[[Contents]]

[[Contents]]

TIBET AND NEPAL

[[Contents]]

AGENTS IN AMERICA
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 Fifth Avenue, New York

[[Contents]]

YELLOW LAMAS WITH PRAYER WHEELS

[[Contents]]

TIBET & NEPAL

PAINTED & DESCRIBED

BY A. HENRY SAVAGE LANDOR

PUBLISHED BY A. & C. BLACK
SOHO SQUARE·LONDON·W

[[Contents]]

Published January 1905 [[vii]]

[[Contents]]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[[1]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER I

“Once you have visited the snows of the Himahlyas,” said a venerable old man of Kumaon to me, “you will have to return to them time after time until you die. When away from them, all through your life you will ever see them before you in your dreams.”

Well, that was quite so; and that is what everybody feels who has spent some time on the higher elevations of that majestic range of mountains. To any one who appreciates Nature in all its grandeur, the fascination is so great that everything else in the way of scenery sinks into perfect insignificance by their side.

It is, to my mind, rather a pity that in England people have not yet learnt to call that range by its proper and poetic name “Himahlyas,” by which the range is known all over Asia, instead of the [[2]]distorted “Himalayas,” which has no meaning whatever except to natives of these foggy little islands. The Americans, I am glad to say, when the corrected pronunciation was pointed out, at once accepted it, and it is now taught in all the schools.

Two years had elapsed since my first journey across Tibet, and I was still suffering greatly from the effects of the tortures and wounds which had been inflicted upon me during my captivity in the Forbidden Land. Nor did banquets and receptions and interviewers, autograph-collectors, etc., much help to rebuild my constitution. In fact, while in London, instead of improving I was getting weaker and more of an invalid every day.

In doctors I have no superabundant faith, but somehow or other felt that a little change from the monotony of a civilised existence, in the shape of chasing about their country some of my Tibetan friends who had tortured me, might possibly be of some benefit to my health. And if you take it into your head that something will do you good, it is not unusual that some sort of a cure results from it.

So, again I bundled my blankets, my surveying instruments, several cameras, and hundreds of [[3]]plates, provisions, and painting materials, and by the first P. and O. steamer sailed for Bombay. From that place I went by rail to Kathgodam, thence by trail to the hill-station Almora in the North-West Provinces, which I again made my starting-point, as in the first journey.

Perhaps it may interest the reader to know that the entire preparations, the selection of all my followers, the purchase of an excellent Tibetan pony, and of all the outfit and provisions to last my men several months, were accomplished in the short space of twelve hours.

The selection of men for the type of expeditions I undertake, in which abnormal endurance is required, is not an easy matter, but I was particularly fortunate on that occasion. Big athletic fellows I generally avoid as absolutely useless for work requiring steady endurance and quick perception. I gave preference to small, determined, wiry men, light in weight, supple and quick in their movements.

Having satisfied myself that they were perfectly sound in lungs, heart, and digestive organs—they were, indeed, too sound in the latter respect—we were ready to start the following day. Each man carried a weight of 20 seers (or 40 lbs.), a light [[4]]load, as I intended doing double and treble marches daily.

It was my intention to do a considerable amount of mountaineering en route, and I did it; but, contrary to the usual custom of British mountaineering expeditions (which set out with much flourish of trumpets) I did not burden myself with the company of Swiss Alpine guides. Here is the reason. I am well aware that it impresses a good many brainless folks to hear that an expedition to the Andes or the Himahlyas is accompanied, even led, by Swiss guides; but to any real mountaineer (I do not mean members of Alpine Clubs) the very fact that the members of such an expedition require guides at all is but a plain avowal that they have no faith in themselves, besides displaying a most infantile ignorance of how to find their way about. No mountaineer, who is a real mountaineer, ever needs to be told which is the best way to go up a mountain which is before him. His very instinct and observation tell him.

Let me remind you that the characteristics of mountains in different parts of the world vary to a considerable extent. It therefore seems to me that to employ a man (however fine a fellow he [[5]]may be) who has spent his life hauling hysterical Alpinists by a much-beaten trail up Mont Blanc or the Matterhorn, to show the way up a virgin Himahlyan peak, is as delightfully absurd as it would be to charter an untravelled London cabman to show you with intelligence the sights of Moscow, or Bagdad, or Jerusalem! Do not forget, too, that Mont Blanc or the Matterhorn are perfectly insignificant hills when compared to peaks in the Himahlyas.

As you know, the chief hobby and boast of certain Alpinists is to climb mountains by impracticable ways. This practice is to be condemned. In plain words, any man who tries to go up a mountain by any but the easiest way is an idiot, and should be confined to a lunatic asylum. When difficulties arise, and many do, naturally they have to be overcome as best one can. Then again, there are many feats in mountaineering and rock-climbing which appear very dangerous and are not dangerous at all to any one with steady head, heart, and legs; but the absurd mania of obtaining notoriety by going up a peak by a dangerous route when an easier way exists has no more sense in it than were a horseman to try and ride his horse under its tail instead of upon its [[6]]back! It is not real sport, and sport, above all things, should never be purposeless nor foolish.

Mountaineering, by any one in full possession of all his senses, is a delightful amusement, and possibly the pleasantest, healthiest, and most instructive exercise in existence. It develops every muscle in one’s body, makes one quick of sight and hearing, expands, cleans, and purifies one’s lungs, and it makes one—when dependent on oneself—a quick observer and a subtle student of Nature, its forces, and the ways of elements and how to counterbalance them. It should, therefore, be encouraged in any one born for the work; but, on the other hand, should be left severely alone by any one not specially constructed for the work by Mother Nature. It can but mean disaster in the end, and it generally does.

Unfortunate, too, is the man who in “exploring mountaineering” follows the rules and regulations laid down by theoretical but inexperienced amateurs of certain Alpine institutions. A practical mountaineer has nothing to learn from such misleading publications, whether brought out under the patronage of Clubs or by some enterprising charlatan or other. The constant suggestions to provide oneself with all sorts of [[7]]expensive and cumbersome tools, axes, alpenstocks, and other impedimenta are merely to swell the pockets of advertisers who support those publications, rather than to safeguard the life of intending mountaineers.

Personally, and I am speaking from a somewhat extensive experience, I owe my success and the lack of serious accidents in any of my mountaineering expeditions absolutely to the using none of the appliances recommended by Alpine clubs. I mention this at the outset to prevent the usual criticisms accusing me of having neglected precautions. It was done wilfully on my part, because, as far as mountaineering is concerned, I prefer to use what little common-sense I possess in preference to accepting the large amount of nonsense offered by other people.

I had spared no expense and trouble to obtain the best scientific instruments possible for taking observations, and they were specially manufactured for me, light in weight and extra strong, and with special cases to protect them from injury in the roughest of travelling. My instruments were tested at the Kew Observatory—both before going out of and after my return to England—and found in perfect condition. [[8]]

All altitudes of importance were invariably measured with the hypsometrical apparatus, several boiling-point thermometers being successively used in the observation. For differential heights of no great significance aneroids were used. All bearings were taken with a prismatic compass, and for latitude and longitude a 6-inch sextant was used, a chronometer watch, mercury and plate-glass artificial horizons.

Necessarily, I carried maximum and minimum thermometers and all necessary instruments and appliances for surveying work, photography, painting, etc. Several rifles and double-barrelled guns, a revolver, eight thousand rounds of ammunition, and ten pounds of gunpowder were carried, in case we had to do some shooting; while each man was given a large Gurkha kukri for his own protection.

For our needs I carried money in solid silver and gold. My tinned provisions were prepared for me in London, and were very good. All my most valuable possessions were packed in air-tight cases of my own design, which, as on previous journeys, I found answered very well.

A Tibetan tent, 7 feet high, 10 feet long, and [[9]]8 feet wide, twelve pounds only in weight; a small tente d’abri, and some shelters formed my camp.

Last, but not least, let me give some advice regarding your clothing when you go mountaineering. Do not masquerade for the occasion in fancy tweeds of startling cut, clumsy mufflers and gloves, and patent hobnailed boots. Wear the sort of clothes and footgear you are accustomed to put on every day. You will feel a great deal more comfortable, less ridiculous, and certainly a great deal safer.

Personally, I wear the same sort of clothing—serge suits of the thinnest tropical material—in any country and in any climate, with no underwear; thin socks, shoes of medium weight with no nails under the soles. I am very fortunate in one way, never feeling the slightest inconvenience through intense heat or cold. It is partly due, I think, to one’s constitution and circulation of one’s blood, partly to habit, and a good deal to being hardened through constant roughing.

Perhaps others, with not so rough a training, may not go quite so far; but never forget that the more you feel at your ease in your attire, the less you are hampered with articles of any kind which [[10]]you are not accustomed to use every day, the more successful you will be in your mountaineering expeditions—especially on unknown mountains. [[11]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER II

From Almora to the Tibetan frontier I followed, to a great extent, a different route from the one I had taken on my first journey, as I wanted to visit en route the interesting shrine of Debi Dhura. The character of the country traversed varied little from that already described in a previous work. I will only in this book describe things and places and incidents of the journey that are quite new, leaving out a detailed account of my itinerary.

Passing through forests of walnut trees, fine oak and deodars, kaiphal, rhododendrons, utis, and yew, and travelling at elevations varying from 5510 feet at Almora to 6630 feet at Debi Dhura, I reached in two days’ journey the sacred temple situated on a great granitic plateau, the ridge of which extends for several miles.

It was in the afternoon. During the entire journey rain had come down in torrents; but as I [[12]]arrived at Debi Dhura, the storm, which had been particularly fierce that day, cleared as by magic; the heavy, leaden-black clouds rolled away on every side, leaving behind most exquisite tints, of gold and red and green, of a superb sunset. With the wind rising, the white mist which covered the valleys below us rose slowly like a curtain, and a magnificent panorama shone in radiant beauty in the now crystalline atmosphere. Beyond the lower and nearer ranges of pure cobalt blue and dark warm greens, towered to the north snow-clad mountains of absolutely sublime beauty.

Shortly after my arrival an old priest came to greet me. He had in his hands a brass vessel filled with red flowers which he offered me, begging me to follow him to the shrine across the road.

