsham’s summit came into sight again, this time to the north, 30° E., rising like a gigantic beacon above the mountains. Five days’ journey to the west-north-west was pointed out the salt lake, Tabie-tsaka, the position of which I had sought in vain to ascertain from thetasam. In the afternoon when I sat outside to draw a panorama, nomads were strolling and peering about, so that I had to post watchmen. In the evening all around was pitch-dark: there was no moon, only dense clouds. Our animals had disappeared, and as there was good reason to fear wolves and horse-stealers, eight men were sent out to look for them. They had revolvers, and fired a few shots to let any possible disturbers of the peace know that we were armed. The animals would not freeze, for the temperature fell in the night only to 18°, and in the morning they had come back again all right. The only one missing was the greyish-yellow dog; thinking, perhaps, that he had fallen into bad company, he had gnawed through his rope and run home in the night to his miserable tent.
Now the path runs south-south-west up to the little easy pass Satsot-la (15,932 feet), in red porphyry and with a way-mark. In the wide valley in front of us lies the lake Chunit-tso, and on its farther side rises a red mountain of regular form. We pass severalmanis, and on the right hand a miniature lake called Chabuk-tso, where Tubgesshot two wild-geese. The honorary huntsman often supplied me with game; he was called by his comrades simply Shyok, after his home, just as we call one of our acquaintances Jönköping or Falsterbo.
We crossed a great road running to the north-west; hundreds of yaks had recently passed—no doubt a salt caravan on the way to Tabie-tsaka. Then we passed a circular wall, where a solitary man came out and looked at us, but retired behind the wall when he found that we would have nothing to do with him. A finemanidecorated with horns stood on a terrace, and just below it we halted for the night by a sheet of ice produced by springs. We had scarcely set up the tents when a caravan of several hundred sheep, laden with salt, came along from the north-west. Only two armed guides were with it; they had been to Tabie-tsaka, and were now going home to Yangchut-tanga, twenty days’ journey to the south-east. In the same direction 400 yaks were grazing, which were said to belong to the Gova of the district. In the evening we had a visit from a traveller who was going home to his tent farther south. He promised to sell us three sheep in the morning. Would he keep his word?
Yes, certainly; he met us with the sheep next day as we were passing along the western shore of the Chunit-tso (15,574 feet) southwards. At the northern extremity of the lake a warm sulphurous spring burst forth. We were told that if a man drinks of it he becomes ill, but if he mixes the water with some from an adjacent cold spring he is cured of any complaint he may suffer from. Sick sheep and goats are dipped in the warm water and become well again at once. The spring is holy, and amaniheap is set up near it. The lake is slightly salt and frozen. Two small brooks enter it from the mountains on the west; a third brook, Lungnak-bupchu, formed a large sheet of ice, and in the mouth of its valley stood a couple of tents, and their dogs came down on us like a whirlwind, but received such a thrashing from Takkar that they showed themselves no more that evening.
April 3. We left the southern end of the lake behind us and ascended a small valley leading up to the low pass Nima-lung-la,near which we encamped in a barren spot between granite crags. An eagle-owl sat in a cleft and at twilight uttered its shrill piercing cry. Lobsang said that this bird was thought much of in Tibet, because it warns honest men of thieves and robbers. When the eagle-owls sit and scream, robbers are certain to be in the neighbourhood.
On April 4 we had only half an hour’s march to the threshold of the Nima-lung-la (16,017 feet), from which there is a magnificent view over the Trans-Himalaya—a series of dark rocks with black, snow-crowned peaks. Between us and the range extended a wide, perfectly level plain, full of pools, marshes, and rivulets. At one of them sat two Tibetans cutting up a yak which had died. They confirmed the information we had received before, that we were now in the district Bongba-kemar, a day’s journey from Bongba-kebyang, and that we must follow the river Buptsang-tsangpo for several days upwards to reach Saka-dzong by the pass Samye-la. I had still a very dim and indistinct notion of the geographical configuration of this region. Was the range in front of us to the south a continuation of Nien-chen-tang-la, which I had crossed at the Sela-la, Chang-la-Pod-la, and Angden-la; or was it another range disconnected from the former? During the following days we should obtain an answer to this question. Should we be successful, and be able to complete this exceedingly important meridional traverse through an unknown part of Tibet? It would be more than provoking to be stopped just at the northern foot of the Trans-Himalaya.
