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THROUGH UNKNOWN TIBET

Montagu S. Wellby

THROUGH
UNKNOWN TIBET

By M. S. WELLBY
Capt. 18th Hussars

The Kushok's Cook.

ILLUSTRATED

LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 1898

[All rights reserved]

TO
OUR BROTHER OFFICERS

PREFACE.

In publishing the following account of a journey across Tibet and China, it has been my object to describe in a simple manner all that I did and saw from beginning to end, in the hope that some future traveller may learn, not so much what he ought to do, as what he ought not to do.

Those who have experienced the charms of a nomad's life, will, I trust, be once more reminded of happy days of freedom, will sympathise with us in our difficulties, and share the pleasures which they alone can appreciate. Should others, by chance, find some little interest in perusing these pages, and be tempted to taste for themselves the sweets of wandering through little known lands, they will be recompensed for doing so, and I shall have found my reward.

To those who patiently read to the end and close the book with a feeling of disappointment, I would appeal for leniency. Begun as it was at Lucknow, amid the distractions of polo, racing, and field-days, continued at Simla, India's summer capital, and finished in the wilds of Waziristan, it can lay no claim to literary or scientific merit, but only to being a plain story plainly told; and as such I give it to the public.

For the chapter on the Mohammedan rebellion in China, my thanks are due to my friend Mr. Ridley, of the "China Inland Mission," who lived in the very midst of the scene of trouble, and who kindly allowed me to make every use of his notes. They are likewise due to Sir Claude and Lady Macdonald, whose kindness and hospitality in Pekin can never be forgotten, and lastly, to those three faithful ones who stuck to us through thick and thin.

The names of Duffadar Shahzad Mir, Lassoo, and Esa Tsareng—known throughout as "Esau"—will always call to my mind three men without whom this journey could never have been accomplished, and in saying this I know that I am also expressing the feelings of my companion, Lieut. Malcolm.

M. S. WELLBY,
Capt. 18th Hussars.

Waziristan,
November, 1897.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

LIEUTENANT MALCOLM.

THROUGH UNKNOWN TIBET.

CHAPTER I.

PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY—MALCOLM GOES ON AHEAD.

About the beginning of March, 1896, whilst the Inter-Regimental Polo Tournament was being held at Umballa, an occasion when representatives of regiments from all parts of India are gathered together, Lieutenant Malcolm, of the 93rd Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, and I, agreed to join forces in an expedition through Tibet. Our resolve was to traverse the northern portions of this little-known country from west to east, to find out, if possible, what mysteries lay beneath the word UNEXPLORED with which alone our latest maps were enlightened; furthermore to discover and locate the source of the Chu Ma river, which was supposed to be a source of the Yangtse Kiang; finally to cross the Tsaidam and end up our wanderings at the celestial capital of China. During the few weeks that remained before we should be able to take our leave, we were unfortunately quartered at different places many miles apart, consequently all our arrangements had to be carried out by post and wire. It was towards the end of March when we left our respective stations of Nowshera and Umballa. I remember well the mail train to Rawal Pindi one bright morning gliding from the latter station past the well-known grassy maidan, then worn to a dirty dusty brown by reason of the morning tramp of small mixed armies, and by the equally keen and destructive work of numerous polo players during the latter half of the day.

On occasions like this, the thought quite naturally arises in one's mind, "Is everything here? Has my faithful bearer left anything behind?" Let us see what was with me in the carriage. In one corner lay my rifles; these consisted of a ·308 with Martini-Henry action, and 300 rounds of ammunition with Jeffery's split bullets, a sporting carbine with 200 rounds, a shot-gun with 300, and a couple of government cavalry carbines with 100. These latter we brought not in the hope of using, but rather to lessen the chance of a skirmish with any natives showing hostile intentions, by merely making a display of them. The knowledge of a caravan being well armed and equipped, however small it may be, is very often a battle half won amongst unsophisticated inhabitants of little-known countries. The other rifles, for game, we selected chiefly for their handiness and the lightness of the ammunition, although a double-barrelled express may be equally or more destructive. All the ammunition was placed in government tin-lined wooden boxes, with rope handles.

Here, too, were our scientific instruments: A three-inch theodolite and stand, a six-inch sextant, three aneroid barometers, a hypsometer, maximum and minimum thermometers, plane table and stand, prismatic compass, and field glasses. Besides this we had a drying press for flowers, skinning knives, with alum and arsenical soap, a butterfly net, and a kodak; also the best map of the country we could lay our hands on, and a few stiff books, such as the "History of the Indian Empire," where the dullest mind and imagination can find unlimited food, for there are times on trips of this description when bad weather or illness may prevent outdoor progress, and the brain will at once cry out for an innings. Close by lay a despatch box and medicine chest, containing, for man's ailments, quinine, Cockle's pills, chlorodyne, auberge for colds, antipyrine, antiseptic wool, vaseline, and kola nut, the last named being particularly useful, for a small piece the size of a pea has been known to sustain strength and energy at the most urgent times; there were also mustard plasters, which are always effective for sticking on natives of any uncivilized country, Tibetans themselves being especially partial to this kind of medicinal adornment. For the mules and ponies, whose chief and probably only ailment would be the suffering from sore backs, we carried sugar-of-lead ointment and cyona. There lay, too, a small chair, a bundle of warm blankets and waterproof sheets, and a box containing twenty chain hobbles with bolt screw. We had learnt from Bower, who had crossed Tibet some five years previously, that one of the greatest delays was caused by the straying of the animals at night-time, and against this annoyance we were resolved to protect ourselves. These were very simply made. By way of a portable kitchen we had laid in a box of cooking utensils, consisting of some steel degchies and a frying pan. The stores were placed in six boxes, each weighing about thirty pounds, and made up principally of tea, cocoa, Lazenby's soup squares, Brand's essences, candles, matches, some sardines and bully beef, with three bottles of good brandy. In the luggage van were also two government cavalry saddles, with carbine bucket, wallets, and wooden stirrups, for we had been led to believe that the cold would be intense, and that metal stirrups would probably produce a frost-bite. Lastly, though more precious, was my little fox terrier, Ruby, so full of life and spirits at starting, yet in happy ignorance of the undeserved fate that overtook her some seven or eight months later.

Unlike many Indian trains, where, too, the fashion would have suited me far better, this particular train landed me punctually at Rawal Pindi at 2 a.m. Despite this unearthly hour and the drizzling rain, I was a little surprised to find my special tonga awaiting me, though it proved insufficient for carrying all the luggage. Leaving my little terrier to take charge of this, I embarked on to a wooden springless box, pulled by a mule, and steered for the nearest serai, in hopes of being quickly able to find an ecka. Here I squeezed through some bars of the large wooden gates which were supposed to keep out night intruders, and any sleeping inmate who lay in the various rooms I prodded with my stick, and demanded an ecka. None of these, however, at such an hour, would accede with any kind of willingness to my proposals. Some absolutely refused to awake, while others who did, strongly objected to being roused and to helping me. The only arrangement that would suit any of these men at all was, that twenty-five rupees should be paid instead of the proper fare of eighteen. In that case, and providing that my luggage was brought to the serai, and that there were not too many things, they agreed to start for Baramula when they felt inclined. Bribes, threats, and even blows were of no avail, and finally, being opposed by superior numbers, I retreated, and sad to say not gracefully, for I had to squeeze through those bars again. Another ride in the box brought me to a second serai, where I luckily fell in with a choudrie, who produced an ecka with so stout a pony that he reached the station before I could in my mule box. Here the ecka was loaded and sent on in advance, shortly to be overtaken by my tonga, for a tonga will cover the journey of 160 miles to Baramula in two days, while an ecka takes about five. The only difficulty that arose this morning was the constant jibbing of the horses, and had they not the providential dodge of repeatedly collapsing and lying down, I should undoubtedly have rattled down some open precipice. Despite this delay, I reached the well-known hill station of Murree for 10 o'clock breakfast. From here the road was heavy, and had not some gangs of long-suffering coolies, who were working on the road, come to our assistance, the tonga would be there now. That evening we reached Domel, where a tumbledown shanty had supplanted, for the time being, a well-built bungalow which had recently been washed away by heavy rains and snow. In one respect this was an ill-chosen spot to spend the night at, as the horses had to be taken away for shelter some three miles off, I was told, and to induce natives to bring the tonga ready to start by daybreak was as difficult as to squeeze blood out of a stone.