“This is the world-famous shrine of Debi Dhura, the shrine to Mahadeva Varahi Debi and Bhimden,” said he, with a series of grand salaams. “Ah, sahib, your health and soul will greatly benefit by your visit here,” muttered the cunning old rascal, who by now had been joined by other priests.

We walked up past the sacred swings to the temple standing on the crown of a hill among really beautiful deodar, walnut, oak, and Olea fragrans trees. The temple itself was of no interest or [[13]]beauty, but curious indeed were the gigantic boulders leaning against each other, allowing a narrow entrance into a cave containing a well and a shrine.

No foreigner is allowed inside the cave, for it is—they say—the home of Debi, and must not be desecrated by humans of other faiths. My men seemed greatly excited over their visit to the cave, and they were profound in their salaams. They were muttering fervent prayers when they came out. On being asked what they had seen inside, they would not or could not say. As a matter of fact, I believe they had seen nothing, for the cave was very dark.

On we went, down some slippery steps, until we came—some hundred yards below—to a curious rock rising to a great height above the ground.

“Ransila, the giant,” called out the priest, pointing at the rock and calling it by its name.

We climbed upon it to examine the extraordinary crack which split the rock in two. The fissure was so clean and sharp that it seemed produced by a violent blow rather than by the action of water. A similar crack was noticeable in a lower rock, and neither of these fissures [[14]]seemed very ancient. Lightning may have caused them, or more possibly an earthquake.

The explanation given by the priests was quaint, and it was interesting to watch the expressions on my men’s faces, who received with great suspicion my matter-of-fact explanation of how those cracks came to be; whereas they gazed open-mouthed and took in unreservedly the fairy legend recited to us by the priest. Here is the legend.

Bhim Sen or Bem Sing and Debi were one day playing pachisi, a game resembling chess, and very common in India. They were seated on the above-described granitic boulder, “the Ransila,” and to give colour to this narrative a square engraved in the rock marks the spot where they sat. Other mystic signs, marks, and figures are also pointed out to credulous pilgrims. It appears that while so engaged, Bem Sing heard the voice of a shert, a rich man, drowning in the distant ocean, hundreds and hundreds of miles away. He listened. The shert prayed God to live.

Regardless of the fact that the distance from Debi Dhura to the ocean is, as the crow flies, at least 700 miles, Debi remained quite unconcerned, [[15]]and continued to play the game with his right hand, while he stretched—the legend does not say whether to its full extent—the left arm and lifted from the foaming water not only the drowning man but the sinking ship as well.

On withdrawing his arm and resting it upon his lap the attention of his partner as well as of the onlookers was attracted by the wet on Debi’s hand and forearm. They inquired the cause, but Debi curtly requested them to mind their own business and go on with the game. Puzzled and angry, the others demanded an explanation. Insulting remarks were made and, finding no other explanation, a suggestion was made that he was perspiring something else instead of perspiration from his arm. At this point Debi deemed it prudent to vanish.

Bem Sing’s wrath was at its zenith. Amazed, even upset, he searched for Debi all around, and, unable to find him, he seized a large boulder and with it struck the big rock Ransila with such violence that he split it in two, in order to discover whether Debi was hiding inside it.

The onlookers in the meantime, terrified by the doings of these abnormal beings, had fled in all directions, while Debi had quietly retired to [[16]]the cave which I have already described, and where—they say—he dwells still. The boulder used by Bem Sing in his feat of strength is shown to this day to the open-mouthed pilgrims at Debi Dhura. So firmly had he grasped it in his hands that the marks of his fingers and thumbs are still deeply impressed upon the granite.

The end of the legend brought forth the usual request for a generous backshish, while more flowers were produced and handed to my followers, who adorned their ears and caps with them.

We returned to the sacred swings, of great height, with iron chains instead of ropes, upon which pilgrims, old and young, swing themselves, either singly or in couples. During the months of June, July, and August, when a pilgrimage and fair are held at the shrine, these swings are kept going all day and the greater part of the night. Thousands upon thousands of devotees visit the weird rocks and leave handsome oblations. A special festival is held in August, when throngs of natives assemble and sacrifice goats, sheep, and occasionally buffaloes. As many as one hundred sheep are killed during one of these festivals, and the sacrifice takes place either on the Ransila rock or at the entrance of the cave.

The Sacred Swings of Debi Dhura

The “stone of luck” is to be noticed beyond the first swing.

[[17]]

Everything at Debi Dhura is connected with stones and rocks. Between the two swings and near a quadrangular stone wall some four or five feet high, lay a big natural ball of granite, called “Chela,” or “the test of strength.” They say that only one man in a hundred can raise it above the ground, one in a thousand is able to lift it up to his waist, and not a human being alive can lift it up and deposit it on the wall. Whoever performed the latter deed would have every happiness for ever. Although according to the priests the stone weighed 4000 lbs., its actual weight was not more than 350 lbs.; only it was difficult to get hold of it, and it was well-nigh impossible to do so by sheer strength. But when brute strength fails, ruse is often easily successful, and so, being somewhat versed in the laws of leverage, balance, and impetus, I succeeded, much to the amazement of everybody, in placing that stone upon the wall. It was an effort though, I can tell you.

A peculiar feature of the annual fair is the procession from the shrine in the cave to the summit of the hill, a few hundred yards off, upon which is a stone shed and a cairn. The men who carry the stone idol in this procession are all stark-naked,—a very unusual case with Hindoos,[[18]]—and so also are many who follow in the procession.

Another feature of the festival is that strange custom which one finds in most countries of Asia—the annual stone-fights. About a thousand men collect in an open space, and are divided into legions of five hundred each, a short distance from each other. When both parties have amassed in their respective camps a suitable amount of ammunition in the way of stones, collected in mounds, and also a good supply carried on the person, the combatants draw nearer and nearer in a line. At a signal the fight begins, and they fling stones at one another by means of slings and forked sticks, whirling the missiles through the air with terrific force. The more people get injured the fiercer becomes the fight, till the ammunition fails,—and it lasts a long time, because the combat is, as it were, a mere exchange of ammunition.

The wives and daughters and sweethearts of the combatants view the melée with trembling hearts from a raised point of vantage well out of range of the missiles. The fighters get to such close quarters that pounding one another on the head with stones is not uncommon, and it is only when all are worn, wounded, aching, and blinded by the [[19]]dust and blood that an armistice is called. Hardly any one escapes unhurt, but no one ever complains, no matter how serious their wounds may be, as they believe that no one can actually be killed in these sacred fights. As each man falls senseless to the ground, he is conveyed to the temple where the following treatment awaits him. The Brahmin priests beat and rub him well with a bunch of nettles. It is said to be an infallible remedy.

No ill-feeling is said to remain between the legions after the fight is over, and with bandaged heads and limbs they all join in a common bura kana—a big meal.

The fights generally begin by the children being made to fight first, the elders joining in when well excited over their sons’ doings. [[20]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER III

The trail, which had made a somewhat circuitous deviation southward of Debi Dhura, began to turn to the east, and soon after towards the north-east. After leaving Debi Dhura it brought the traveller to the summit of the granitic range which the trail followed all along, amidst country thickly wooded with oaks, rhododendrons, pines, and deodars. The whole journey was made at high elevations, through dense forests, with a feeling of damp about everything; the trees, soaked and dripping, standing like black giants in the penetrating white mist that enveloped us. One could not see more than twenty or thirty yards off.

In many places the trail was narrow, and it had been built by blasting the steep rocky mountainside and filling whatever gaps there were with a wall supported on outstanding boulders below. [[21]]The trail was in such places hardly more than three or four feet wide, and no parapet of any kind existed to prevent unlucky travellers from falling over into the precipice several hundred feet in depth at the side.

In fair weather, when the trail was dry, and when a trustworthy animal was being ridden, there would, of course, be no danger of any kind; but when I went through, the path was slimy and slippery, and my pony—although excellent and sure-footed, quite like a goat on a mountain trail—possessed the bad habit of shying at anything moving upon the ground, and particularly at the whitewashed milestones, when he would invariably make a few contortions, and end up by standing on his hind legs with a final leap forward when the whip was duly applied upon his back.

I had just passed one of these mile-posts, and expecting a peaceful ride until we came to the next, I pulled out my notebook and was jotting down some observations. We were then at a considerable height, the trail, cut into the rock, winding its way along the summit of the mountainside. It was about sunset, and everything around me was silent but for the clatter of my pony’s hoofs upon the wet trail, or every now and then the [[22]]noise of a stone rolling down into the precipice some 800 feet deep.

In going round a corner a man appeared enveloped in a red blanket, the end of which was fluttering in the breeze. Unexpectedly my pony neighed frantically, gave a powerful jerk, backed, and slipped with his hind legs off the trail.

“Jupiter!” I exclaimed as I tried to jump off the saddle. My blood turned cold; but before I had time to dismount, the pony which was resting with his body on the trail, scrambled up again on it in the most miraculous manner. In a perfect frenzy he now bolted full gallop along the tortuous and narrow way. In my attempt to get off, the reins had got loose and entangled, and I had taken my left foot off the stirrup.

An Awkward Moment

A glance at the illustration depicting this incident will show the kind of place where it occurred; and it can easily be imagined that a pony, dashing along round corners involved some minor dangers to the rider, such as smashing one’s knee or head against projecting boulders. Worse luck, in this unpleasant contingency, the bit broke, which placed me absolutely at the mercy of the pony, who viciously rubbed against the rocks to my right, so that the right stirrup and part of the saddle were [[23]]torn off. My right leg might have shared the same fate had nature not endowed me with sufficient agility to move it out of the way when necessary. Dismounting would have meant certain death, because, at the speed I was going, no matter on which side I got off, either directly or by recoil, I should have been shot off into the abyss.

Eventually—and when it pleased him—the pony resumed the journey in a less reckless fashion. If not the best-tempered, he was certainly the most sure-footed animal I had ever ridden, and eventually he and I became good friends; he lost his shyness and never again played tricks. He was really as good as a goat at hill-climbing, and he could go where a human would experience difficulty in getting along.

Two of my men, who, with trembling hearts, had witnessed the accident, ultimately caught me up and explained to me the real cause of it. Simultaneously with the appearance of the man in the flapping blanket, the pony had placed his foot on a small snake lying coiled and numbed with cold upon the road.