Camp 374 was pitched below the opening of a valley where there were two tents. The nomads warned us against the water in the pools of the plain: our horses would lose their hair if they drank of it. “Snoring” Kunchuk complained of toothache, but was cured at once by two resolute comrades. The operation was performed with pincers properly intended for horse-shoe nails. To get at the tooth better, they put a stone in the patient’s mouth. “Do not kill me,” he shrieked when the tooth jumped out.
On April 5 we travelled altogether 10¼ miles to the south. The country was perfectly barren, and the groundwas entirely covered with red porphyry detritus. A small spring surrounded by grass seemed to us quite an oasis, and there we encamped near a sheepfold and amaniheap.
Another day’s march and we came to the Buptsang-tsangpo, “the deeply excavated river,” and followed it to the south. The river is divided into several arms, and already contained a deal of water, though for the most part it was frozen. This valley is about 3 miles broad and has a very gentle slope. The locality where we encamped after passing fourteen tents was called Monlam-gongma (15,820 feet). Hence the river was said to flow five days’ journey to the north-north-west and pour into a large lake, called the Tarok-tso. We might have attempted to make an excursion in that direction, but it was more important to complete the meridional line while the country was still open to us. Two huge snowy peaks which the nomads here, as on thetasam, called Lunpo-gangri, or “the great ice mountain,” were said to lie to the right of the route we ought to follow to Saka-dzong. This information was exceedingly puzzling, and I saw that Lunpo-gangri with the summits triangulated by Ryder and Wood could not be a prolongation of the mighty range I had crossed by three passes, and which, farther east, bears the name Nien-chen-tang-la.
After a vain attempt to get rid of our enfeebled yaks, we continued up the great river along its right or eastern bank terrace. A south-westerly storm which commenced some days before still continued. In the Amchung country (camp 376) we had a neighbour called Kamba Dramdul, who could not give much information, but what he said was of deep interest. We had still some days’ journey to the Samye-la—all up the Buptsang-tsangpo valley, withgangrisor snowy heights on both the right and left sides. On the pass we should be quite close to the peaks of Lunpo-gangri. I already suspected that the great range we had on our left—that is, towards the east—was a continuation of Nien-chen-tang-la, while Lunpo-gangri was a quite independent chain without the least connection with the former.
The eastern range increased in magnitude on the following day’s march, and among its dark ramifications rose some rather flat summits capped with eternal snow. We kept for the most part to the top of the terrace on the right bank, which was 50 to 65 feet above the river, and fell steeply to the even valley bottom where the stream meandered. Here the valley was about 2 miles broad. The ice mantle of the river became wider and thicker the higher we mounted, but the rise was very gradual. From camp 377 the culminating peak of Lunpo-gangri lay south, 23° E. Every day’s journey we accomplished without adventures strengthened our position. The nomads must think: If these men travel right through the whole of Bongba without being stopped, they cannot be impostors.
On April 10 we travelled 8½ miles up the Buptsang-tsangpo, and we were astonished to find so voluminous a river up on the isolated plateau country. On its banks ducks and geese cackled in large numbers. Tubges shot several of them; it was a sin to disturb their dreams of spring and love. No human being was seen this day. I had a feeling of repose when we could see no black tents, and for the sake of peace I would readily abstain from sour milk. The view to the south-south-east was magnificent; the peaks of Lunpo-gangri stood out against the pure blue sky in dazzling white, with shades of light blue indicating ice. On the east also of our route appeared a whole world of mountains. Most unexpectedly the summits of Lunpo-gangri have a much grander and more imposing appearance from the northern side, towards the plateau country, than from the south side, the valley of the Brahmaputra, most probably because on the southern side they are too near. Up in the north we saw them at all distances, and for several days we had them right in front of us.
In the night of April 11 the temperature sank to −1.7°, and on the preceding nights to 3.7°, 13.5°, and 17.2°. The cold increased as we mounted higher. We came to an expansion in the valley where three glacier streams unite to form the Buptsang-tsangpo, just as in the case of the Brahmaputra, and also on the northern flank of one ofthe world’s mightiest mountain systems. Our camp 379 (16,112 feet) was pitched close to the river in Bupyung-ring. The eastern headwater comes partly from the Samye-la, partly from mountains adjoining on the south-west. The middle one descends from a massive called Yallak-mallak, and the western from Chomo-gangri; south-east of this mountain is Lunpo-gangri, which is drained to the sea, both from its northern and its southern flank (Illusts. 319, 320, 321).