CLUB OF NORTHERN INDIA, MURREE, IN SNOW.

By 7 o'clock, however, we were once more rolling along in dripping rain, with the everlasting but somewhat monotonous roar of the river Jhelum below us, so that it was a decided relief to stop for breakfast, even at an inn like that at Chagoti, where I could hardly mount the slippery steps that lead up to the entrance, benumbed as I was by wet and cold, and cramped from several hours of the same position, for the constant downpour prevented any stretching of legs when changing horses at the various stages. In somewhat heavier rain we journeyed on through slush and mud, and arrived at Baramula about sunset. It was my intention to have embarked here at once on to one of the river boats and reach Srinagar as quickly as possible. But darkness and rain, and an inviting light from the adjacent dak bungalow dissolved these plans, and I was soon ushered inside by a Kashmiri, by name Mahomed Malik. This man was to be our cook on the expedition; he was armed with several letters of recommendation, amongst others from Curzon and Littledale, and had doubtless travelled over a great portion of Asia, and we vainly congratulated ourselves on having managed to pick up a servant with so much experience. I was struck, too, by his pleasant appearance, his quiet yet quick and business-like way of doing things, little knowing at the time that he had at heart no real intention of accompanying us, but merely of buying the articles required for our expedition, and persuading us to buy a great many unnecessary ones, in order to reap a small fortune from the transaction.

VIEW TOWARDS FIFTH BRIDGE, SRINAGAR.

From experience gained on this trip and on others, I prefer servants of all descriptions, with the exception of guides pure and simple, to be men who have made no previous journeys. Although the possession of letters explaining what good men they have been on previous journeys is a useful recommendation, still it can never guarantee what they will be like. Many of them, after receiving liberal and well-deserved pay for their services, become inflated with their own importance and vainly think that no expedition can manage without them. Besides, men of this description are far more expensive articles than the fresh and keener man, anxious to make his first essay. It is hardly worth while, too, to quote the proverb about the fish and the sea. The following morning, I found myself being towed up the river towards Srinagar, fairly sheltered from the incessant rain by the matting that forms a roof to these boats, or doongas, as they are locally called. The water was thick and brown, no view of the famous snow-capped peaks or pine-clad mountains could be seen, all was obscured in damp dreariness, and my thoughts fled back to those I had left to enjoy the sunny plains below. Nor was there any more inducement on the morrow to slip out from between the blankets and admire the wonderful scenery of these parts. I continued to prolong the night until my boat was suddenly boarded by one of the chief agents of Srinagar, a member of the Sumud Shah family, so renowned for their Jewish appearance and ways, and for their partiality in buying and selling all kinds of goods, and for lending or borrowing money to any amount in any shape or form. There was a second invader, a moment afterwards, by name Ramzana, who was a chapliwalla, or seller of chaplies, which are shoes made of leather and straps, and are worn by most sportsmen who shoot in Kashmir; besides these he sold everything that man's imagination could conceive as being made of leather, but, it should be added, of an inferior kind. They brought with them some large brass plates loaded with white almonds, sweets, and dried currants, and placing them beside my bed as a friendly initiative to business, began to ramble on, with beaming faces, about the superiority yet cheapness of their own goods, and of their eternal willingness to provide me and my friends who might come to Kashmir with them, at all places and at all times.

A MERCHANT'S HOUSE IN SRINAGAR.

About midday the clouds began to lift, and having lightened my cargo of these persevering Jews, I decided to take a muddy walk and finish the last eight or nine miles on foot. Part of the way lay along the Baramula and Srinagar road, along which tongas should certainly be able to ply the following year, and if the many heaps of flints that were lying alongside were beaten down into the road itself, there is every chance of its being able to withstand the traffic. On either side, too, was a row of dwarf poplars, or "pruss" as they are called by the Kashmiris, beautifully planted in line at about a yard interval, doubtless helping to make the drive pleasant and shady enough.

MOHAMMEDAN MOSQUE, SRINAGAR.

By the river side were men breaking up between two stones black, spikey nuts called tinkara; these are gathered from the bottom of the river, and the outside appearance belies what lays hidden beneath, for they are rather good eating. About dusk, Sumud Shah's shop came in sight, and having climbed up the steep stairs into his showroom, which overlooked the river with its many opened windows, I was surrounded and made much of by numerous Sumuds, each of them inquiring amongst other things whether I carried any banknotes, and if so, whether they might take care of them for me. Soon afterwards they produced dinner, composed of about a dozen plates holding different coloured messes. Fortunately Malik came to my assistance and brought a mutton bone, and certainly saved me from an illness. I was glad to escape from so much civility and hospitality and descend the stairs again and wend my way to my bedroom, which was airy enough, for three sides could only be described as windows of perforated wood, whilst the fourth held two doors and no wall.

HINDU TEMPLE, SRINAGAR.

The first thing I learnt here was that, if I wanted breakfast at 8.30, it must be ordered for 6 o'clock, which lesson saved me a vast amount of trouble and impatience in doing all other business in Srinagar. My second lesson learnt was to believe nobody, however sincere they might appear to be, for these vendors are for ever plotting and scheming against one another for the sake of gaining the merest trifle, and many of them, who are seemingly bosom friends, are in reality the most unscrupulous enemies, and vice versâ. My time was spent in bargaining and purchasing goods from men of this description.

It was our intention here to have collected, if possible, some good mules and ponies for transport, and send them up to Leh, which would be our starting-point. But the route was at this time of the year impassable by reason of heavy falls of snow. All our transport, therefore, had to be bought in Leh itself. There was plenty to do at Srinagar, nevertheless, in fitting out the expedition in other ways, and in endeavouring to pick up some muleteers, as it is not always easy to pick up good men at Leh to accompany one on a trip of this description.

One day I visited the Tibetan serai which lies a little lower down the river, to see whether I could get some Yarkandi saddles for our mules, although it seemed rather ridiculous to purchase these before the animals. I was under the wrong impression that they were not obtainable in Leh. They are made of coarse grass or reeds, covered with sacking, with soft munnah over the part that rests on the animal's neck and shoulder, costing from eight to ten rupees each when complete. They have the advantage over the wooden saddle, as mules can roll with these on their backs, and they are, besides, easily repaired, and can have holes cut into them, or otherwise shaped, so as to relieve any pressure on the tender part of a sore back.

Whilst engaged in getting these saddles mended up, I fell in with a man called Tokhta, who was clever at shoeing, and as he seemed willing to come with me I at once engaged him. He was a Yarkandi man, and had travelled in Turkistan.

ON THE RIVER, SRINAGAR.

It is a great saving of time and trouble on the march to have loads so arranged that they can be easily loaded and unloaded. Most of the things were therefore placed into yakdans, which are light boxes about 2 ft. × 1 ft. 3 in. × 1 ft., but can be made to order in other sizes. They are covered with leather, and fitted on the outside with a pair of buckles and stout leather straps. Our beds, too, were composed of yakdans, with two iron sockets in each, to hold two iron rings. Into these were placed the two bamboo poles that held the bed. These yakdans can be bought cheaper, stronger, and lighter at Peshawar. I also bought 120 sets of shoes with 1,000 spare nails, and shoeing tools for the mules and ponies, and for our followers four maunds of rice (a maund equals about eighty pounds), a maund of dal, thirty pounds of tea, salt, pepper, curry powder, and hot spices. In the shape of presents we bought watches, pistols, knives, rings, and some saffron which is made from the dried stigmas of the Crocus sativus, and is highly esteemed as a dye by the Tibetans, especially by the Lamas. A few days later, Malcolm joined me, bringing his share of stores, etc., and together we bought the warmest clothing we could find, underclothing of lambs' wool, thick woollen socks, double soled and heeled, thick puttoo suits, fur-lined caps and cloaks, and fur-lined sleeping bags. We wore the regulation infantry ammunition boots. For shelter we bought five tents, all double twill lined. Two of these were for ourselves, one for our cook and servant, one for our sub-surveyor, and one for the muleteers. These were small and light, and the whole of them would not have equalled more than a mule load. I have seen some tents lined with warm cloth such as puttoo, but this is not so effective in keeping out a keen wind as the closer-woven twill. We found iron pegs answered our purpose, excepting when the ground was too sandy; on these occasions we used to tie the ropes to one of the handles of an ammunition box or yakdan.