We had double and treble marches daily, drenching rain, and heavy trails, but pony and men went [[24]]well. The pony, I must say, lost a good deal of his friskiness, for, in order to remove his exuberance of vigour as quickly as possible, I permitted some of my men to indulge in their national habit of holding to the pony’s tail while ascending steep hills.

We seemed to have a good many varied experiences on that trip; the next sight being the corpse of a woman tied in a sheet to a pole, and sprinkled all over with red paint. A group of men sat by her, and seemed concerned at the unwelcome appearance of a sahib.

The woman had been lynched. She was said to have been beautiful, but unfaithful to her husband, for which latter fault she had been dragged into the forest, ill-treated, and eventually hanged, her body being left for several days until the murder was discovered. On the present occasion the body was being conveyed to Almora—some fifty miles off—for the official examination and inquiry. I had dismounted in order to hear the details of the tragedy, but as the corpse was in a state of decomposition I jumped on the saddle again and fled, my handkerchief held fast to my nose.

I was told that Kumaonis, especially in the particular part of the province I was then travelling [[25]]in, were very revengeful and much addicted to murder. I, too, found them morose and sulky, ever discontented, somewhat quick-tempered and unreasonable. They undoubtedly possess the vindictive and warlike characteristics of their former masters and present neighbours, the Nepalese, but have lost—or possibly never possessed—any of their finer qualities.

Since the British took possession of this part of Kumaon, crime has been put down to a certain extent, but much difficulty, I understand, is experienced in ever discovering offenders, who are cleverly screened from the authorities by everybody. They certainly have no love, nor even respect, for sahibs, and they display a supercilious look upon their countenances which makes them heartily detestable.

I was able to obtain additional ponies and men at Lohagart, formerly a military cantonment, and to continue my journey towards the Nepalese frontier.

We crossed the Serju River forming the southern and northern boundaries, respectively, between the Sor and Kali Kumaon Parganahs, by a forced march of twenty-one miles—quite good going with baggage and on such roads in such [[26]]weather. We had some difficulty in keeping to the trail in the dark forest at night, and we had a curious instance of how superstition will work on some people’s minds with quite disastrous effects. All over the Himahlyas one finds, in some form or other, a rooted belief in the spirits of the mountains and of the forest, some of the spirits being benign enough, others of a wicked temperament.

My sayce, who was an excellent fellow, but timid to a degree, had become separated from the rest of my party and had remained far behind in charge of a recalcitrant pony and load. In the middle of the night I heard distant cries of distress, and, suspecting the cause, I sent some men with improvised torches to his assistance. They carried in the sayce, and on depositing him on the ground, pronounced him dying. In fact, the poor fellow was doubled up, delirious with fever, and in a state of absolute nervous collapse. When I brought a light to his face he became terrified, wept, and, trembling all over, begged for mercy. He seemed to be labouring under some hallucination—some ghastly vision at all events, for when I placed my hand upon his forehead he screamed and struggled in horror. He entreated [[27]]to be freed from the horrible figures which danced around him; he shuddered, and eventually his convulsions took the form of an epileptic fit.

This was all the result of a prolonged fright. When he recovered sufficiently he told me how at night in the forest, when he was left alone, evil spirits surrounded him and pulled him by the hair, the ears, the nose, and pinched him all over.

“Show me the marks.”

“Sahib,” he said, looking at himself all over, “I can see no marks, but I still feel the pain where they touched me.”

“But how could you see the spirits if it was quite dark?”

“Yes, but it seemed to grow quite light when they suddenly appeared. I think they were the souls of dead people. They were very ugly, sahib!”

“Were they as ugly as we are?”

“Yes, sahib, about the same! I think I recognised some of my relations among them.”

The poor fellow’s nerves were so shattered by the fright he had experienced that he never completely recovered from the shock.

In other works I have described how the natives on the borders of Tibet fear these spirits [[28]]of the mountains, and place obstacles, such as thorns, etc., along the paths in order to prevent them entering villages, while threads are placed along dangerous passages upon trails to facilitate the “good spirits of the mountains” of departed friends finding their way in the dark of the night without misadventure.

Going now in a northerly direction we came to Pithoragarh, a place of former importance, possessing the remains of a Nepalese fort, an elaborate structure of solid earth-works with platform for guns, a water-tank, and a much-loopholed quadrangular castle. These structures stand on prominent points in the centre of the green and well-cultivated valley,—some fourteen square miles in extent,—dotted here and there with little villages and houses and tufts of trees, and irrigated by several streams. A low hill-range in the centre separates the valley in two.

While taking a photograph of the forts I nearly and most unexpectedly trod on a big snake, some 8 feet in length, which lay spread in the sun. He raised his prettily arched neck at my approach and hissed with some vehemence, which I took for a request to stand back. Motionless, he gazed at me with his vitrine eyes, and he was so beautiful, [[29]]with iridescent scales shining like precious stones in the sun, that for one moment I could not help gazing at him. But as I had no stick nor any weapon upon me I cut short my part of this mutual admiration. When the snake described a graceful curve and departed, I, too, with somewhat less grace, made a speedy retreat in the opposite direction.

From Pithoragarh by quick marches I made rapid progress towards the frontier, visiting en route my old friend the Rajiwar of Askote, who had shown me much kindness when conveyed over the frontier after my captivity and tortures in Tibet two years previously. The entire town turned out to receive me, and I was again entertained by the Rajah in his palace.

It seemed rather a pity that this magnificent old fellow, whose faithfulness to the British had ever been exemplary, did not receive more courtesy from snobbish officials who occasionally visited his country, because, after all, courtesy costs nothing and goes a very long way with natives of all classes. The important services which he and his family have rendered in frontier matters with both Tibet and Nepal seemed to have been forgotten, and with the heavy taxation that had been imposed [[30]]upon him he found it difficult—at the time of my visit—to support himself and his numerous relations.

From a strategic point of view the Askote valley is the principal and practically the only highway, the key, as it were, to all the Himahlyan passes leading into Tibet from Bhot (both in Darma and in Bias), as well as those of Western Nepal. Perhaps the fact of having in such a spot a loyal subject, able to keep a sharp watch upon dangers that may impend in the future, would be more valued if it were more understood.

After a day of festivities and excessive eating, enlivened by most harmonious native music, and a visit from my friends the Raots, the proud wild men of the forest who had on a former occasion predicted my death when I visited their haunt, we travelled through the low and hot Kali valley. Here malarial fever was rampant, vermin and mosquitoes in swarms, and rinderpest raging. I was now going along the Nepalese frontier, the Kali River defining the boundary-line between the North-West Provinces of India and Nepal.

A Daramsalla

Type of mountain shelters in the Himahlyas, N.W. Nepal. On the highway to Tibet.

On entering Bhot, or Little Tibet, we again rose to greater altitudes, and were soon able to shake off the touch of fever which nearly all my men and [[31]]myself had contracted in going through the steamy, damp valley. At Sirka, since my former visit, a Christian church of stone had risen—the first one in British Tibet—the work of the untiring and self-sacrificing Miss Sheldon, an American lady doctor, who has for years done noble work among the Shokas,—Shoka, as you know, is the local name of the inhabitants of that particular section of Bhot. When I passed through, Miss Sheldon was busy putting on the roof of the church—an operation which I watched with admiration, mingled somewhat with concern, although I must confess a skilled mason could not have done it better. [[32]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER IV

Some miles farther on another surprise awaited me. A new trail was being cut along the rock to shorten the ups and downs of the old “Nerpani”—the “waterless trail”—or, rather, some of the worst parts of the old trail were being modified and straightened. The new trail was just as narrow and dangerous as the old one, in some places only a couple of feet or so wide, or even less, with a deep precipice beneath, and many parts, as with the older trail, were supported on crowbars thrust into the rock, some slabs of stone placed upon them making the path.

But one thing the new trail certainly did. It did away with some of the interminable flights of steps which were one of the most trying features of the old Nerpani. So that both the Government and the Shokas who subscribed most of the money [[33]]for the work, may be congratulated on the decided improvement of that highway into Tibet.

In former days it was almost impossible to take pack-animals across, except sheep,—and many of these always perished on each journey,—but by the new trail, when finished, this is feasible, although not easy.

For certain reasons of my own, and knowing the difficulty of obtaining ponies in Tibet itself, I decided to bring my pony across at all costs. It was certainly a job which gave me a great many hours of hard work and anxiety. The trail, blasted into the rock or in narrow flights of steps along the high cliffs, was wet and slippery, and in many places hardly broad enough for the animal’s body to pass without losing its balance. Still, with a sling or two, and one man holding the beast by the head and another by the tail, we managed, with occasional precipitous slides, to get along pretty well. In one place the pony slipped and fell sideways on the wet slabs, and kicked fragments of the unsteady road (in that portion laid on crowbars) flying into the river, down, down below, some 600 or 700 feet sheer drop. In other places, where rough scaffolding, supported on ropes, had been erected along the vertical rock in order to cut holes for the crowbars, [[34]]the work of conveying the pony across was by no means easy. The scaffolding was generally made of a couple of trees tied together horizontally and an occasional plank.

Perhaps the illustration representing one of these passages may give a better idea of the situation than a long description. It was impossible for the pony to walk on the scaffolding, so that we had to push him over and convey him across, suspended, as far as where the trail began again. This we did by means of several rope slings round his body. Then one man held the pony’s head, while I held him by the tail—being the easiest to let go in case of misadventure.

As the weight of a pony is considerable, the men wound the ropes several times round their wrists; and at one moment, when we were all in the centre of the scaffolding, it creaked so, and a plank on which a man stood showed such elasticity when a good deal of the weight was centered on it, that I really thought we should all be precipitated down into the stream. As luck would have it—and we did sweat over the undertaking, although the day was intensely cold—we got safely on the other side.

A Moment of Suspense

Perhaps I may mention that never in my experience have I seen an animal more terrified than that [[35]]pony was on that occasion. When we stood him again upon terra firma his legs quivered so that it was quite painful to witness, and he neighed and neighed convulsively, and made the sound echo all down the valley. I may also add that from that same scaffolding, that same morning, one of the workmen had fallen over, and his body was dashed into an unrecognisable mass on some rocks in the foaming stream below.