Bupyung-ring is one of the finest and most beautiful regions I have seen in Tibet. The flat wide valley, surrounded by mountains with ice and snow, is clothed with abundant grass and traversed by numerous water-courses. Everywhere are seen traces of camping-places. At the time we passed through only a few tent villages remained, but the valley is full of life in summer when the nomads come down from the north. When the melting of the snows properly sets in during summer, and afterwards in the rainy season, the Buptsang-tsangpo swells up so tremendously that the river cannot be crossed for three months, and communication between the banks is interrupted. From its source to its outlet in the Tarok-tso the river is probably nearly 100 miles long, and is possibly the largest river in Tibet which does not flow to the sea. The only rivers that can vie with it are the Sachu-tsangpo, which flows into the Zilling-tso, and the Soma-tsangpo, which falls into the Teri-nam-tso. The Sachu-tsangpo was far larger than the Buptsang when I crossed it in the rainy season in 1901. But the Buptsang is also a large river in spring, and in the rainy season must swell as much as the Sachu. The Buptsang-tsangpo has hitherto been unknown to Europeans, but we find the Tarok-tso on D’Anville’s map, and a river entering the lake from the south, which no doubt is identical with the Buptsang-tsangpo. The Jesuits who resided in Pekin two hundred years ago, and were ordered by the Emperor Kang Hi to compile a map of the whole Chinese Empire, procured information even about this remote region from Chinese and Tibetan sources.
During the past days our two yaks had become sowearied and footsore that we had to get rid of them at any price. We therefore stayed a day in Bupyung and bartered them for nine sheep, which took over the loads of the yaks. Now we had again thirty-one sheep and some goats.
On the 13th we came to the foot of the mountain where commenced the actual steep ascent to the pass itself. Here were four tents inhabited exclusively by women and children. The men had gone a couple of days before to Gova Tsepten’s tent. It is incumbent on this chief to collect a certain number of men and yaks, which for about three months are posted on thetasamready to transport goods on behalf of the Devashung without compensation. This is a kind ofcorvéewhich is exacted not only all along the road between Lhasa and Ladak, but on all other great high-roads in Tibet. Naturally this injudicious system is a great annoyance to the nomads, who have to leave their flocks in the meantime to the care of women and children. If any one wishes to escape this compulsory service he must supply a substitute, pay him, and furnish him with yaks and provisions. The year before, when we travelled with hired horses from Shigatse, the poor nomads served us, but we always paid them honourably and gave them handsome gratuities as well.
After a night temperature of −0.8° we rode up to the pass on the 14th, over and between hills and across the brook which brings its tribute from the Samye-la to the Buptsang-tsangpo. Solid rock could not be found, but all the detritus and boulders were of grey granite; seldom was a piece of porphyry noticed. The usual observations were made on the pass, and the boiling-point thermometer was read off. The view of Lunpo-gangri was grander than ever, now that its peaks were quite near. The distinctly marked valley of the Buptsang-tsangpo disappeared in the distance to the north-north-west, while to the south-east nothing could be seen but a flat saddle, whence I concluded that we were not yet on the actual water-parting pass. We had not followed the track of the caravan far, before we saw a brook coming from the south-east,which also belonged to the Buptsang-tsangpo. On its bank, where we also halted, was encamped a caravan of 8 men and 350 yaks, which was carrying salt to Saka-dzong, six days’ march farther. These men could not understand why we, merchants from Ladak, chose such a way, and asked how we found it out. They were treated to the usual story about the wool-trade in summer, and they regretted that they could not serve us with their yaks, as they were called out for Government transport on the great high-roads. Now we wondered whether they would let the Governor of Saka-dzong know that they had met with a party of Ladakis on byways, and if this news would injure us. Perhaps, after all, it would be best to avoid Saka-dzong altogether.