DUFFADAR SHAHZAD MIR, 11TH BENGAL LANCERS.

One morning, in the midst of making these preparations, there was a sudden rush and hullaballoo, for a fire had broken out in some adjacent buildings, and I was invited by many excited vendors to go and visit the scene. The police station was in flames, and thousands of natives were engaged in passing up from hand to hand chatties or small earthenware pots from the rivers edge, whilst the bhisties or water carriers were running madly about in every direction with their skins full of water. The police, who had lost their wits, were idle onlookers, but standing on a brick wall forty feet high was a fine muscular man wielding a massive beam, with which he was beating the roof of the burning building, with what object it was impossible to say. I was nevertheless struck by his courage, and inquired who this hero might be, and felt somewhat anxious for his safety; but when they told me he was my dhobie, or laundress, my fear for him was lost in the greater anxiety for my clothes which he had only that very morning received, and I at once took steps to get him to a safer footing, and left the fire to burn out as it pleased. With Malcolm came one Shahzad Mir, Duffadar, 11th Bengal Lancers, a man who had travelled before with Captain Younghusband, and who had done work on the Pamir Commission. He was a great addition to our party, chiefly as a sub-surveyor, and was keen on the job. Through him I was enabled to pick up another man called Shukr Ali, who had also been with Captain Younghusband. He was a tall, dark fellow of cheery countenance, and was anxious to make a little money to support his family living somewhere in Ladakh.

SHUKR ALI.

During all this time we received every kind of assistance from the Resident, Captain Trench, who presented us with a huge watch-dog called Tippoo. Tippoo unfortunately had to be chained up day and night, for when allowed to go loose he invariably seized on the first native who came in his way. In consequence of this imprisonment he quickly became footsore when compelled to march, and took up a new home with the first Nomads we came across.

On April 5th Malcolm left me at Srinagar to complete the arrangements and to wait for the passport, about which there had been so serious a hitch that it seemed doubtful whether we should be able to start on our journey at all. He left with a small flotilla of three boats to carry some fifty coolie loads of luggage, together with Shahzad Mir and Tokhta, who bade many farewells, mingled with callings to their god, to the large crowd of friends gathered on the shore to see the start. It was calculated that on the following day they would reach the village of Gunderbul, lower down the river, and from thence collect coolies and ponies and make their way to Leh, the capital of Ladakh, and the starting-point of our expedition.

CHAPTER II.

BALTAL—LEH—I REJOIN MALCOLM—THE CHINESE PASSPORT ARRIVES.

Five days after Malcolm's departure, that is, on the 10th April, news reached me that the passport would shortly be forwarded; upon this I at once embarked with the intention of reaching Leh as soon as possible after him. All things had to be settled up before leaving, and Shukr Ali was installed as cook for the journey instead of Malik, who had declined to go but had produced his bill. Amongst the items mentioned in it was an iron brush, which at first was a puzzler, but after all it turned out to be not such a bad name to designate a "rasp." His last request was that I might give him some more backshish, for he said he had not even made a single pie out of the numerous articles he had bought for us! The following morning, awaking in the boat, I found we had arrived at Manasbal, where three ponies and ten coolies sufficed to carry the remainder of our luggage, and we were soon wending our way up the glorious Sind valley. The morning was still and close, with small light clouds resting on the hills, while a fine haze enveloped all which might have augured a bright summer's day or the reverse. After fourteen miles Kangan was reached, where our transport was changed for seven fresh ponies, and the village of Goond, another fourteen miles, that same evening soon after dark. Although no provisions were procurable at that time, I found shelter under a shed wherein to put up my bed, but sleep was a failure, as my two dogs Tippoo and Ruby saw or imagined they saw a stranger every moment and barked accordingly. Rain poured all the next day, so that I could not push on further than to Gagangir, and was glad to find a house there made of mud and wood to rest in. It would have been very hard for the coolies to have toiled further that day, as the road for the next six miles led through deep snow, where, too, avalanches were feared from the mountains which rose precipitously from either bank of the stream we should have to follow. I therefore made the best of a halt, and having purchased a sheep for two rupees and a hen for seven annas, made a royal repast. The next day, after a wet march, we reached the region of snow, and put up at a small hut at Sonamerg. This place, although consisting of only a few small wooden huts, nevertheless boasts of a state telegraph and post-office. From here the road was deep in snow, upon which locomotion became more difficult every hour. I stopped for the night at a place called Baltal, well known to the many readers of Knight's interesting book, "Where Three Empires Meet." Here I found that two officers had taken up their abode, having pitched their tents inside one of the stone and wooden buildings, the one of course which admitted least snow and water. There they were seated, with big boots, ulsters, and umbrellas, and had been practically in this position for the last three days, and in every likelihood would remain there for a good many more; worse than that, it was probable that I should be added to the party. I did not envy them when they boasted that they were the oldest inhabitants of the place. The coolies lay together for the sake of warmth around small fires beside the buildings, having to take turns to sally forth and collect the wood.

THE GLACIERS, SONAMERG.

Baltal lies at the foot of the Zoji La pass, and these men had not any wish to attempt to cross it while the weather was stormy, for avalanches at such times are most dangerous in those parts, and they were warned by the death, only ten days previously, of two post runners. There seemed, indeed, small chance of starting on the morrow as I sat down to enjoy a much appreciated dinner given me by these two old inhabitants. As I retired for the night we were, therefore, surprised and rejoiced at seeing once again some stars, and still more did we rejoice when, at 6 a.m. on a perfectly clear, still morning, so refreshing after the last few days of storm and darkness, the three of us, leading the caravan and followed by some sixty coolies, began the ascent of the pass. It was certainly hard work for these poor fellows, who, with a load of some fifty or sixty pounds, had to climb over the masses of snow, the result of the recent avalanches, and make a road for themselves, when, as often as not, at each step they sank up to their waists, all, too, for the small prize of four annas! Although the journey to the top of the Zoji La was only about two miles, we took three hours to get there. That day we were twelve and a half hours in marching sixteen miles to Metaiun, having made a short halt at the small posting place of Machahoi. At night I found a small hut eight feet square, but was forced to wait outside in the cold while my dinner was being cooked, for in this abode there was no exit for the smoke whatever, and suffocation might have resulted had I remained inside. From hence we journeyed on through the snow to Dras, taking again nine hours to do the fifteen miles. At this important stage, provisions, fresh coolies, and all manner of things can be bought, and letters can be had at the post-office if they have arrived; but on this occasion none had been received for five days, at the end of which time the news of the death of the two post runners was corroborated. From thence fresh coolies were to carry the loads, and the poor fellows who had done the work for the last five days were dismissed to return to their villages in their own time. This journey, too, they had done most pluckily and cheerily, over mountains deep in snow and a pass over 11,000 feet high, amidst almost incessant falling snow or rain, with no adequate shelter at night time, all for two and a half rupees apiece! At this small sum, too, they expressed much pitiful delight, for it was a rupee in excess of their real fare.

FIRST SIGNS OF BUDDHISM BEYOND LEH, AT MULBECK.

The fresh relay of coolies carried my baggage in two more days to Kargil, passing through Tashgam, a pretty little spot with a small plantation of willows, but the beauty of the place was somewhat marred by the snow that still lay about. At Kargil there is good accommodation, and supplies are plentiful; there are, too, some little nondescript shops. Thenceforth ponies replace coolies for carrying the baggage, each pony carrying a load of about 150 pounds. From Kargil the road ascends the hills and leads over rolling ground, while the adjacent hill tops become rounded, and the general appearance of the country is somewhat dreary. After twenty miles, the village of Mulbeck is reached, where one first sees the small monasteries of the Lamas perched on some pinnacle, and the piles of flat stones with their sacred writings, called mānés. From this point the road became heavy, owing to the mud, and soon after midday we came to the village of Kharbu, where I learnt that further on the mud was yet deeper and thicker, and on the rising ground I found the snow even worse. About five o'clock I arrived at another small village at the foot of a pass. Here the men demanded a halt, for they said it would be impossible to cross it that evening. Despite their earnest entreaties and clasped hands, I decided to push on. Soon after this darkness set in, before even we had reached the summit, and a biting wind, with driving snow, made our progress slow, so that at one time I almost regretted not having paid attention to their supplications. Just as we were about to begin the descent, one of the baggage ponies completely gave way and collapsed in the snow. This necessitated a redistribution of the loads, many moans and groans, and very nearly resulted in some frost-bites.