I had heard most peculiar rumours from the natives that the Tibetans had come in great force on to British territory at Garbyang, and with great pomp and much beating of drums were proclaiming that the British Government were afraid of coming to Tibet, and that the entire Bias and Chaudas had now been ceded to Tibet.

It may be remembered that as early as 1898, after the return from my first journey to Tibet, I pointed out to the Government the abuses of Tibetan officials who came over to our side of the frontier, claimed Sah-tal or Land Revenue from British subjects, and even tortured unprotected natives on our side of the frontier if they refused to pay. Some prominence was given in the House of Commons to questions on this subject, and the Governor of the North-West [[36]]Provinces had to acknowledge that such was the case, but declared that steps would be taken to stop the abuses. That the Sah-tal was paid was admitted, but it was stated to be a trade tax, which was untrue, and possibly uttered in ignorance of facts. It was agreed that the payment of the Sah-tal by British subjects should, nevertheless, be stopped, and it was actually suspended.

Apart from the fact that the words Sah-tal in themselves mean “land revenue,” and that it is paid on the amount of land possessed by Shokas on British soil, a further proof that it is a land tax is provided by the case of Darma Shokas, who pay the Sah-tal on their land to the Jong Pen of Taklakot, and who do no trading with that particular part of Tibet.

Furthermore, the Jong Pen of Taklakot receives the amount with the distinct understanding that it is a land tax, and not a trade tax, and as such it appears in Government reports by the few British officials who had been to the frontier, such as Mr. Sturt, Mr. Larkin, and other deputy commissioners and collectors, and the Political Agent on the spot. In Darma the Sah-tal was collected direct by Jong Pen’s emissaries, but in Bias and Chaudas the Political Agent was made to act as a servant [[37]]to the Tibetans, and after collecting the revenue handed it over to the Jong Pen’s officials at Gungi and at Garbyang, two villages conveniently situated for the purpose.

Chaudas, being the most distant from the Tibet border, only paid a nominal sum of 11 rupees in cash, and some 14 rolls of rough cloth; but Garbyang, for instance (besides a real trade tax jointly with Chaudas of 370 boxes of grain, each containing some 24 lbs., and 14 boxes of coarse cloth), paid for Sah-tal the following items:—

The village of Kuti also paid a heavy Sah-tal.

[[38]]

Darma paid some 150 balls of ghur, which had a local value of about 75 rupees.

Notwithstanding that the Government of the North-West Provinces could not or would not see matters in the right light, it was a great gratification to me to think that, on my giving publicity to such an injustice, the Government had at last deemed it right to discontinue the payment of the land revenue to Tibetans by our frontier subjects. It came, therefore, as a very great surprise to me, on approaching Garbyang, to hear that the Tibetans had come over to that place in great force,—with the sanction of the British Government,—and that several officials, including a Nerba, some Dhats in red and black tunics and long swords, four jimidars, two drummers, and a number of soldiers were parading the streets, proclaiming the annexation of the district to Tibet, and ill-using the natives who differed. They were gorging themselves at the expense of the natives, and having a fine time all round.

At the request of a deputation of Shokas, I hastened on to Garbyang; but the Tibetans, believing that I was coming up with a large and well-armed expedition to take a revenge upon them for former misdeeds, deemed it advisable to pack [[39]]up their chattels, pocket their pride, and decamp over the frontier.

I met with a most enthusiastic reception from the Garbyalis, who wished me to remain in their village until the passes were closed up by snow so as to keep their compulsory guests away. The Shokas seemed depressed and disgusted at what they rightly believed unwarrantable treachery on the part of the Government of India. They had always been faithful—even under trying circumstances—to the British, and such undeserved treatment led them to the one conclusion, preached by full-powered Tibetan lungs, that England must indeed be weak, or at least afraid of Tibet.

Undoubtedly these sad and unchecked occurrences all along our Tibetan frontier—you see, it is so uncomfortable for Anglo-Indian officials to go up to the snows to make inquiries and so on—have been the chief cause of Tibetan aggressiveness. There is no man so brave as the one who believes his opponent is not going to fight; and perhaps now, after the much-trumpeted, enigmatical expedition to Lhassa and the unexpected sudden retreat from that city, they will be no better than before.

I was unable to accede to the request of the natives to remain to protect their village, as I [[40]]intended going farther; and, moreover, the Government of India having become alarmed at my proceeding a second time towards Tibet, behaved with a considerable amount of amusing childishness. Government chaprassis were arriving in quick succession with secret orders to prevent natives selling me provisions, to induce my men treacherously to abandon me, steal my weapons and food, and place every possible obstacle in my way.

Some native friends, who, according to custom, had presented me with a ball of ghur and two handfuls of rice, were arrested and prosecuted, being brought down to Almora, some 145 miles, for the purpose. Others met with considerable annoyance, accusations of all kinds being showered upon innocent people—even such gross nonsense as accusations of hiding quick-firing guns and pieces of ordnance!

Both the Governor and the Commissioner at Naini-Tal, and the Deputy Commissioner of Almora, seemed quite hysterical over the affair, and some absurd threatening letters were written to me. My mails were invariably tampered with, and all letters opened. Among the most amusing requests may be noted one that I should show a Chinese passport if I wanted to traverse Bhot (British territory), [[41]]which made it seem as if the cession of that territory to Tibet had really been accomplished—although even then, as I unfortunately experienced before, a Chinese Imperial passport has as much effect upon Tibetan officials as a piece of waste-paper would on the Prime Minister of Great Britain.

I was ordered to divulge my plans, which of course I refused to do, principally because I had no plans to divulge; and, further, was told I must stop and “wait for Government orders.” I replied that, being nobody’s servant, I would receive no one’s orders. I had not asked nor wished nor needed Government assistance, and I would go when and where I liked.

I was very sorry that the Political frontier Agent—a most sensible man—was subjected to much inconvenience and anxiety by constant orders to stop my expedition by any means—a matter in which I also happened to be concerned. He could not, as ordered, starve out my expedition, because I had plenty of food of my own. Silly as the orders given him were, he obediently did his utmost to check my movements, and, moreover, behaved like a gentleman into the bargain.

Some spies whom I found in my camp came in [[42]]for some severe punishment, and two Government chaprassis, who had one night been despatched to threaten my men and induce them to desert and capture my food and ammunition, received a sound thrashing, were disarmed, and I took them prisoners and brought them along with me to do some mountaineering! At the same time I sent word to those in authority that, when it should suit me, on my return, I would personally hand over the two prisoners.

Further orders arrived that any one selling or giving food or showing friendship to me should be arrested and sent down to Almora for punishment. All this seemed very useless, as I possessed all I needed; but, in order to prevent further persecution to some of my friends, I decided to cross the boundary at once—the Kali River—and enter the Nepal kingdom—a country also closed to foreigners, as everybody knows. [[43]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER V

In the meantime the Tibetans, who had hastily retreated across the boundary into their country, had given the alarm of the approach of my expedition. A spy I had sent over reported that great commotion reigned at Taklakot. Bridges had been hastily destroyed, stone barriers were put up, while warlike preparations of all kinds were carried on in feverish speed. A bluffing message was sent over by the Tibetans to inform the Political Agent that 5000 men were ready to meet my force and capture me again, when they would cut off my head and throw my body into the river—a threat which was by no means new to me.

This sounded interesting, only the Tibetans forgot that they would have to catch me first! The passes—both the Lippu and the Lumpiya (through the latter of which I had evaded their vigilance on my first journey)—were, they stated, [[44]]strongly guarded. I well knew the contemptible cowardice of the Tibetans, and I took but little notice of these threats; for this time—unlike my first journey—I had twenty men, all of my own selection, and they were magnificent fellows—faithful and plucky to quite an unusual degree.

Red Lamas

In answer to these Tibetan messages to the Government, it is possibly of some interest to notice that the Government of the North-West Provinces in all haste informed the authorities of Taklakot in words to this effect:—

“Mr. Landor is coming to Tibet. Possibly he will enter the country. The Government of India has taken steps to prevent any men accompanying him, also to take away his baggage, provisions, arms, and ammunition. He will enter alone and will be at your mercy. We [the Government] are in no way responsible for his entering Tibet.”

This message surprised me even less than the Tibetan effort. Indeed, I well knew that no one more than some officials of the North-West Provinces wished me dead. You see, I had on several occasions shown them up in a very poor light, and now again I was discovering fresh and most unaccountable misdeeds on their part all along the line. Naturally, I quite understood that it was an [[45]]uneasy conscience and the fear of being exposed which prompted them to act in such a childish manner in order to prevent my seeing what was going on.

The Political Agent, who was constantly receiving orders which he was powerless to carry out, such as arresting me,—which I defied him to do,—seemed in much distress, and to relieve the strain upon him I decided to cross over into forbidden Nepal territory. The British authorities had taken the precaution to warn the Nepalese also that I might cross over their boundary, that my conduct was not countenanced by the Government, and that soldiers must be sent to stop me and possibly capture me. This led to some incidents which gave us a good deal of unexpected merriment.

A guard of Nepalese soldiers was hurried up, and, unaware that it was there, I crossed over the boundary, with our rifles in their cases for protection against the rain, and not at all prepared for war. Two of my men, who carried a rifle each, were a distance ahead. On nearing a small fort and guard-house they were pounced upon by Nepalese soldiers who were hiding behind some rocks, the rifles were seized, and the Nepalese escaped with them into the fort up higher upon the hill. [[46]]

My men ran back to me in a great state of excitement to report the occurrence. We hurriedly prepared a plan of attack, and without losing any time climbed up to the fort. Upon the walls some gaily attired figures peeped over, brandishing kukris and a few obsolete rifles. I could hear them behind strengthening the hastily barricaded door. An officer peeped over and asked what we wanted.

Tibetan Man spinning Wool

“I want my rifles back.”

“Your rifles are not here. We have already despatched them to Katmandu” (the capital of Nepal).

“Very good. If you do not return my rifles within two minutes we will come and get them ourselves.”

“We will fight you.”

“All right.”

Pounding with big rocks and by the aid of a wooden lever we got the door loosened, and while the garrison’s attention was directed to prevent our entering that way, four of my best men and I climbed over the wall on the opposite side of the fort and covered the defenders with our rifles. I demanded that they should lay down their weapons or I would shoot. After some indecision, most of them did. The others, especially one who fired at [[47]]us, got a severe pounding and were disarmed by my men, who had now all entered the fort.