On April 15 it was our chief desire to get in advance of the yak caravan. Before they had begun to load up their animals I started off with the sheep, and came in good time to the summit of the Samye-la with its streamer-decked poles. Though we were all the way in sight of the yak-men’s camp, I must, at any cost, determine the height of the pass, and the distance was so great that they could not see what we were doing. After boiling the thermometer, whence we obtained a height of 18,133 feet, I also drew a panorama. To the south and south-east was a world of mountains belonging to the Lunpo-gangri range, which lay to the south, and to Nien-chen-tang-la on the north. We were therefore standing on the actual watershed between two gigantic ranges, which are both members of the Trans-Himalayan family. And this pass, the Samye-la, occupies the highest and most important rank from a hydrographic and orographical point of view that any pass in Asia can lay claim to, for it is a divide between the isolated drainage area of the plateau on the north and the boundless ocean, on the south. It ranks, then, with the Sela-la, Chang-la-Pod-la, and Angden-la, and is much more important than the Tseti-lachen-la, which is only a watershed between the Sutlej and the Indus, and than the Jukti-la, which parts the waters between the two arms of the Indus. At the Samye-la I attained my chief desire, to cross the Trans-Himalaya between the Tseti-lachen-la and the Ang-den-la,and gain another point on the immense boundary line on the north of the basins of the great Indian rivers, and I succeeded in proving the unbroken continuance of the Trans-Himalaya for 118 miles west of Angden-la. A most extraordinarily interesting discovery also was that the Angden-la and the Samye-la, though of exactly the same value as watersheds, do not lie on the same chain. The Angden-la is situated on the western prolongation of the chain which stands on the southern shore of Tengri-nor and is known by the name of Nien-chen-tang-la, but the Samye-la lies in a longitudinal valley between this chain and Lunpo-gangri. Accordingly, I could strike out once and for all the continuous mountain range which Hodgson and Saunders constructed at their writing-table, and represented as running north of the upper Brahmaputra. Here also I considered what name I should give to the colossal mountain system which runs in the north parallel to the Himalayas. The name Lunpo-gangri had at least as much claim as Nien-chen-tang-la, but both were unsuitable, as they only denoted certain ranges in a whole system, and therefore had only local significance. Then it came to me like a flash—Trans-Himalaya is the name which I will attach to this gigantic mountain system.
While I sat and pondered over the great idea which had come to me this day without any merit of my own, I was recalled to the business of the moment by Lobsang, who informed me that the yaks were moving in a black line up to the pass. Then we got up and went on foot down the slopes bestrewn with troublesome rubbish and granite boulders. Soon trickling rivulets collected into a small brook. I regarded with pleasure this little stream leaping among the stones, and listened to its purling song. It was the old melody, and we had recently heard it from the brooks of the Buptsang-tsangpo. And yet I seemed to hear an undertone of another kind, a sound in the water which suggested a new aim. The Buptsang-tsangpo is doomed to final annihilation in the Tarok-tso and Tabie-tsaka, where the water is evaporated and dispersed to the four winds of heaven. But the brook we now followed debouches into the Chaktak-tsangpo and Brahmaputra, andits destiny is the Indian Ocean, over which runs the way to my home.
We had just set up our tents before the yaks came tramping up in close order, followed by their whistling and singing drivers. They went round, not to come too near us. Were they afraid of us or were they suspicious? Were they a cloud, no larger than a man’s hand, from which, in due time, a destructive tornado was to burst over our little band, which now for the second time crossed the forbidden land without leave?
CHAPTER LXVI
IN THE ROBBERS’ PARADISE
Informer times the glacier tongues of Lunpo-gangri ran down into the valley, and traces of them were very conspicuous as we descended to lower country on April 16. The valley is quite full of old moraines, consisting exclusively of granite, and some of them are superficially concealed under fine matter and moss. We passed the large yak caravan again, which was encamping after a very short march. Evidently the men intended to stay over the next day, for the loads were taken off the yaks and piled up. When they mean to set out again the next day they leave the loads on the yaks, for they think it too much trouble to load and unload 350 yaks for a single night. They might stay for us as long as they liked; we should get in advance and pass by Saka-dzong before we were denounced. But no, it would be wiser to avoid Saka-dzong altogether; not to escape the sight of Muhamed Isa’s grave, but not to needlessly expose ourselves to suspicion. It was perfectly evident that the authorities would wonder why a small party of Ladakis went along byways instead of following the greattasam, and they would hold an inquiry over us.