In darkness we stumbled down the mountain side, inwardly hoping that no other pony would collapse. As soon as we had descended low enough to be free from the clouds of driving sleet, we were helped by the faint light of the moon, and eventually at a late hour arrived at Lamayuru. Fatigue and a short night's rest disinclined the men for another early start, although the march from this place is perhaps the finest and most pleasant of any. The road follows a winding stream running merrily between grand massive cliffs and rocks, till at Khalsi it crosses the River Indus, where a small native guard is maintained, thence through Nurla on to Saspul. From here I had resolved to reach Leh in one day, so instructed my factotum, Shukr Ali, to urge on the ponies as fast as possible. This he certainly did with such a will that in four hours we had reached Nimo, while none of the pony drivers were able to keep pace; consequently at Nimo the ponies were without masters. Here we again changed animals, and starting on ahead of the loaded ones and mounted on a rat of a pony, about sunset I first gained sight of this redoubtable Leh. The first conspicuous object was the Lama monastery, and quite naturally too, for, as usual with Lama monasteries, it was perched on a hill of commanding position, while Leh itself, at first appearance, looked small and insignificant. With my goal in sight, I was not long in finding a way through the narrow winding paths, past the missionary quarters, to the rest bungalow, having been twelve days on the road. Here Malcolm was waiting for me, having arrived two days previously, and we at once set about buying our mules and ponies and in collecting our muleteers, for at present we had only Shukr Ali and Tokhta. We were told by every one that at this time of the year it would be most difficult to buy mules, so we were extremely fortunate in falling in with a merchant who had lately arrived from Lhassa, and who was willing to sell us fifteen. Although they were not in as fat a condition as they should be at the commencement of a journey, they were nevertheless hard, and formed the nucleus of our transport. Besides these, we were only able to pick up seven other mules, one here and one there, and were compelled to be satisfied with ponies for the remainder of our transport. These we found in no way equal to the mules for an expedition of this kind. If ponies have to be taken, the best are those which come from the district of Lhassa. Of these we had two, while the rest were Ladakhis.

BRIDGE OVER THE SURV RIVER AT KARGIL, ON THE ROAD TO LEH. BRIDGE ON CANTILEVER PATTERN.

In Leh three distinct kinds of mules are obtainable, namely, Yarkandis, Ladakhis, and Lhassa or Chang Tanis; of these the former are by far the most taking in appearance, and are mostly very big, standing 14·2 to 15 hands. They are, however, unfitted for a long journey when grass is likely to be scarce, and only a limited quantity of grain can be carried. The majority of these mules are black in colour. The Ladakhi mules are mostly brown; they are generally extremely hardy, able to stand great cold, and to do a lot of work on inferior food. Unfortunately they are hard to obtain, as only a very small number are bred, and some are too small to be much good. The best of all are the Chang Tanis, bought in Leh; the very fact of their being there shows that they have been able to perform a long march with loads on their backs; they require little or no grain, and are very hardy. Yarkandi merchants, as a rule, give their mules loads of 200 lbs. to 240 lbs. and about 4 lbs. of grain daily; the Lhassa merchants put about 160 lbs. on their backs, and, when grass is plentiful, give no grain. Altogether we mustered twenty-two mules, costing on an average 129 rupees each, and seventeen ponies at about sixty-one rupees each. All of them we branded on the hind quarters to guard against any attempt at fraud after the purchase. In collecting these animals and our men we were assisted by Lala Bishan Dass, Wazir of Leh. He also helped us in many other ways, and as he spoke excellent English, matters were somewhat simplified. Besides the two men already mentioned, namely, Shukr Ali and Tokhta, we impressed into our service six other muleteers, four of them being Argoons, who are really half-castes, arising from the merchants of Turkestan making short marriages with the Ladakhi women; also two Ladakhis and one Yarkandi. Besides these eight men and our sub-surveyor, Shahzad Mir, we also took as servant a Ladakhi named Esa Tsareng, whom we simplified into Esau, and refer to him afterwards by that name. This man had for some little time listened to the doctrines of the good missionaries of Leh, but eventually had reverted again to the Buddhist religion. For all that he proved himself throughout to be a most faithful servant and a useful and clever man, for he could read and write the Tibetan characters. We had one other follower, an Argoon named Lassoo. He was a very neatly made little man, cheery at all times. Besides being an excellent cook, he was also a first-rate muleteer, tailor, barber, carpenter; in fact, there was hardly any capacity in which he did not shine.

SHAHZAD MIR AND OUR TEN MEN.

The muleteers soon gave evidence of what sort of men we had to deal with. They were an avaricious lot of fellows, and in a body refused to come with us under twenty rupees a month each, and this amount in actual wages we were unwilling to give, for we learnt that former travellers had paid men of this description fifteen rupees, and we were anxious not to be accused by those who might come after us of "raising the price." Promises of high backshish to all good workers carried no weight with such men, till at last we dismissed the whole crowd of them. At this stage of our preparations the chances of our ever starting at all looked decidedly black—we had no men and we had no passport—still more so when we were informed that there were no other men in Leh who would go with us. Being thus cornered and time most precious, we were in the end most reluctantly obliged to take them at their own price, and having discovered in other ways the class of men we had to deal with, we inwardly reflected that the only way to meet with success would be to humour them in all they wanted, and we foresaw that if we acted otherwise no headway would be made. We also agreed to give them per diem two pounds of flour, rice, or parched ground barley, one chitak (equal to two ounces) of butter carried in skins, one-fifth of a chitak (equal to one tola) of tea, besides the curry powder, spices, salt, and pepper already mentioned, and meat when procurable. We also gave them warm clothes and boots, money to buy more, and cooking utensils. We took in all for our ten men and Shahzad Mir nine maunds of flour, four of barley, four of rice, one of dal, sufficient, providing there was no robbery, to last them nearly four and a half months. Having so far bought our animals and enlisted our men, we at once set to work to fit out all these animals, so as to be able to carry the supplies. The twelve smallest mules were provided with wooden saddles, while the remainder wore the palans; to each mule were three ropes, two for tying on the load and one spare. Each mule, too, was provided with headstall, nosebag, and picketing rope. To equip each animal in this way cost us about ten rupees a-piece. As regards food for our animals, we made sufficient bags to carry eighteen maunds of grain and twenty-eight maunds of bhoussa, or chopped straw, both of which we should be able to buy some marches out of Leh, and also at Shushal on the Pangong Lake, which we were told would be the last point where we could obtain supplies. We reckoned that on an average each animal would carry 200 pounds. Of course, some of the mules were equal to nearly 300 pounds, whilst it would have been unwise to put more than 150 pounds on some of the ponies. Thus engaged, we continued to buy our goods and superintend the work and preparations, still anxious in regard to our passport, which had not yet arrived. Amongst other things, we had to see to the cold shoeing of our ponies and mules. On the 27th April everything was in readiness to start, and we decided to send forward our caravan on the morrow slowly with easy stages under the command of Shahzad Mir as far as Shushal, twelve days' march from Leh, whilst we ourselves would wait a few more days for the passport, and follow afterwards on hired transport, making two or three marches a day. On the evening before their departure, it was arranged that a nautch should be given in the rest bungalow compound, to which entertainment we were not only invited to come, but were also requested to subscribe and provide refreshment for the performers in the shape of spirits; it ended in our giving the show and their coming to it. In front of the bungalow was a small green, and in the centre of this a pile of bricks was erected to hold a number of burning logs; on one side and a few yards from this, seats were placed for ourselves, with men standing with lighted torches on either hand of us; opposite us were the local musicians—would that they had been placed at a greater distance off! On the two flanks, the inhabitants of Leh arranged themselves in several rows with the front ones sitting. Directly on our left was the well-nourished Munshi Palgez, master of the ceremonies, who, squatting on the ground with a low bench in front of him to hold the refreshments, superintended the distribution of the chang, the meat, and the chupatties.