We ransacked the place, and eventually recovered the captured rifles, after which we bade the Nepalese a respectful salaam and proceeded on our way.

“But,” humbly put in the trembling Nepalese, “you cannot travel on Nepal territory. It is forbidden to foreigners, and I have orders to stop you.”

“Very well, do it!”

“I cannot,” he meekly mumbled, as he rubbed aching bruises he had received in the encounter. “But,” he said, “I will follow your movements.”

“Oh, you can follow any movements you like, but mind you do not come too near.”

“Oh, no, no, sahib!” he exclaimed.

The guard, in fact, followed us for some days—and always at a most respectful distance—until we got high up among the snows and glaciers. Then we lost sight of them. Anyhow, I had no further annoyance all through my journey in Nepal, and found the few natives we saw quite attractive, picturesque, and kind.

After leaving the fort we travelled practically south-east over very rough country, my objective [[48]]being to visit and if possible climb one of the Lumpa peaks which towers in a majestic needle above most other mountains in the neighbourhood. Every now and then, when we got to some higher point of vantage, we got a beautiful view of it. My men—to my astonishment—received my plan with enthusiasm, for they seemed to hold the snows in veneration. Little they then knew how much they would have to suffer upon them.

In that portion of North-West Nepal the population is sparse and somewhat mixed. Perhaps the finest and most interesting types I saw were the cross-breeds of Shokas and Nepalese, which seemed to produce most striking heads. One of the coloured drawings representing a typical Nepalese-Shoka young man, with temples shaved and long wavy hair hanging down his back, is, I think, a good example. These men had very fine traits about them, were most hospitable and civil, manly and serious in manner. They were enterprising traders, carrying on a brisk business mainly in borax, salt, wool, and skins, which they generally bartered with Tibetans in exchange for grain, ghur, and other food stuffs.

A Nepalese Shoka

It is rather interesting to note that whereas similar frontier tribes on neighbouring British soil [[49]]are imposed upon, taxed and ill-used by Tibetans, no interference at all is experienced by those living under the protection of the King of Nepal. Possibly this is due to the fact that when Nepalese subjects have been ill-used in Tibet an armed expedition has been sent over the frontier by the Nepalese, and reparation demanded and obtained at once.

Nepalese women are not unattractive, having large brown eyes, made additionally languid by blackening the lower lid, long eyelashes and well-cut features, skin of a well-polished, smooth, light-yellowish brown, and most graceful hands and feet. The better class are generally much decorated with heavy silver necklaces, bracelets, and rings, and with huge nose-rings of gold, brass, or silver. They are handsome while young, but they fade away at an early age, and the smooth skin becomes wrinkled and grooved long before they are thirty. They are said to be most affectionate, and of a somewhat jealous temperament, which they couple with extreme conjugal fidelity.

In Western Nepal the hair is worn in many little plaits festooned on both sides of the forehead, and a head-cover, white, yellow, or red, such as is seen in India among Hindoo women, is usually worn.

The women have comparative freedom, and [[50]]seldom are they seen completely veiled. Sati or suttee, the widow’s self-sacrifice by throwing herself upon the flames which have cremated her dead husband, is now forbidden by law in Nepal. It is, nevertheless, indulged in to some extent in districts far away from the capital.

Nepal is principally known to English people as the country from which, by a special agreement, we draw recruits for our Gurkha regiments. It should, nevertheless, be borne in mind that not all people living in Nepal are by any means Gurkhas—far from it. We find in Nepal a great variety of types—some pure enough, others distinct mixtures of two or more races.

The Gurkha district proper lies in the north-easterly portion of the Gandak basin, the chief city being Gurkha, some fifty-four or fifty-five miles to the west of the Nepalese capital, Katmandu.

Formerly Nepal’s sovereignty extended over Kumaon, which we have already traversed, as far as the Sutlej River. The Nepal kingdom, as it stands now, is an elongated tract of country—mostly mountainous—some 500 miles in length, and less than 150 miles in breadth at its widest points. As everybody knows, it is situated on the southern slopes of the central Himahlyan range, [[51]]and borders with Tibet on the north, Kumaon (North-West Provinces) to the west, the Kali River, as we know, forming the boundary; the North-West Province and Bengal to the south, and Sikkim to the east.

Nepal is divided into three natural zones by high ranges with peaks rising from 25,000 to 28,000 feet, these ridges shooting off southwards from the main Himahlyan range. The eastern zone is drained by the Kosi River, the central by the Gandak, and the Western by the Gogra. To the above should be added what is called the Terai and the thickly-populated Nepal Valley, which, geographically, must be classed separately. Formerly Nepal was divided into twenty-four principalities in addition to the Gurkha kingdom, but since the invasion by the latter of the entire country they have been divided into five provinces—viz. Gurkha, Malibam, Palpa, Pokra, and Khachi.

In the space at my disposal I cannot enter into the history nor go into a detailed description of the many tribes which inhabit Nepal, but generally speaking, in the aboriginal stock a Mongolian origin is evident, particularly in the population of the central zone, where recent Tibetan influence is marked; but this is not the case with the [[52]]inhabitants of the lower region, who seem to have descended partly from a mixture of an earlier Tibetan and Aryan source. Perhaps among the most prominent aboriginal tribes we should mention the Magars, Gurungs, Newars, Sunwars, the Khambas or Khambus, and Yakhas (the latter two closely resembling Rais), the Yakthumbas, Murmis, and Lepchas. Then in the forests of Western Nepal we find to this day wild tribes of Chepangs and Kasundas.

A Nepalese Lady

In the Terai district live the Tarus, a servile and ill-shaped people of no great strength of character; in the eastern zone we have Limbus, a name which practically includes Kirantis, Ekas, and Rais—a people of apparently Tibetan origin, flat-faced, beardless, and with long unplaited hair, who wear wide trousers and a short jacket instead of the long coat of the Lepchas.

The central zone, from which most of the recruits for the British Gurkha regiments are drawn, is inhabited by a small but strongly built, warlike, and plucky people, the Magars and Gurungs, the Magars being in their turn subdivided into six distinct tribes, of which the Thapa tribe is the most numerous. Both the Magars and the Gurungs—who are somewhat taller and more [[53]]stoutly built than the Magars—although of marked Mongolian characteristics, are by religion Brahmins, but have no sort of strong caste prejudices such as one finds, for instance, in India. Gay and simple-minded, with hearts of gold, faithful and obstinate to an extreme degree, independent in themselves yet loyal to their friends or employers, fond of fighting and possessing the courage of lions, these fellows make wonderful soldiers indeed. Perhaps in many ways they are not unlike the Japanese, both in appearance and temperament, except that the physique of the Gurkha is the superior of the two.

In the Valley of Nepal—or Nepal proper—we find mostly Newars and Murmis. The Newars, who claim to be the aborigines of the Nepal Valley, are in many ways not unlike the Bhotias or Shokas, and in many of their customs and in their habitations show a marked similarity to those tribes of Mongolian descent. Their language resembles Tibetan, and their religion is a modified form of inherited Buddhism. The Newars are much given to agricultural pursuits, and they do not display so prominently the fighting qualities of the Magars and Gurungs. On the contrary, they seem to devote all their energy to art and trade, of which [[54]]they seem to have the entire monopoly in Nepal. The Murmis resemble Bhotias even more closely than the Newars. They are subdivided into two classes—the Barathamang, which is the most numerous, and the Atharajat.

Katmandu, the capital of Nepal and residence of the King and Government, lies in this valley, and is a city of great size and some beauty.

The Terai is inhabited by a poor, sickly-looking race called the Tarus, malarial fever being rampant in their district, while wild beasts abound in the jungle. They seem to be a poverty-stricken lot with a wretched physique—although endowed with astounding strength and powers of endurance. They divide their time between fishing, agriculture, and hunting wild animals.

Now comes the western zone, which is entirely inhabited by non-Gurkha tribes, such as the Doti and Jumli (the Doti’s country being south of the Jumli’s), as well as by wilder tribes, such as the Chepangs and Kusundas, the former being very similar to the Raots or Rajis of Kumaon. Then there are minor Hinduised tribes generically known as Parbatiyas (or hill men). [[55]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER VI

The religion, customs, manners, and fashions of dress of the various tribes composing the population of Nepal vary to quite a considerable extent, and I have here not the space to go into them fully. But I will quote a few.

The Brahmins differ little from their co-religionists of India, except that they are not so strict in the observance of prejudices; the form of Buddhism practised closely resembles that of Tibet. Superstitions are rampant, both among Brahmins and Buddhists, and of course even more so among the wilder tribes.

The Gurkhas, on the occasion of the birth of a child, indulge in rejoicings for eleven consecutive days, the father being restricted to the company of his relatives only. On the eleventh day a name is given to the offspring. The child is suckled by the mother for a comparatively [[56]]short period of time, when a festival and dinner are given, the child being made to swallow a grain of rice from each friend.

Marriages are, as in India, arranged at a very early age, sometimes when children are not more than six or seven years old, the betrothal taking place a year or two before. Widows cannot marry again, but a widower can. Divorces can be obtained in some tribes, by somewhat simple methods, but fidelity is one of the chief virtues of Nepalese women, and it is seldom that separation takes place. Besides, divorces are a very expensive luxury. Moreover, an unfaithful wife may find herself in prison for life, whereas the co-respondent is handed to the mercy of the husband, who is expected to “chop him up” in public with his vicious-looking kukri. They say that the offender’s life may be spared if he submits to crawl under the husband’s leg, raised for the occasion, a most humiliating alternative seldom accepted.

As in India, among Brahmin tribes, a great many misdeeds of vanity or breaches of caste-rules are forgiven on payments in cash to the priests, or the giving of the usual feast and feed.

The custom of shaving the head, moustache, [[57]]and eyebrows in sign of mourning at the death of near relations is followed by the Brahmin tribes, and the body of the deceased is buried and not cremated. Several non-Brahmin tribes, however, cremate their dead.

The Gurkhas who are recruited for the British army are nearly all Magars and Gurungs, they being considered the best fighting material. Members of the Khas tribe are enlisted solely for the 9th Gurkha regiment. Recruiting parties are sent out from every regiment which recruits for itself, and these bring down their recruits to the dépôt at Garakpur. Here a primary medical inspection takes place, and clothing is issued to the men before they are despatched to their future corps. They wear a dark green uniform with black or red facings, and are armed with Martini-Henry rifles, a bayonet, and a kukri.