After the moraines came to an end we traversed a more open expansion of the valley, with luxuriant grass and millions of detestable mouse-holes. We were right glad when Takkar pinched the necks of one or two of these obnoxious rodents. Tubges supplied me with partridges, and one of our goats yielded me a drop of milk. From camp 383 Lunpo-gangri’s summits are seen foreshortened, andone of them is as small as an umbrella. Several peaks are seen to the east-south-east, the continuation of the range, and it is not difficult to infer that Chomo-uchong, the isolated mountain beside thetasam, lies in the eastern prolongation of Lunpo-gangri. I took bearings of the higher summits in the neighbourhood from every camp, and shall hereafter make known the results.
The other men make the “Snorer’s” life miserable. At eight o’clock he crawls into his lair beside the sheep, and immediately begins his wood-sawing. Some one yells at him, and he wakes up and makes some witty remark, which makes the men laugh, and he never loses his temper. In two minutes he is asleep again and sawing as hard as ever, and is roused by another shout. Only when the others have fallen asleep is he left in peace, and can saw as hard as he likes.
Little Puppy behaves splendidly, is lively, playful, and affectionate. At night he sleeps on the rugs at my feet and helps Takkar to keep watch. They are my companions, and it will be hard to part from them.
April 17. 0.7°. How long this winter has been! Now Lobsang has come to the conclusion that the yak drivers will not denounce us, for fear lest they should be called to account for not spying upon us better. We continue our way down the valley. How delightful only to go for some days to lower country. In some places we see summer camping-grounds; now the country is desolate and deserted.
The river carries down about 70 cubic feet of clear water per second; it has open water only in the middle, and elsewhere is covered with margins of ice 2 feet thick, and icicles hang from their edges. On the banks, field-mice dart about between their holes. The valley contracts and the river often skirts steep cliffs of schist. Most of the tributaries, and the largest of them, come from the chain which is the immediate continuation of Nien-chen-tang-la. The ice becomes thicker the more the valley contracts and the longer it is in shadow. We often cross it from one bank to the other, where it forms a bridge. Stags’ horns are set up on amaniheap; where do they come from? This valley runs between the two ranges like theBuptsang-tsangpo. On this day we never see a man or a tent.
In the evening a night owl again sat screeching above the camp, and the Ladakis were convinced that it meant to warn us against robbers. If these knew that a European with European weapons was in the caravan they would not attack it; but we were only Ladakis, and the Tibetans despise Ladakis and look upon them as cowards.
On the 18th we travelled southwards to the place (15,407 feet) where our valley enters the Rukyok valley, running down from the west-north-west, at the bottom of which some of the Lunpo-gangri summits were again visible. Still no men were to be seen, only numerous summer camping-places. Two horsemen rode past our camp on the other, right, side of the valley. What did they want? Were they spies? We had every reason to suspect a spy in every human being. No; they were kiang hunters from Gertse, who had left their home and were seeking new dwellings in another province, because of some unpleasantness with the Gertse Pun, the potentate whom we were carefully making away from. They informed us that we were a day’s journey from Pasa-guk, where I had encamped the year before, and three short marches from Saka-dzong. It was hazardous to pass so near a governor’s residence. Abdul Kerim bought one of the riders’ horses for 100 rupees.
This day I put on for the first time a new Ladaki costume. The other was too warm, and, being red, was conspicuous among the others. The new coat was made of worn, tattered sackcloth, and was stained with ashes and soot. In this I looked just like the other men. Now I painted my face regularly every day, and he must be a very smart fellow who could find out that I was not a genuine Ladaki. We had hitherto got on remarkably well, and had only a day’s journey to a place where I had been the year before. But the nervous tension increased more and more, and I wondered every morning what surprises the new day had in store for us.
April 19. As we were starting, two men passed on foot, driving before them 200 sheep laden with salt. Ourway was the same as theirs and we had to pass them. While I drove our own sheep down the road, Abdul Kerim stopped and talked with the men, to draw off their attention; but we could see that they were interested in our strange party, and looked closely at us. I limped, thinking that the Tibetans had never seen a lame European, if they had seen any European at all. But the people had seen me in Pasa-guk and Saka-dzong the year before, and then I did not halt. I had come off well from our troublesome neighbours and also past the large yak caravan, which a couple of days ago had turned off another way but had now come into ours again. We met a large sheep caravan with a mounted party; a woman was said to be the wife of the Gova of Rukyok. The people we had just met were not so dangerous as those that followed.