The show commenced with half a dozen women, dressed in gay finery and bangles, moving in slow time around the fire, keeping pace together in the varied waving of their arms and swaying of their bodies. After this, each man in turn came forward and displayed his own special dance; some were of gentle mood, whilst others were frantic in their actions, and apparently dangerous with a flashing sword. The real fun was only reached when one of our own retainers, named Usman, doubtless bent upon celebrating his last evening at Leh, began his wild and lively dance. In the midst of his performance, suddenly stooping down, he seized the large pot of chang from under the very nose of the stout and all-important Palgez, who, having enjoyed every luxury of life without interruption for many years, was very nearly ending his days on the spot from mere fright at this piece of uproarious conduct. Yet Usman, not satisfied with this mirthful deed, began to dance more wildly than ever, swinging the well-filled pot at arm's length around his head, besprinkling all the onlookers with the intoxicating liquid, till finally, being tackled by some stout men from the crowd, he was thrown heavily to the ground, and disarmed of his dangerous weapons. After this unexpected burst we retired, leaving the entertainment to wear itself out.

CHINESE PASSPORT, ONE AND A HALF FEET SQUARE.

On the morrow, the day fixed upon for the departure of our caravan, several delays occurred; some small item was always found wanting by these dilatory men. So anxious were they to delay their departure till another day, that it was nearly 3 o'clock before we could give the signal to open the gates of the serai and let out the animals, where they had been fattening since we had bought them. Thereupon there was a mighty rush, and on reaching the main thoroughfare of the bazaar, where crowds of inhabitants had gathered to view the departure, terrible confusion ensued. Some discarded their loads altogether, others rushed madly into any open door or alley that came in sight, and as they were collected, loaded, and driven on again, the crowd grew thicker and noisier. Soon after passing through the bazaar, the road makes a sharp descent, enough to baffle any further following of the crowd, nor were the sorrowing relatives of the men inclined at this spot to accompany them any longer. Here our muleteers bade a fond farewell, little suspecting that this in reality would be the very last for some of them, while a few of the more generous-hearted cast small change to the young fry. We ourselves, after riding with them till more steadiness prevailed, turned our ponies' heads again to Leh. After so much confusion, arranging, bartering, and arguing, we lived in peace and quiet for the next few days, amusing ourselves in taking heights and latitudes, and enjoying the hospitality of the good missionaries, our only excitement being the arrival of the post, with the chance of its bringing our passport. On the 4th May, passport or no passport, our patience had ended, and we resolved to start, for it was not desirable that our caravan should remain many days in an idle state at Shushal. We had no confidence in our men, and felt there was nothing like humouring them in all their wants, but at the same time in giving them no time to think of forming and carrying out any plot that might upset our arrangements and intentions.

MY RED CHINESE VISITING CARD, FIVE INCHES BROAD AND TEN INCHES LONG.

We hired six ponies for our remaining baggage, and ourselves mounted on two others, equipped with Government cavalry saddles, carbine bucket, wallets, and wooden stirrups, with poshteen in front and small suleetah behind, prepared to leave the bungalow. We had just been lunching with Vaughan of the Border Regiment, and Ward of the Middlesex, both of whom had come for shooting; with them we enjoyed the last hospitality, and the last conversation with our own countrymen, we were to have until the middle of next October. "Well," they remarked, as we mounted directly afterwards, "so you are off to Pekin!" "Yes," we replied, "we will start this very moment, and do our best to get there," not that we felt doubtful of our undertaking, for the bracing air, the pure clear skies, the grand and glorious mountains of Ladakh, would inspire any man with confidence and self-reliance. Fortune, too, seemed favourable that day, for at the same moment the postman entered the gate of the compound, bringing our Chinese passport and Chinese visiting cards, the delay of which had cost us all our limited store of patience. The passport gave us free permission to travel through the provinces of Kansu, Shansi, and Shensi to Pekin, and through the New Dominion, at the same time enjoining all whom we came across to assist us and put no obstacles in our way. As we passed the kind missionaries' house, we received a hearty and last farewell, and entering the bazaar rode through it almost unobserved, for none knew of the exact time of our departure, and most of the inhabitants were enjoying repose at that time of day.

CHAPTER III.

FOLLOWING THE INDUS—EGU—WAITING AT SHUSHAL—A WARNING.

It was a warm afternoon as we descended the hill already mentioned towards the River Indus. We felt full of spirits in expectation of the journey that lay before us, for great is the charm of entering an unknown country in absolute ignorance of what lies ahead. We thought perhaps we might be fortunate enough to be about to open up a land rich in minerals or pasturage, or teeming with game, for none could tell us what existed over the border land nor who lived there. We might, too, be instrumental in discovering a new and easy route into China. All these thoughts and many others were foremost in our minds, while the glory of uncertainty and the pleasure of perfect freedom, added to the success we had met with in overcoming all the initial preparations, made our hearts light that day. On the other side of the river we saw the straggling village of Shushot, and at the time I thought to myself what miserable wretches the people must be who live there with no thought of ever going beyond its precincts, such as could never attempt to make a trip like ours, or even dream of it.

On one side of the river we passed by several chortens or monuments, and the village of Shey with its ruined fort, an almost indelible sign of its former importance. This village straggled on into Tickse, which was to be our first halting-place. Throughout this valley we had been travelling, the young grass was just beginning to bud, and we fondly imagined the richer grass we expected to find when we crossed the frontier a few weeks later. In the fields around Tickse, men and women were busily engaged, but ceased from their labour to watch and salute us, apparently glad to see Europeans. On the hills were the houses of the Lamas. We put up at the rest-house and bought two maunds of bhoussa for one rupee and filled three of the bags we had brought with us. We used a patent weighing machine of our own, which, of course, the men of Tickse could make neither head nor tail of, nevertheless they trusted us implicitly, for they said we never cheated, but remarked that if they had had the weighing machine and we had been unable to understand it, they would have done their level best to defraud us of as much as possible. From Tickse we continued to follow the River Indus, or Tsang-po-chu, as it is called in these parts, through a large open plain and still blessed with that fine blue Ladakh sky. After easy riding for nearly ten miles, we came to the small village of Chemre. At this spot there is a road which bends sharply to the left, passing over the Chang La, La being the Tibetan word for Pass. At this time of the year, however, the pass was closed, for the snow was deep. We were therefore compelled to take a more circuitous road but still following the river.

A short distance beyond Chemre is the village of Maserung on the other and left side of the river, and almost opposite Chemre itself is the Hemis nullah, famous for its great yearly festival and still more important gathering every twelve years. The monastery up this nullah can be seen from the other side of the river just after leaving Chemre.

About noon we reached the village of Egu. The people about here and the headmen of the different places we came to had received news of our coming, partly from our imposing caravan having passed through a few days previously, and also through rumour, which in these parts travels in a miraculous way, and, being friendly disposed and anxious to aid us (for they were under the impression that we were tremendous swells), were awaiting our arrival headed by the chief man and his attendants, all ready with their humble salutations. On this particular occasion my dignity had a great fall, for when we had approached within twenty yards of this gathering and were riding up in pomp and circumstance to receive their homage, my pony put his foot into a hidden hole, sending himself and rider spinning on their heads.

I think this unlucky coincidence somewhat damped our lordly reputation, for we had great difficulty in getting sufficient baggage animals after it, and were compelled to take yak, a slow conveyance even compared to ponies at the walk. Over the ground we were about to traverse they never made more than two miles an hour.

After another eleven miles, we came to the village of Sherwos, having about half-way noted the village of Upchi on the other side of the river, a spot worth knowing to sportsmen, for it lies at the mouth of the Gya nullah, so famous for its ovis ammon and burhel shooting. To-day we saw our first game in the shape of a few wild duck.

Anxious to push on from Sherwos, yet unable to get as far as Lickse that evening, for there were two little bridges that had to be crossed by daylight over the river, we determined to make neither of them our halting-place for the night, but to journey on and bivouac when darkness stopped us. It was a grand march, for the river here became very narrow, perhaps only ten yards broad, with a swift and busy torrent rushing through the gorge, while almost from the water's edge arose precipitous rocks some hundreds of feet, the grandeur being magnified by the uncertain light of the moon. At night-time we made our bivouac close by the waterside, and found this cleaner than some of the rest-houses we had of late frequented. From here we crossed two bridges and reached Lickse after two and a half miles, and once more re-crossing the river came to Herma, having come ten miles altogether. Here we changed our yak for new ones, ponies again being very scarce. These were the slowest going yak that ever did work for us. After six miles we passed through the village of Cunjian, as we were unable to change them there. We continued our slow march, a very trying one for these thickly-clad animals. The sun beat down with pitiless vigour upon the loaded brutes as they struggled up and down a narrow stony pathway, completely sheltered from any welcome breeze there might have been. So toilsome became the march that one poor yak carrying the instruments was actually slipping, and would have rolled down the rocky edge to destruction, had he not completely collapsed from exhaustion in a heap on the very brink. It was some time after dark before we could find a place called Gya to stop for the night, having only come eight and a half miles in six and a half hours. Here was a little cultivation, and just room to pitch tents, but no village close at hand wherefrom to get any supplies.