The Gurkha Brigade consisted in 1899 of the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 9th, 42nd, 43rd, and 44th Regiments. The first five regiments have two battalions; the 9th, 42nd, 43rd, 44th are single battalions. There are eight British officers to each battalion (plus some others attached), a medical officer, and sixteen Gurkha officers.

The men are, as a rule, excellent shots, fond of [[58]]sport of all kinds, and passionate fishermen and shikaris, knowing instinctively and intimately the habits of most animals. They are hardy, cheery, and willing to obey, but detest “nagging.” They are devoted to their officers and proud of their corps; and, taking things all round, possibly they may be put down as the most loyal native troops we have in India. They know no fear. If an orderly were by chance to leave an officer dead or wounded, either in the field or out on a sporting expedition, he would lose his caste, be generally boycotted, and very likely killed by his comrades.

The Gurkhas are inveterate gamblers and fond of all games, showing great quickness in learning British games, at which they become quite proficient—football particularly.

They are superstitious beyond measure, good or evil spirits playing an important part in every day’s occurrences. Thus astrologers find plenty of remunerative occupation in predicting events and showing how to propitiate certain demons rather than others.

A Nepalese Woman

A curious feature of these fighters is their tender affection for flowers. Indeed, there are many tender strings to the heart of a Gurkha. They are devoted to their families, and most gentle and suave [[59]]in their home manners. They are jealous of their women, whom they do not beat nor usually turn into beasts of burden like the natives of India, and they show great pride in displaying their women-folks loaded with jewellery from head to foot. The women are quite pretty, cheery, and do not exhibit the affected shyness of the women of the Indian plains, for instance.

One of the most notable features about a Gurkha is the marvellous skill with which he handles his heavy-bladed kukri. It may be said that from the days of his childhood, since as soon as his little hands become strong enough to lift one, he is never without one; hence, when older, he is very adept in its manifold uses. With one of those knives Gurkhas can cut a buffalo’s head off at one stroke; and they can make fairly good shots, at considerable distance, when throwing the kukri. They can use it in such delicate work as shaping a toothpick or sharpening a pencil. With it they chop firewood, and use it freely as a cooking utensil.

When going bear-hunting they wind a blanket round the left arm and carry a loaded stick in the right hand, the kukri being held between the teeth or thrust in the girdle in front. When the bear gets on his hind-legs to close with them, they hit [[60]]him on the nose (being the tenderest spot), and, before he has time to recover from the pain and astonishment, they polish him off with their knives.

They delight in the company of tame animals, such as dogs or birds. They are fond of smoking and drinking—and they can stand a lot—a fact which makes them great chums with British white soldiers. They simply adore Tommy Atkins, especially if he be a Highlander or a rifleman, and they delight in his company; but they show the utmost contempt—racial and general—for the natives of India. Their unbounded conceit is easily forgiven and counterbalanced by their extreme truthfulness and honesty, especially when first recruited.

A Typical Native of N.W. Nepal

Many Gurkha regiments have for some years taken up the system of training a few picked men of good physique and sight, and of unusual agility and sporting instincts, as recognised scouts. They are clad more lightly than ordinary soldiers—generally in “cut short” football knickers. Besides the scouts’ duty of discovering the enemy’s strength and position, they are also used as sharpshooters, and specially instructed for stalking “snipers” at night. When in India I had the pleasure of [[61]]inspecting the scouts commanded by Lieutenant G. Kendall Channer, of the 1st Battalion 3rd Gurkhas, and I was much impressed by them and by the business-like qualities of the officers and men. [[62]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER VII

At the village of Chongur in Nepal I was able to purchase some extra blankets and shoes for my men, as from this point we should soon come among the snows, where we should remain for some time. Up to an altitude of 11,000 feet we travelled among firs, and on very sharp, slippery slopes without a trail. On a bit of level pasture-land we came across two Jumli annuals or shepherds with some sheep. They were curious types, wild and unkempt, with shaggy hair flowing upon their face and shoulders. I do not think that I have ever seen men more abruti—to use a French expression which fits them perfectly—than those two. Shivering from cold, ill-clad, living on roots and whatever they could pick up, which was not much, they were indeed the very picture of misery and wretchedness. When they had recovered from their fright at our approach, I gave them some food which would last [[63]]them some time, and their gratitude knew no bounds.

Farther on we met a Nepalese woman carrying a child slung in a basket upon her back, while the husband walked peacefully behind. When the camera was pointed at the couple they were so disturbed that the woman dropped basket and child and took to her heels down a most precipitous slope, while her better half ran away from us, also full speed, but on a less dangerous route.

Farther on, as we got higher up, we encountered more shepherds, in as pitiable a condition as the first we had seen, having nearly lost their power of speech through leading a lonely life among these mountains. They all suffered from fever and rheumatism; some from goitre through drinking snow water.

The marching was very heavy, especially for my men who carried loads; my pony, of course, had to be abandoned long before this, and I had sent him down to lower elevations in charge of my sayce.

We were now nearing the magnificent Api Mountain, and we soon came to the moraine of the glacier. We reached the glacier—which I named the Elfrida Landor Glacier—at sunset, and it was indeed a most beautiful sight with its huge walls [[64]]of clear ice in irregular terraces, portions only being in broken-up heaps. At the sides, mud of a greyish colour and broken ice bordered the worn, eroded rock down to the level of the valley where the glacier lies.

The glacier lies from N.E.E. to S.W.W., with two high peaks, one to the N.N.W., the other to the S.S.E., the latter being known as the Api Mountain. Two snow-fed streams descend from the glacier, and, joining into a rapid torrent, become a tributary of the Lumpa River. The natives call all these glaciers by the generic term Sho-gal, or “snow glacier.”

Elfrida Landor Glacier, Nepal

The village of Chongur could be distinguished in the far distance to the N.W. of us, down, down below in the valley of the Kali; and to the N.N.W. we obtained a panoramic view of the Kuti River valley, with the conical Bitroegoar Mountain and a high peak to the N.N.E. Even below 13,000 feet the vegetation had become very sparse, but patches of short grass were found up to 16,000 feet. Above that all was absolutely barren, and generally covered with snow. In the high valley we had followed, whatever trees we found were weather-beaten and half-burnt by the snow and cold winds of the winter months. For long distances we occasionally [[65]]walked on thick beds of wild strawberries. These high valleys are considered good pasture-land by the Shokas, who send their sheep for grazing in charge of annuals, such as those we had met.

The foot of the glacier where we pitched our tent was at an elevation of 13,900 feet, and the temperature shortly before sunset not higher than 33° Fahrenheit.

Perhaps to those who have never slept on the ice of a glacier it may be interesting to know what it feels like. Barring a certain chilliness which anybody can imagine, a first night on a glacier has many surprises. I say “first night,” because we spent a great many, and we got accustomed to the weird noises which kept us awake and in some suspense on the first visit. Indeed, a Himahlyan glacier seems to be the home of noises of all kinds. The wind blowing among the pinnacles and recesses produces weird melodies like solos and immense choruses of human voices; you can hear shrill whistling all round you when sharper blades of ice cut the current of air, and roars like those of wild beasts, only stronger, when the wind penetrates into some deep cavity. No sooner were you closing your eyes again for a much-wanted sleep than thunder, so loud that it made you jump, startled [[66]]you, but when you peeped out of the tent there were brilliant stars and a limpid sky everywhere above you. Sleepy as you were, you could not resist—at least, I could not, and I am not much of a star-gazer—the temptation to gaze at the stars and planets. In the rarefied and limpid air they showed like huge diamonds, and gave quite enough light to see all round one, even when there was no moon. Indeed, no one who has never been to exceptionally high elevations has an idea of the beauty of stars. They appear several times larger than they do when seen from London or Paris, for instance, and the magnificence of their ever-changing colours is indescribable.

Well, there was poetry enough in that, but you were soon awakened from your contemplation by some unexpected explosion which made you think the whole landscape before you must have been blown up. But no, there were no visible signs of commotion around. It was merely a new crevasse, some hundreds of feet deep, splitting, for some reason, climatic or other, in the ice. Constant rumblings you heard, near and distant; and you only had to close your eyes and you could imagine yourself in a forest with the wind rustling among the trees, or the pleasant sound of a waterfall close [[67]]by, or an æolian harp being played by a divine hand.

Echoes, of course, there are by the dozen on mountains, and each sound is repeated over and over again till it fades away. An occasional boulder gets loose from the rotted rock up on the mountain side, and is precipitated with bounding leaps on to the ice of the glacier; a huge one weighing some tons came down that night and missed our tent by not very many yards. My men said the spirits of the mountains were doing all this for our special benefit, to see whether we were brave or not! The big boulder they had flung at and purposely missed us to show us their powers, but not to hurt us. This was a good sign. “The gods are with us,” they stated; but internally I heartily prayed that we might have no more “good signs” of that nature.

While I was trying to make some hot chocolate with a small spirit-stove, my men were busy packing up, they bearing the discomfort with some considerable pluck. We had not been able to make a fire, and we had not the prospect of seeing many for some weeks to come. I always found chocolate the most useful and sustaining food for mountaineering purposes, and I carried any number [[68]]of tablets in my pockets. On the march I constantly ate it; food, I found, keeping one’s strength up and being more easily digested under those circumstances, if spread in small quantities over the entire day, than if eaten in large quantities twice or three times a day at given hours. I had my chocolate specially prepared with a percentage of meat and fat, which gave it additional nourishment. For days and days at a time I lived on chocolate only, it being impossible to cook food, and deeming it rather dangerous to eat tinned meats cold.

Funnels in the Moraine Ice

I was able to overcome the caste scruples of my men, and they, too, partook freely of my chocolate, although I never let them know that it contained beef. Had they known this, most of them would have lost their caste. They ate it because they believed it entirely prepared by machinery and not touched by unclean hands!