We left the Rukyok river farther and farther to the right, and directly to the south appeared quite close the lofty summit which rises above Pasa-guk. We had left the salt-laden sheep and the yaks behind us, and we came at length to the bank of our old friend the Chaktak-tsangpo, which was considerably smaller than at the end of May and beginning of June the year before. Here we left the high-road to the south, and marched northwards along the Chaktak-tsangpo’s right, or western bank, where we soon encamped on a meadow (15,203 feet).
When Abdul Kerim came back he was very solemn. He had had great difficulty in answering questions why we followed a byway along the Chaktak-tsangpo instead of taking the highway to Saka-dzong as all other travellers did. He had replied that we were sent to find out how much sheep’s wool would be for sale in the country next summer. Then the men of the salt caravan had said: “You cannot be afraid of robbers; they frequent the mountains up here. Are you well armed?”
“Yes, we have two guns and some revolvers.”
“You will want them. We see that you are peaceful people, so we warn you. Six days ago a robber band, eighteen men strong, each with his horse and gun, attacked a tent village here in the neighbourhood. They pillaged 3 tents, took 400 sheep and about 200 yaks, and made offby the road you intend to follow. Men were collected and sent after them, but two were killed and the others ran away. No one knows where the band is now. If you value your lives, keep a sharp watch at night. If they attack you, let them plunder you; you are only thirteen, and cannot defend yourselves.”
This was why Abdul Kerim looked so anxious, and it was not to be wondered at. Now we also ran the risk of a night attack, as if it were not trying enough to travel in disguise by byways through the forbidden land. As long as there was daylight the animals were allowed to wander about and graze, but at dusk they were driven up near to the tents. In the evening the men could talk of nothing but robbers. Lobsang, who was a Tibetan himself, took the matter quietly. He said that there were organized bands of as many as a hundred men with a chief at their head, who ordered where raids should be made. But at this season of the year they sat round their fires and tried to look innocent. In his opinion the air must be warmer before they would move. If a robber was caught in the neighbourhood of Gartok, his head and one arm must be sent as a proof to Lhasa, he added. In the principal towns punishment is very severe. For theft an eye is taken out and a hand cut off. A Gova or other magistrate who catches a robber receives a reward or promotion, but one who neglects his duty is punished. We heard that the district near Geddo by the upper Raga-tsangpo is notorious as a regular nest of robbers, and is visited by professional freebooters from Nakchu.
In the twilight the Mohammedans among my Ladakis sang the same melodious hymn I had first heard at Kizil-unkur. “Allahu ekber” echoed among the rocky cliffs; “and it is very effective in protecting true believers against the wiles of the heathen.” They had all at once become deeply religious again in the robbers’ paradise. “Allahu ekber,” God is great.
The night passed peacefully, and early the next morning it was reported that five horsemen were approaching our tents from the north. The field-glass reduced them to two men, a woman, and some yaks. They made a circuitas though they were afraid of us, but Abdul Kerim hailed them to get information about the road. Then we marched on directly eastwards along the northern bank of the Chaktak-tsangpo. The ascent was very gradual, the valley fairly broad and with abundant pasture. No tent was seen, but summer camps were numerous. A cairn marks the place where the Chaktak-tsangpo, coming from the north, 10° W., unites with its tributary the Gebuk-chu from the east. To the north-north-east rise two snowy peaks of medium height with small glaciers. It was evident that the Chaktak-tsangpo flows from the country to the north of them, for the deeply excavated transverse valley of the river could be clearly traced. The main river may carry down about 250 cubic feet in a second, and the affluent about 70. In this district the river is called Kamchung-chu; the name Chaktak-tsangpo (Charta-tsangpo, as it is incorrectly called by Nain Sing) is not applied to it above Pasa-guk. We encamped in the angle between the two rivers near a meadow where three horses were feeding. Their owners, who were bivouacking behind a projection near at hand, were from Rukyok and had lost many of their sheep in winter from disease, and had been to a warm spring to dip and save the remainder. We were here about due north of Saka-dzong and about two days’ journey from it. But between us and the Governor’s residence rose a ridge which is a link in the chain of Lunpo-gangri. In the evening and at night our watchmen fired, as usual, some revolver shots, to inform any chance robbers that we were on our guard.