From here for seven miles the road is bad, stony, and hilly, and at this distance the village of Kera lies on the other bank of the river. One mile further on our yak were once more replaced by new ones at the village of Yakiki. On paying the drivers of the last lot of yak, we gave them eight annas each, that being their correct pay, yet to our surprise they showed much delight at receiving what was only due to them. This was probably owing to the fact that the few sportsmen who go up there for shooting allow their Kashmiri shikaris to pay these yakmen, and these latter being of timid and simple nature are afraid to complain, and are probably threatened with all sorts of punishment should they dare to tell the sahib that only half the money has been given them. After leaving this place the gorge becomes broader, and the road in consequence improves.

At six and nine miles we passed the villages of Ni and Keisir, and at the latter place were met by the Lama of Chumatang. Although this man was of portly mien, and mounted on a stout pony, he was kind enough to agree to an exchange of animals. Two miles further on we saw the village of Tiri on the other bank of the river, and a little later reached Chumatang. Supplies here were plentiful enough, and we took up six bags of bhoussa, a sheep, flour, and milk. The people were simple, kind, and ready to help us in every way. We had intended to change animals again, but, as sunset was close at hand, it was arranged that, to save time in changing the loads, we should drive on our own yak till darkness, and that the good people of Chumatang should bring on the animals we were to have the following morning, as well as some donkeys laden with wood, and a number of other articles in their own hands. We grew that evening into a large and mixed rabble; everybody was carrying or driving something for the two miles we marched, before halting for the night on a small patch of grass close to the river.

Thus far in our journey we had only seen a few gulls and some duck, so in hopes of seeing more I shouldered my gun the following morning. Plenty too, indeed, we saw, but all of them persisted in flying down the centre of the river or over the opposite bank, so that shooting them would have been a waste of birds and ammunition. This was aggravating, to speak lightly of it, when Malcolm agreed to fetch any I might shoot, should they fall on the other bank of the river. A few minutes later over came the duck again, and one falling midstream was soon carried away, but a second falling on the opposite bank awaited Malcolm. He, true to his word, was soon swimming in the icy water to the opposite shore, which he reached without mishap. He soon seized the duck with the intention of throwing it across to me, but falling short of his aim, the duck fell in the water, and was soon floating away after the first. To plunge a second time into the Indus and swim across it, at this time of year, and at this height, cannot easily be described, but Malcolm's frozen state on return gave me some idea of what he had undergone, all, too, to merely throw a dead duck into midstream. There was no compensation in the shape of a good supper for his swim, but we both agreed, at any rate, that shooting duck along the banks of the Indus was but a poor kind of amusement.

That morning we reached the little village of Maie, which did not seem to hold more than half a dozen men. Although no transport animals were procurable, yet supplies were plentiful. At this spot there are two roads that branch off to Shushal, the shorter or left hand one leading over the mountains. We fancied we could see the pass over which the road went, and there appeared to be but little snow there. Yet every one told us the pass was not open, and we had reluctantly to take the longer one. We came upon a herd of eight kyang, who are pretty sure heralds that there is good grass somewhere in the neighbourhood. They appeared unable to understand what we were, and allowed us to come within a hundred yards of them. After making an easy ascent, we saw a few miles off on our left hand the village of Numa, conspicuously seated on a rock, quite an important place with its numerous ponies and yak, and plentiful supplies. We loaded up the yak first, to send them on ahead of the ponies, for they won't travel as fast, especially in the middle of the day. It was a sharpish morning.

After going some ten miles the Indus became broad, resembling a lake, and about here pigeons were fairly plentiful. We agreed that we could never afford to waste a single cartridge so early on our journey, and decided to economise by endeavouring to make every shot do double execution. A chance quickly presented itself. There were two pigeons close together on the ground. "Fire away," I cried, "now's our time." "I really couldn't," said Malcolm, "they will be blown to pieces." "Never mind that," was my encouraging reply, "we shall be able to collect the bits." Immediately afterwards, off went both the barrels, and terrible to state, off went both birds too, safe and sound, only a little bit startled.

Seven miles further on we bade farewell to the river, which flowed away to the right, while our road branched off to the left, taking us to the black tents of some nomads. Where there are nomads, good grass will also be found for the grazing of their large flocks of sheep. We spent the night close to one of their encampments, and found them pleasant and hospitable enough, receiving from them dried apricots, nuts, butter, and milk. These nomads, too, have a knack of always finding a sheltered nook with a flowing stream. Although we were on that night over 14,000 feet high, we did not feel the cold at all, doubtless because we were well protected on all sides from any wind.

After leaving these people on the 10th May, we crossed over an easy pass, and then descended to more black tents, always finding the nomads civil and friendly. A little before noon we reached Shushal, the final starting-point of our expedition. Shushal lies back against the hills, five miles or so from the Pangong Lake, which is not even in sight. In the serai we found Shahzad Mir, who thus far had brought our caravan without an accident. Some of the muleteers were there, too, while the remainder were watching over the mules and ponies out grazing in an adjacent and well-watered valley.

The first thing for us to find out was the shortest and best way over the frontier. We learnt that the ordinary route over the Marsemik La into Chang Chenmo was closed by snow, and would not be open for at least another month and a half. With the exception of this road and another one that went to Rudok, nobody knew of any other, or more correctly speaking, would own that there was another road. Rudok lies at the south-east corner of the Pangong Lake, and we knew that at Rudok a large Tibetan guard was maintained, who jealously guarded the main road to Lhassa, under the condition that should they allow any foreigners to pass that way, they would have to pay for the negligence with the loss of their heads. This year, too, they were more than ever prepared to oppose any attempt at crossing the frontier in that direction. This we considered due to the fact that only the previous year the Littledales, in their famous expedition, had camped for some days within fifty miles of the capital. To dream of taking an easier road to Rudok, and crossing the frontier at that point, was soon dismissed from our minds. Looking at a map of the country, the Pangong Lake appears to consist of two lakes joined together by a narrow strip of water, about half-way on the road to Rudok. We saw no reason why we should not be able to find a crossing over this stream, thence on to a village called Pal, and thus avoid all encounter with the Rudok men. All the headmen and any other men of Shushal who had travelled at any time in that direction were summoned to our presence and questioned about this road to Pal. For some time all vowed they had never heard of a place called Pal, but seeing that we were bent upon going there at all costs, they finally agreed that they had heard of the spot, but that it was impossible for us to get there, for the water that joined the two lakes was far too deep to ever think of crossing. Unwilling to believe any of their statements at all, we dismissed our servant Esau with a companion to ride out to this water, some twenty miles away, and find out whether it was fordable or not.

Whilst waiting for this information we laid in our stock of grain for the trip, buying it at thirty-two pounds for a rupee, and tied it up into coarse sacking, which we had made into suleetahs. We also packed our bhoussa into a smaller compass, and doctored up the few backs of the animals that had been touched up during the march from Leh; in fact, saw after every little detail we could think of.

That same night, and somewhat to our surprise, Esau returned with the news that he had been stopped some way before reaching the water by a body of twenty armed men, who sent their salaams, begging us not to try and come that way, for if we did, there would certainly be trouble. They had already heard of our departure from Leh, and knew that we were waiting in Shushal, and were prepared to oppose any attempt we might make to cross the frontier in that direction. Under these circumstances (there was no alternative left us), we should have to journey back in a north-west direction along the shore of the Pangong Lake to Ludhkong, situated on its north-west extremity, thence travel eastwards to Niagzu, and so on by hook or crook across the frontier. We had by this time arranged our loads, and had fitted and mended the saddles where required, and were ready in all other respects to leave Shushal.