I was sorry when we struck camp and left behind the beautiful glacier and Api Mt., 19,919 feet. We soon rose over a pass (13,050 feet) where we obtained a view of a second glacier, almost as fine as the first, in precipitous terraces, and with a gigantic terminal moraine, covered in great part by débris and rotten rock, fallen from [[69]]the mountain at the side. This I called the Armida Glacier. It spread in a direction from N.E. to S.W. To the west of the glacier on the mountain side there was hardly any snow up to 16,000 feet, but to the east, as one looked towards it, there were huge masses.

The entire valley of the Lumpa river along which we were travelling made part of a gigantic glacier, with side glaciers such as those we have seen. In the lower portion of the valley the ice was covered with débris.

At the foot of the Armida Glacier were some immense parallel crevasses in the ice. The upper portion of these was a mixture of dark grey mud and rock embedded in the ice, showing vertical streaks and corrugations. Then there were some curious pits in the moraine, such as the one shown in the illustration, funnel-shaped and of great depth, some 60 feet deep and more, and about 100 feet in diameter. These funnels, cone-shaped, had a great fascination—quite an irresistible attraction—when one looked into them. The ice, of a beautiful light green colour, was corrugated into grooves converging towards the centre at the bottom, where a deep hole was generally to be found. The ridges of the myriads of grooves [[70]]reflected in a line of silver the rays of the sun, and these many dazzling luminous streaks all converging towards one point had quite an hypnotic effect on some of my more highly strung men. One man became quite giddy in looking down, and very nearly went over, and several other men experienced a strong desire to precipitate themselves into these pits.

The Armida Landor Glacier, Nepal

I puzzled my head a great deal to find out exactly how these funnels were produced, and the only plausible explanation seemed that some boulder fallen from the mountain side had, owing to its sun-absorbed high temperature, gradually bored a hole into the ice. The walls of the cylindrical hole, becoming in their turn exposed to the strong sunlight, went through a process of melting, the heat affecting the upper portion to a much greater extent than farther down, where the strength of the sun’s rays would be mitigated by the influence on the temperature of the air by the surrounding ice. Thus the quicker melting of the upper portion compared with the lower would at once have a tendency to produce the conical shape of the funnels.

Then, of course, the grooves in the ice are produced by the water of the melting surface ice [[71]]flowing down. In fact, in the daytime, the lower centre hole, which had vertical walls, was almost invariably filled with water.

Perhaps, to avoid the absurd criticisms of fault-discovering critics (which criticisms arise merely from their own appalling and fantastic ignorance), it may be as well to remind the reader that the sun’s rays, even at very great elevations and among quantities of snow and ice, can be very powerful—85°, 90°, and even more. This particularly if the region in which one is travelling is, as was that where we were, in a latitude north of 30° 4′ 0″ only from the Equator. Naturally, the drop in the temperature when the sun disappears is enormous, from 60° to 100° being nothing very exceptional. This also applies in a lesser degree between the sun and shade in the daytime. When marching, for instance, due north or south in those regions, it is not unusual to have one’s anatomy roasting on the side where it is struck by the sun, and to be half-frozen on the other side.

We continued our journey upon the moraine of the main glacier, avoiding as much as we could the dangerous cracks and treacherous holes. Half-way up the main glacier we were at an altitude of 13,600 feet. On descending some 400 feet we [[72]]came to a plain wherein grew rhubarb and some turnips, the former wild, the latter planted by Nepalese shepherds. There were, in fact, three tiny shelters of stones and mud where the poor wretches had lived. We were much rejoiced at finding some shrubs we could use as fuel. The glacier we were leaving behind was separated from this valley by a high dune of mud and débris.

After crossing a stream we came to a third, the Martia Glacier, some 15,500 feet above sea-level. This glacier was not quite so impressive as the other two, but it was, nevertheless, a most beautiful basin filled with masses of clear ice in irregular terraces. A great moraine extended here across the valley from the glacier, forming a ridge which we had to climb in order to proceed on our journey. There seemed to be traces of iron in the débris of the moraine as well as in the rocks of the mountains around, and upon the gigantic boulders which had been shot down upon the ice.

On the opposite side of the Lumpa stream to the one on which we stood, just before reaching the third glacier, were high vertical rocks of brilliant colouring. To the south-east of the glacier at the foot was the usual dune, and we again found a great many gigantic pits, all with water at the bottom. [[73]]

We came to a very dangerous crevasse which we could not cross, and we had to make a considerable detour. The edge on which we had got seemed on the point of giving way, and might have collapsed at any moment. Where the surface ice was covered by débris it showed graceful undulations and well-rounded mounds, but occasionally there were higher hillocks of conical shape and quite pointed.

Still travelling upon the moraine of the Lumpa Glacier we arrived at last at the spot where the Lumpa river has its birth, dripping gently from the glacier. Here, too, the ice with the overlying débris showed in its general lines the peculiar sweeping curves noticeable in all these glaciers, the section to the east being, in this particular glacier, an exception to the rule, and exhibiting a disorderly mass of débris and huge blocks of ice.

We had reached a point where a bifurcation occurred, one arm of the glacier extending to 160° bearings magnetic (S.S.E.), the other and principal one to 120° bearings magnetic, towards the Lumpa Mountain.

We selected this spot to make our camp, and a very cold camp it was, too. We pitched our tent alongside a big rock, and with fuel we had brought [[74]]up, tried, after sundown, to make a fire inside the tent in order to keep ourselves warm. But we were nearly suffocated by the smoke. During the night, while my men were asleep—and the fire gone out—I changed the plates in three magazine cameras, forty-eight plates altogether; a job which with semi-frozen and trembling fingers, and careful packing of negatives already exposed, took me the best part of two hours. Indeed, one of the great tortures of exploration in cold climates, is the immense care with which one must nurse one’s surveying and other instruments under most adverse circumstances, and the inexpressible trouble which photography, if done seriously, involves. For similar kind of work I always found plates infinitely more reliable than films; but, of course, with them the use of a red lantern becomes imperative, and often leads to the use of a good deal of bad language. If you adopt an oil-lantern the oil gets frozen into a solid mass, and it is somewhat troublesome to keep the lantern burning, whereas candles have other disadvantages. As for feeling the film side with your fingers, and changing plates in the dark, it is, of course, out of the question when your hands are too cold.

Author’s Camp, Nepal

Maybe another hint when mountaineering at [[75]]great altitudes will be useful to you. Never use a waterproof sleeping-bag, such as those you see advertised and recommended, as the very thing you want on a mountain. If you do, and the night is a cold one, you will find yourself and your blankets soaked in condensed moisture from the heat of your body coming in contact with the cold waterproof sheet, through which it is unable to escape. Of course it is wise to use a waterproof sheet to lie on under one’s blankets.

On that particular night, feeling extra cold and not thinking of consequences, I wrapped myself up, over my blankets, in a waterproof. The results were disastrous. Everything got drenched, and, when I got up, blankets and clothes became solid sheets of ice! [[76]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER VIII

Having seen that all my instruments were in good condition, I selected about a dozen of my strongest men to accompany me on my ascent on one of the Lumpa peaks. It had been sleeting and snowing during the night, and when I roused my men shortly before five in the morning there was a thick mist which seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of one’s bones. With chattering teeth and a chilly nose, we got all things ready, and brewed a parting cup of hot tea, after which we set out on our errand, the other men remaining to take care of the camp.

Every now and then the wind cleared the mist, and we could see a bright, clear sky above us which gave us hope that we might have a fine day. I am not a believer in early rising; as a rule eight or nine o’clock is my favourite hour for starting on a [[77]]march, when the sun is already high above the horizon. You then start off in comfort, instead of waking with an angry feeling that you are being done out of some hours’ sleep. On this occasion, however, we had such a long distance to cover, and in all probability troublesome and dangerous marching before us, that I wished to have as many hours of daylight before me as possible.

No sooner had we started, following the main glacier in a direction of 120°, than a thick fog set in which made progress somewhat troublesome. It seemed to get thicker and thicker as we were rising higher upon the glacier. We had to find our way among numerous pits and crevasses. We kept as close together as was practicable, but we were not roped together. It has ever been my rule when mountaineering that every man must look after himself. I take all sensible precautions to avoid all accidents, and collective accidents in particular. If there has to be a mishap, which is not likely, and some unfortunate man slips into a crevasse, do not let him by any means drag down the whole party, as is frequently the case when roped together. Besides, the rope in itself is a great hindrance to one’s progress, and on very rough marching exhausts much of the traveller’s strength, [[78]]being either too tight or too slack, and always getting in the way when it should not.

One of the Lumpa Peaks and part of the Charles Landor Glacier

This picture shows how feathery clouds form on mountain slopes at elevations above 23,000 feet, and disposes of certain scientific theories that no clouds can exist at such great altitudes.

We tramped along as best we could over a great many transverse waves of ice, covered here and there with débris—most fatiguing work. In the first portion of the main glacier, on which we were, and which lay from W. to E., the transverse waves followed a parallel direction of N.W. to S.E. until we reached an altitude of 15,000 feet with a temperature of 42°; but in the upper part of the glacier, which lay from N.W. to S.E., these parallel waves lay in a direction of from S. W. to N.E. In the higher portion of the glacier, 15,400 feet above sea-level, we came to a regular maze of huge pits in close succession, and we were glad when the sun shone brightly on us and little by little dispelled the fog, so that we could see what we might expect ahead of us.

On our left we had precipitous mountains of grey rock; on our right somewhat gentler slopes, mostly covered with snow. We at last reached the crescent-shaped Lumpa basin, walled all round with two higher peaks joined by a semicircular high barrier of snow-clad rock.

We were particularly fortunate as we approached. The mist lifted like the curtain of a theatre and [[79]]unexpectedly disclosed a magnificent view before us, brilliantly illuminated by the light of the sun. I was lucky enough to obtain several excellent photographs and sketches, one giving a panoramic view of the scene being reproduced in this book.

I possess some negatives taken on that occasion that are of particular interest, as showing the idiocy of certain people who maintain that clouds do not form above an altitude of 20,000 feet. The very fact that you find snow up to the summits at Nanda Devi (25,660 feet), and Mt. Everest (29,000 feet), might, I think, be sufficient proof to the contrary to any one except possibly a Royal geographer; but in my negatives the clouds themselves show as they were forming on the summit of one of the Lumpa peaks, which has an elevation of 23,490 feet.