April 21. As the tents were being taken down, our neighbours went by with 200 sheep. I turned my back to them and busied myself with loading a mule. Then I travelled with the sheep, for there were several more tents farther up, and I could not ride till we came to an uninhabited part of the valley. Several side valleys opened on the left, and at their ends could sometimes be seen a part of the main crest. We know absolutely nothing of the country to the north of it, but that it cannot be the watershed between the plateau and the sea is evident, and was shown by the Kamchung transverse valley.
After crossing the river twice over bridges of porous ice we encamped near a sheepfold where dry dung was plentiful. The last nomads had told us that next day we should come to a large tent, the property of an influential old man named Kamba Tsenam, who owned 1000 yaks and 5000 sheep. He would evidently be our next difficulty, and if we slipped past him the country would be open to us as far as Raga-tasam. We are satisfied when, as on this day, we have again gained nearly 9 miles without being interfered with; but how shall we fare to-morrow?—this is the standing question we ask ourselves every evening. It is certainly an advantage to travel along out-of-the-way paths where we escape notice, but if any sharp gova or governor hears us spoken of, he cannot help being suspicious of our strange proceedings, and institute a close inquiry. Now the salt caravan which we passed has already arrived at Saka-dzong; we are, indeed, to the east of that place, but we travel so slowly that we can never escape pursuit. Our excitement grows daily. I am tired and weary of this self-imposed confinement, and long for it to come to an end. What shall we do then? That I know not. We have penetrated so far that a crisis must come. I have managed to travel through Bongba, but my plans for the immediate future are very indefinite and depend on circumstances. We will get on as far as we can.
April 22 was a day when we knew that the definite crisis was coming very much nearer. Abdul Kerim, Kunchuk, and Gaffar set out first to pay a visit to Kamba Tsenam and keep his attention riveted on the sale of food and horses. We followed after, and crossed the river twice on cracking bridges of ice, kept along the northern bank, and passed a side valley, at the mouth of which stood three tents, where our men were in the midst of a group of Tibetans who were showing their horses. Gulam had warned me in time, so I dismounted and went and looked after our last mules. As soon as we were concealed by a bank terrace I could ride again. The pleasure did not last long, for at the next side valley on the north I had to dismount again before another tent, where a packof savage dogs were encountered by Takkar and Little Puppy, who, save the mark, would help to defend us, but received a nip in the neck and had to be rescued. Here we lost Kutus and Tubges, who remained at the tent, while our diminished party continued on its way eastwards.
At a spur on the northern side of the valley a couple of elegantmaniheaps were erected, and by one of them a streamer pole was set up. It had snowed thickly ever since eight o’clock, but the valley was so narrow that we could not pass all the tents unseen. Just at the projecting point a large valley ran in from the north: we only guessed at it, for everything was hidden in the snowstorm. Gulam went a little way ahead and gave me the sign to dismount. Immediately in front of the point stood four tents and a small stone cabin, where a man stood watching us, and also a chief’s tent of such huge dimensions that I never saw its like; it was as large as a house. Here we left Lobsang and Abdul Rasak, and went on eastwards with a much diminished party. The chief volume of the Gebuk-chu comes from the northern valley; in our valley, which we knew led to the Gebuk-la, only a brook was left. We set up our tents on the terrace at the mouth of a northern side valley. All the country was white, and not a shadow could be seen of the surroundings.
Our three tents stood as usual close together, mine with its opening up the valley, that is, eastwards. After a while the men left behind came up and gave their reports in turn. They had bought provisions for two days, and had learned that the district was called Gebuk-yung. The next day we should go over the Gebuk-la and encamp at the foot of the Kinchen-la, from the top of which we should see Raga-tasam the following day. Of course it was risky for three parties of our men to visit three tents near together, for the Tibetans always asked about the routes we had followed and our plans, and our men might in their haste give discordant answers. In the large tent Lobsang had been cross-examined, and had answered that we came from the Gertse Pun, who had advised us to take this byroad because we should reach Raga-tasam two dayssooner than if we went through Saka-dzong. “Quite true,” the Tibetans answered, but also warned us against robbers, for thirteen Ladakis would be but a mouthful for an ordinary robber band, and the country was very unsafe. “It is well for you that you have good weapons,” they said.