We gave orders to start for Ludhkong at 7 o'clock on the morning of the 12th, and, in order to save our own transport as long as possible, we hired seventeen more yak and ponies, making a total, with our own, of fifty-five animals. On the morning above mentioned, the baggage lay outside the serai in heaps and anyhow. The serai itself was a small, square yard with rooms built around it. We had hoped, having placed everything outside where there was oceans of room, to have arranged the loads systematically. This, unfortunately, was not in accordance with the way of doing things amongst our muleteers; but as we felt there was still a discontented mood prevailing underneath a smiling surface, we, too, smiled outwardly in return, and allowed them for the present to do as they chose.

Each of the muleteers had under his own charge five ponies or four mules, and each of them, with the willing help from the people of Shushal, seized upon whatever baggage he fancied the most and loaded up his own animals. Although all this was badly done, it was certainly done quickly, and we had very soon made a start.

CHAPTER IV.

MUN—LUDHKONG—TOUCHING FRIENDSHIP OF MULE AND PONY—NIAGZU.

The road for the first couple of miles was fairly good over rising ground when the lake first came into sight, and an extensive view permitted the taking of several bearings to distant hills. The lake looked blue, clear, and inviting, bounded on the further side by a fine range of mountains running into snow-capped peaks.

Besides obtaining a view of the lake, we also saw our flock of sheep, which had left Shushal the day previously, and very shortly overtook them. We were surprised and somewhat disheartened at finding the condition they were in. Two of them were already being carried in the arms of the shepherds, which will at once prove that our mutton was not of the fattest description. The remainder of the flock were going along so weakly that it seemed doubtful whether we should see any of them again. This disaster was a great blow to our commissariat arrangements. We had at one time even reckoned that our sheep might carry loads of about fifty or sixty pounds, but finding that would be impracticable, we decided to drive them along with us day after day, keeping them as a reserve, only making use of them when our own supplies began to run short and game was scarce. But now two of them were knocked up after going only a couple of miles. At this time of the year, sheep are naturally in poor condition, for they have picked up but scanty feeding during the winter months.

On this morning there was a strong north wind blowing in our teeth as we rode on ahead of our caravan, and after five more miles followed the sandy, stony shore of the lake.

As we were anxious not to be too far away from our caravan, we sought a sheltered nook by the edge of the lake, and, dismounting, allowed our ponies to graze on the little grass that grew close by, while we ourselves, seizing the opportunity, pulled out the kettle from our saddle-bags and soon had the water boiling for our breakfast. The kettle might as well have remained where it was, for here we learnt our first lesson in regard to many of the lakes of these regions, so pleasing to the eye, but deceptive as to their use. Our tea was so brackish as to defy any attempt at drinking it.

In the meantime our baggage had passed by, so we rode on over somewhat heavy and stony ground to overtake them, and before nightfall reached Mun, a small village with some cultivation around it, forming a kind of oasis in this stony, sandy country. We found here a good serai wherein to put our animals for the night, and a room for ourselves and men. There was no more transport to be had here, but the usual supplies being plentiful, we gave our animals two pounds of grain each and as much bhoussa as they could eat.

The following morning, although we were able to better arrange the loads, yet there was nothing satisfactory about them. Still favoured with the north wind we continued along the shore of the lake. Thus far we had found the water absolutely devoid of life, but after twelve miles we came to the end of the lake, and found there the only inhabitants living on it, a few gulls and a single Brahmini duck. At this spot, too, the place is called Kaba, and there is another more direct road branching off to the left to Leh.

Three more miles over deepish sand brought us to Ludhkong, the end of our march. This was the last place where any kind of supplies could be got. There was no grain here, but we were able to get plenty of bhoussa, some milk, sheep, goats, and a limited number of hired yak. The place consisted of a few stone houses built by the banks of a small fresh-water stream. Around on all sides were hills and snow-topped mountains; the land was barren, for there was no grazing ground at all.

The baggage arrived in good time, and we were glad of the afternoon for overhauling everything, doctoring our animals, and taking heights. We had, besides, to make up our minds as to which way we were going next. This was our great difficulty, and at first we could induce nobody to show us. We knew passes would have to be crossed, but as to their height, and as to water, grass, and camping grounds, we were in total ignorance.

Towards evening we learnt that, should we decide to proceed further, we could only go by one road and in this case should have to cross two passes, and that we should find no grass or water until the third day on arrival at Niagzu. This was certainly gloomy intelligence, and a bad lookout for our mules and ponies. Here they were about to go three days without grass or water before even they had crossed the frontier into Tibet. How could they ever cross the whole of Tibet and China? It was absolutely cruel to think of it. In addition to this, our hired animals had only agreed to come with us as far as Ludhkong. The only solution out of the difficulty was to persuade the owners of them to come on further with us, and this they were unwilling to do, for none of them relished three days without water and grass. By promise of higher rewards we finally overcame their scruples, and with the assistance of the Kadir who, by orders from the Wazir, had come all the way from Leh to smooth matters for us, we were enabled to hire more yak at Ludhkong itself, making a grand total of thirty-four hired animals. These were to come with us to Niagzu. As to our sheep, we came to an agreement with the men of Ludhkong, by which they were to take possession of our flock of sheep, which were coming on behind us, and were to fit us out with a fresh flock of sheep and goats, receiving an adequate remuneration for the bargain.

Things now began to look rosier for us. We arranged to put full loads on these hired animals and allow them to travel to Niagzu in their own time, while we ourselves, putting small loads on some of our own animals and none on others, would journey on in advance and cover the distance as fast as possible.

We reckoned that by leaving Ludhkong early one morning we could reach Niagzu the following evening. There we knew both grass and water were plentiful, and our own animals, while awaiting the arrival of the hired ones, would be fattening up and enjoying a rest. After seeing that all was ready for an early start the next day, we turned in for the night with light hearts.

On awakening the following morning, the first sight that greeted our eyes was that of our original hired yak being driven back in a body the way they had come, without any one attempting to stop them. It was fortunate we had woken up in good time that morning, as we were in time to prevent their straying far. We soon had them back again, and to prevent further attempt at desertion, at once set about the loading up of the two lots of transport. In spite of our instructions and arrangements the previous night, there was considerable confusion, and with the class of men we had to deal with, it was unavoidable. All as usual seize upon the nearest animal to load it up with the baggage nearest at hand, entirely regardless as to whether the load is suitable in weight or size to the animal, or whether it is required to go on with the party in advance. Until the muleteers were quite under our thumb, it was impossible to make them do otherwise.

We carried a glass lantern to hold a candle, and being anxious to save it from being broken, it was carried in the hand by one of the hired yakmen, but as to one of our own muleteers carrying a lantern for a few miles! why, he had never done such a contemptible thing in all his life, and wasn't going to do it now!

To avoid the chance of our hired transport making a second attempt to turn back, we left Shahzad Mir and Esau to bring them on, as well as our two most reliable muleteers, Bakr Hadji and Shukr Ali, and after saying good-bye to the Kadir who had done so much good service for us, and to the kind people of Ludhkong, we started on our waterless march.

We soon took a turning half-right, over some good grazing land, and then began an easy ascent of the Porandu Pass for about five miles. When we had nearly reached the summit, we stopped to boil our kettle with some snow at hand, and to have our breakfast. Below us we could see first of all our own mules and ponies, while right away in the distance our glasses showed us our flock of sheep and goats and our hired yak, and Shahzad Mir with the man carrying the plane table.

It was not encouraging, after having crossed this pass, to find the road bending still more round to the right, following the direction of the shore of the Pangong Lake, and we calculated that if we continued to zigzag in the way we had done since leaving Leh, we should stand a chance of reaching China in two or three years' time.

Our muleteers manifested anything but a willing spirit. As we were riding on ahead, we were annoyed to find the caravan had halted some way back, of their own accord, and from their general demeanour we concluded they were contemplating whether the journey they were about to launch forth on was really good enough or not. We, too, halted; this seemed to be a turning-point in their plans, for they soon began to move on again.