A few negatives of lesser importance were injured owing to a most uncommon occurrence. In my magazine camera the plate-holders were of metal, and slid one on the top of the other when being changed for exposure. Owing to the dryness of the atmosphere the friction of metal on metal produced an electric spark inside the camera, which marked some of the plates across like a streak of lightning, and somewhat fogged them. [[80]]Of course, I only discovered this on developing them.

My object in making the ascent of this high peak was not so much for the sake of getting there as for the purpose of making some observations on the effects of great altitudes upon human beings, a subject in which I was then rather interested. We continued climbing upon the glacier until we came to a big stretch broken into huge and tortuous crevasses of immense depth. When you stooped over the edge and looked down, the ice-walls on either side showed most beautiful tints, from intense blue at the bottom fading in most delicious tones to pale green and to the pure white of the surface snow. These crevasses were very wide in some places, but here and there they were close together, and we could easily jump across.

Deep Crevasses in the Glacier Ice

We then left the glacier, and proceeded climbing along the mountain side to our right, upon extensive snow-fields. The first portion of the ascent was in no way difficult, and we proceeded quickly enough considering the great elevation. But on reaching 20,000 feet some of my men were taken with mountain sickness, and they had great difficulty in keeping up with us. They bled considerably from the nose, and were eventually seized [[81]]with such violent pains that we had to leave them behind—to be picked up on our return. Out of twelve men only four were still in good condition, and having seen to the comfort of the sick men we left them, wrapped up in their blankets, in a sheltered hollow upon the mountain side.

We next came to a patch of very troublesome loose débris, so steep that even snow would not stop on it, and we sweated and sweated for some time trying to get on. Every time you took a step you started a mass of débris, sliding with a great roar down the mountain side, and you went sliding back yourself almost to where you had moved from.

When we managed to get higher we were among bigger rocks, also quite loose, and it seemed as if the sound of one’s voice was sufficient to start dozens of them on a bounding race for lower elevations. We were resting for a while when a lot of these stones came rolling and bounding towards us with great force, and on the loose stuff upon which we stood it was impossible to get out of the way quickly. One big rock particularly came bounding down in such an erratic fashion that we saw its approach with some concern. One of my men, in whose direction it seemed bound, [[82]]shouted for help and tried to get aside, but he was hit with great vehemence in his legs and sent flying some feet into the air. He was much shaken and bruised, but after some rubbing and thumping he was able to continue.

Rocks of all Sizes rolled with great Force down the Mountain Side

When we were about to leave the débris we witnessed a most attractive sight—a sight which, nevertheless, caused me considerable anxiety for some minutes. It was the birth of an avalanche. Some snow having got loose higher up upon the mountain, it began rolling down in little balls, thousands of them, which got bigger and bigger as you were looking at them, owing to the snow they collected on their precipitate career. The avalanche passed in a furrow only a few yards from us, affording a magnificent view; but this furrow, unhappily, led to the very spot where I had left my sick men, down, down below, and we could see them, as big as ants, lying wrapped in their red blankets on the white snow, unconscious of the approaching danger. The myriad of snowballs, which were no bigger than ping-pong balls when they started, were as big as decent-sized buildings when they had gone some hundreds of yards, and when two of them clashed in their descent it seemed like an explosion of a mine, the scattered [[83]]snow in powdered form being thrown up to a great height and looking not unlike smoke. The hollow, whirling sound as the avalanche whizzed past was quite impressive, and I must confess that I was never so relieved as when I saw it just miss my invalided men down below, and end its run with a great clash upon the glacier at the bottom. It seemed like heavy thunder when it struck, which was echoed for some minutes in the mountains all round and down the passage through which we had approached the glacier.

When we reached the crest of the range we came to a difficult passage where the rock, just like the blade of a knife, was so sharp and its sides so steep that even the snow would not remain on it. We had to get across somehow, and the only way to do it was to balance oneself on the top of it—less than a foot wide—or, if one’s head was not steady enough, proceed astride of it. It was only a few feet long, but the drop, had one fallen, was several thousand feet on either side. Apart from the fact that it was so high, there was no real difficulty in getting across, and, panting and blowing, stopping every few feet for breath, we proceeded higher and higher.

My men were suffering considerably, their hearts [[84]]beating in a most irregular fashion with occasional violent throbs, which caused me much anxiety. These throbs, when they occurred, caused such sudden exhaustion that the men fell down half-fainting, and it took some minutes to revive them and bring them further. They were, however, most plucky, and struggled like men, uncomplainingly. They never once asked to give in and go back.

From an altitude of about 22,000 feet their sufferings took a somewhat acute form, nausea and profuse bleeding from the nose causing them much inconvenience. They complained of intense pains and abnormal pressure in the centre of the chest as well as along the fissures in the skull, particularly where the skull is thinner on the top at the point of junction, and at the temples; also of a severe pressure low in the back of the skull. They were much worried over the maddening buzzing caused by the rarefied air, which they heard and could not explain. They attributed it to something having got inside their ears. Their hearing was temporarily affected when we got higher still, and they experienced difficulty in hearing me speak at all.

The Birth of an Avalanche

When we had got to 23,000 feet, my nose, too, [[85]]bled like a fountain, and I could not stop the flow, but, contrary to my expectation, it seemed to cause me relief rather than discomfort. I could breathe more freely, and my heart did not beat in such a reckless manner as before. It caused me a slight pain and pressure on the top of the skull, but nowhere else.

Of course the exhaustion was indescribable. It was all one could do to go four or five yards at a time, although the ascent after a certain point was in no way difficult, because on looking at the mountain I had instinctively chosen the easiest way to go up. One panted so convulsively and the heart beat so hard and quick that it rather made one reflect.

Possibly the most trying consequence of travelling so high up was the weight which one’s limbs seemed to assume. One hardly had the strength to lift them up. The effort of moving one’s legs in succession three or four times exhausted one temporarily as much as if one had walked thirty miles under ordinary circumstances.

Well, on we struggled, with an occasional grin at our plight. The last few hundred feet of our ascent were indeed hard work.

One of my men, the strongest-looking lad in my [[86]]party, who had been panting most terribly and gasping for breath, unluckily burst a blood-vessel when we were within a few feet of the top. He was in intense pain. We screened him in a sheltered nook. He suffered very much, poor fellow, and although on our return we brought him down again, he eventually died.

A Perilous Crossing

At last we reached the summit—23,490 feet (measured by me with the hypsometrical apparatus with three different boiling-point thermometers checked at the Kew Observatory before my departure and after my return. Two excellent aneroids which I also carried gave a similar figure within a few feet).

The day was a beautifully clear one up there, but down below there was much mist and many clouds, which took away a good deal from the beauty of the panorama. There were, however, a great many high snowy peaks towering above the mist like majestic white islands rising out of the sea of clouds. The view was soon almost entirely obscured by clouds, and with the exception of Api Mt., to the N.N.W., another peak, 20,280 feet, in Nepal, peeping through to the N.E. of us, one of the Lumpa group and other mountains close by, we could see very little. [[87]]

The peak on which we were was in a steep gradient on the side on which we had climbed, but was most precipitous on the other side. In fact, it was almost vertical right down to the glacier at its foot, some 6500 feet below. It looked as if one half of the mountain had at some remote period collapsed, leaving the sharp-edged peak standing. There was not as much snow on the top as lower down, as the wind blows a good deal of the surface snow away, some melts with the heat of the sun, and the slope of the mountain, even on the side we had climbed, being somewhat steep, whenever sufficient snow had accumulated on the top its weight caused it to slide down in avalanches. Even the day I went up we counted some five or six avalanches in various parts of the mountain, but none came quite so near as the first I described.

The rock was exposed in one or two places, and was so rotted that with our fingers we could remove large slabs. When we had taken a good rest, which restored us wonderfully—as soon as you sat down and did nothing you felt well and relatively happy, except the lungs, which seemed not to work quite so regularly—we took advantage of the rock at hand to construct a cairn on the [[88]]summit. After having inscribed the names of my men and my own on a stone and on a piece of paper, we placed them in a receptacle on the south side of the cairn and built them up all round and above, so that they might be preserved as long as possible.

I then proceeded to take all the necessary observations—not, however, before having devoured two whole pounds of chocolate, which I ate with some snow to allay my thirst as well as my appetite.

I had been consuming on that ascent a great many lozenges of highly concentrated meat,—each one was supposed to be as good as a meal,—and I ate at least fifty in the space of eight hours and a half. I suppose they were sustaining, but you had to eat lots of them for one lozenge to sustain the previous one, or they left an awful feeling of emptiness in one’s inside. An empty inside, I firmly believe, is a mistake for reaching high elevations, or at any other time, so I had started with my pockets full of chocolate, and what the lozenges could not do the huge chunks of chocolate I chewed all the way up the mountain certainly accomplished.

I think it was partly due to the constant [[89]]nourishment I took all the way up that I was able to break the world’s record in mountaineering, going several hundred feet higher than other mountaineers, with comparative ease. Had the peak which we climbed been higher, I could have gone even higher and reached a considerably greater elevation. But perhaps Nature gave me quite an abnormal constitution for work of that kind, as people who know me can testify.

It is interesting to note that the strongest and most athletic-looking man in my party on that particular expedition was the only one who broke down badly and died; and the weakest, smallest-framed—almost girlish in appearance, he looked so delicate—was the only one out of all the followers I had employed who throughout stood the hardships and sufferings without a flinch, showed the greatest endurance, and eventually returned home in excellent condition.

Perhaps I should also mention that neither myself nor any of the men who came up with me wore hobnailed boots in making the ascent, I wearing some comparatively light boots of medium weight such as I would wear in London on a wet day. In the way of clothing, too, I made no difference between going up on a world’s record-breaking [[90]]expedition and taking a stroll down Piccadilly. I mean that I wore my Piccadilly clothes up there—clothes of the thinnest tropical material, no underclothing to speak of, a straw hat, and a small bamboo stick in my hand.

It has always been my practice to simplify everything. One cannot get away from the fact that the simpler you are in everything you do the better, and with mountaineering particularly, the less you carry, the less muffled up you are, the freer in your movements, the more you will accomplish. That is to say, if your constitution is so made that you can stand it.

I cannot get away from the fact that one can do no better than wear such comfortable clothes as one is generally in the habit of wearing, and I could never understand the object of parading in clumsy tweeds strapped all over, when you need your movements as little impeded as possible.