Lastly, Abdul Kerim turned up with his purchases. He had learned that all the tents we had seen in the day belonged to Kamba Tsenam, who lived himself in the largest, but he happened to be in Saka-dzong, where an assembly had been convened in anticipation of an impending visit from a high Chinese official, and the question what present should be made to him had to be decided. Kamba Tsenam owned thirty-five horses, which were grazing beyond Gebuk-la, and if the rich nomad returned in the evening we should certainly be able to buy some from him.
“You say,” declared an elderly man in Kamba Tsenam’s service, “that you are atsongpun(merchant) from Ladak. Why then do you travel by this dangerous side route? Here you can drive no trade. How have you found the way? Why have you travelled in winter? Why do you ask the names of the valleys?”
“I have to write down all the names,” he answered, “that we may find the way again in summer, for I am commissioned to make large purchases of wool.”
“That is well, you shall have several hundred bales of sheep’s wool from us. I will give you a guide in the morning; you will pay him a rupee for two days. Without him you cannot find your way over the Gebuk-la, especially when the ground is covered with snow.”
Abdul Kerim had thanked him for his kindness and then had come to look for us. We were sitting and deliberating when two riders armed with guns came up to our tents. They were close upon us when they appeared out of the snowstorm. We just managed to close my tent and fasten up Takkar before the entrance. The elder man was Abdul Kerim’s friend from the large tent, the other the youth who was offered to us as a guide. They tied up their horses and went nonchalantly into Abdul Kerim’s tent. Here they sat and gossiped for an hour, and offered a large handsome white horse for sale at the price of127 rupees. Abdul Kerim bought it, whereupon they asked how much money he had with him, and whether he was not afraid of being attacked. Afterwards they went about the tents and looked around, and I drew a breath of relief when they at last vanished in the snow with the other horse.
Now we considered the situation. To refuse the guide would seem extremely suspicious, for the snow already lay a foot deep, and the path—all we had to depend on—was covered up. But to have a stranger, a spy, in the caravan for two days and a night was still more dangerous. When Kutus and Sedik went back a little later to the large tent to fetch a bowl of sour milk, they were told to say that ourtsongpundid not want a guide, for we should remain quiet a day, either here or at the next camp. “Yourtsongpunspeaks with two tongues, he does not know what he wants,” the men answered.
We left this dangerous place on April 23 before the sun was up, and I went first with the sheep in case our neighbours paid a morning visit. The weather cleared and the sun came out, and then the snow quickly evaporated. Farther up all the valley floor was covered with a continuous sheet of ice. In front of us was seen the pass Gebuk-la. Here a little old man was following ten mares. He pretended not to see us, but he was soon overtaken by Abdul Kerim and Kunchuk, who kept him company most of the day. With Lobsang I rested half an hour on the pass, at a height of 16,978 feet. To the east and south-east of us lay an entanglement of mountains and valleys, and without the horse-tender we had so fortunately found it would have been quite impossible to find our way over the succession of small saddles which followed. To the south-south-east the snowy massive of Chomo-uchong rose in radiant sunshine; to the north was a huge crest, which I, like Ryder, took for the main range of the Trans-Himalaya and the watershed, but this turned out afterwards to be a mistake.
The horse-driver took us up a secondary saddle, at the eastern foot of which runs a deeply eroded valley, which, coming from the north, 10° E., is the upper section ofthe valley we followed last year, and which runs down to Basang, where I saw Muhamed Isa for the last time among the number of the living. Here was the driver’s tent, and to escape his company during the night we continued our march after the stranger had given us instructions about the way. Our camp 390 was situated in the mouth of a small valley on the ascent to the Kinchen-la, where we were overwhelmed in a terribly dense and violent snowstorm.
The guide, who had so fortunately appeared at the right moment, had said in the presence of our men that he was Kamba Tsenam’s brother and a great yak-slayer. The year before he had seen in Saka-dzong a European whose caravan leader, a big strong fellow, had inspired respect wherever he showed himself. But he had died suddenly in Saka, and his comrades had digged a long hole in the ground where they had laid him. He thought it strange that Ladakis, who were of the same faith as the Tibetans, would travel with and serve the hated Europeans.
For the future we determined to observe yet greater caution. Two or three Ladakis should always wear dark eye-glasses, so that mine might not seem so peculiar. As soon as we could buy woollen material all the men should have new clothes, so that I in my rags would seem the poorest and meanest of the party.