As we ascended the stony nullah, sleet began to fall, encouraging the darkness before its due time, and compelling us to take the best shelter we could find for the night. Close by we found a suitable place—a sudden dip in the nullah bordered by heavy overhanging rocks, with a fair stretch of level ground at their foot. Here we drove four stout pegs into the ground, with strong ropes fastened to them, making two parallel lines; to one of these lines we picketed the mules, and to the other the ponies, with the exception of a certain black mule and a certain white pony. This couple had lived together practically for all their lives; in fact, at the time when we were buying our transport in Leh, we had to be satisfied with taking both of them or none at all, for the merchant who owned them was as fond of them as they were of one another, and rather than see them separated he would lose the chance of making his profit on one of them.

This remarkable pair also found a warm spot in our hearts, and we did all we could to keep the white pony in health and strength. They always marched together, grazed together, and were never apart. On one occasion when the pony was showing signs of weakness, we decided to ride it, for by dint of walking a good deal and stopping two or three times during the march, in grassy spots, we managed to save our riding ponies considerably, and, we thought, the black mule would manage without his friend for a few hours; but nothing of the sort—as soon as we rode away with the white pony, immediately after him came the black mule, load and all. We felt more convinced than ever that should the white pony die at any time from exhaustion, his faithful friend would soon follow after him; this doubled our anxiety to keep up the strength of the white pony, for he was in no way equal to the black mule. To tell now of the fate of this dear old couple would, perhaps, be anticipating events.

Near our camp there was not a vestige of grass, so we had to fall back upon our limited supply of bhoussa and grain. Of course the mules and ponies had to go waterless, although we were able to collect sufficient snow for the use of our men and ourselves.

We had already turned to our left again, and had ceased to follow the Pangong Lake, but had continued to make a long ascent. On leaving our encampment by the rocks, up, up we went; a blinding sleet blew in our faces, making it hard to see more than a few yards. At the top of this pass, which was called the Ann Pass, sickness from the unaccustomed height in no way sweetened the temper of some of our men, and we found no pleasure attached to the operation of finding out the height of this pass with the hypsometer, with a temperature just about freezing-point. We hurried down the other side of this comfortless pass, and for the rest of the day marched along a rocky, stony pathway, amidst a continuous snowstorm, when suddenly, on a bend to our left, the whole aspect was entirely changed. The heavy clouds gave way to a warm and genial sun. Thick brushwood and green grass replaced the sharply-angled rocks and those countless loose stones that lay about everywhere, as though they were a bore to themselves and to all others. A clear stream, too, ran merrily through this pleasant spot. No wonder the kyang and antelope had chosen this as one of their favourite districts to wander into, and the hares had grown fat and multiplied.

ON THE BORDERS OF TIBET; OUR CAMP AT NIAGZU.

At this stage we had come nearly forty-five miles from Ludhkong, and this was Niagzu, a place well worthy of note, for it neither lies in Ladakh nor in Tibet. We had thus reached the border of the land we were anxious to traverse. Having pitched our camp, we looked forward to the morrow with composed feelings. First of all, we knew our mules and ponies would enjoy a complete day of rest and freedom, wandering through the fresh green grass or by the clear, trickling stream. We felt our success depended in no small measure upon their welfare. We rejoiced, too, that thus far we had managed by tact to prevent our men from turning back, and reckoned that, could we only manage to go a little distance beyond the frontier, they would be in our hands and not we in theirs. We had, in truth, overcome what we considered as difficulties such as made us more sanguine for the future. The day we waited at Niagzu for the arrival of our hired yak was an ideal one, when much could be done in rearranging the loads we had with us for the continuation of the journey. The numerous hares, too, afforded sport and provender for ourselves and our men. How anxious they were to hallal this small game in the orthodox manner, little dreaming that a few months later hunger would cause all these religious scruples to be put aside and forgotten for the time being!

While waiting here we experienced our first annoyance with relation to the straying of animals by night. Although at Niagzu we enjoyed good shelter, grass, and water, yet on the following morning few animals were in sight, and it was midday before they were all recovered. We almost dreaded to think of what would happen should we chance to halt where there was no grass, and where we intended marching early the next day. They would quite naturally wander during the night to an indefinite distance. Our chain hobbles, though most effective, and with which we had been so pleased, were at a discount with our men, for they hated an innovation, and infinitely preferred a long search of some miles after a strayed mule to the two minutes' work necessary to fasten on securely one of our chain hobbles.

We learnt from some of the hired yakmen, who had travelled still further inland to collect salt, that there was another pass of considerable height to cross over before we should have journeyed very far east of Niagzu. Such being the case, it was evident that the trial of crossing a high pass so early in our expedition without hired assistance would be most detrimental to the well-being of our transport, loaded as they would have to be up to the brim. We determined, therefore, to bring forward every inducement in persuading some of the owners of the hired yak to lend us their animals as far as the other side of this pass.

The day following our arrival at Niagzu there was no sign of our baggage at all, but the day after this, about noontime, our anxiety was relieved at seeing some of the laden yak just turning the corner to come up the Niagzu valley. From the higher ground above our tents a fine view down the whole of the valley was obtained, as well as of the range of snow mountains far away in the distance. The transport came in by driblets, as also did the flock of sheep, and it was quite clear that these latter would not last out for many more marches.

The day on which our yak arrived chanced to be a Sunday, so we were glad to be compelled to rest on that day. We clearly foresaw that in future, Sunday or no Sunday, we should be forced by circumstances to waste no single day. This last Sunday of rest was in consequence doubly appreciated, and it was some months before we were enabled to enjoy another.

CHAPTER V.

MORTALITY AMONG SHEEP—LAKE TREB—THE NAPU LA PASS—SICKNESS OF BAKR HADJI—RUDOK OFFICIALS COMMAND US TO RETREAT.

Early on the morning of the 18th May all was hustle and bustle at Niagzu. First of all we were sending off our sheep, followed by our hired yak. We had persuaded the owners to lend us twelve yak and three ponies as far as the other side of the pass called the Napu La. By sending these sheep and slow travelling yak ahead, we made a handicap of the march. We ourselves, after seeing nearly all the mules and ponies loaded up, followed next, leaving our own men behind to bring them on. Little did we dream that these same men, as soon as we had disappeared, were about to remain where they stood for two hours, idly waiting with all the animals loaded up and tied together in groups. Still we knew that just at present we had not sufficient power over them to rebuke them for their unwarrantable laziness.

Our road all day lay through stony valleys, enlivened by two cosy nooks called Mitpah Yungmah and Mitpali Conmah, where bright green grass flourished, and where a clear rivulet trickled over a sandy bed, sheltered by rocks and steep hills from the severe winds. At these two small camping grounds the officials from Rudok sometimes place a detachment of soldiers to prevent any foreigners from entering the country from that quarter. Although ignorant of it at the time, we discovered afterwards that we were in reality lucky not to have already met with opposition to our journey.

Far snugger than these two spots was the place called Nurtse, where we halted for the night. From here onwards our flock of sheep began to give way, and we had to sell fourteen of them to our yakman for seven rupees. Our men might have eaten mutton all day long, and yet would have failed to keep pace with the death of the poor sheep.

We passed over a good deal of snow, the remnant of the winter, yet nothing sufficiently bad to impede us at all. We saw very little to shoot excepting a few kyang which were, of course, of no use to us. The kyang or wild ass of Tibet and Ladakh usually stands about fourteen hands; he is of a light brown colour, with white throat, belly, and legs; rather heavy in neck and shoulders, he is, nevertheless, a graceful mover, and there are few prettier sights than a herd of them scampering over some wide plain. Perhaps they have been startled by the unwonted sound of a rifle; off they go, full gallop. Soon curiosity outweighs fear, and back they come to have a look at the intruder. All standing in line they gaze at him from a hundred yards or so, apparently considering whether he is really dangerous or not; then, at a word from the leader, they wheel round and are off again, only to repeat the performance a few moments later, a performance that has ruined many a well-planned stalk before now.

Our guide, who in his time had been a salt collector, and knew the lay of the country, proved himself to be invaluable. Without him, the route we took would have been very hard indeed to find, and to him we owed the steady progress we daily made, not that we went at any rapid rate, or as a rule for any great length of time each day, but we were marching in the right direction, we were travelling east. By reason, too, of the assistance we received from the hired yak, we were able to ride ponies, and it was our wont, after starting off our sub-surveyor in front of every one else, to start ourselves ahead of the caravan, with our cook, Lassoo, likewise mounted. We carried our rifles and ammunition, while he carried in his saddlebags our cold breakfast with some tea leaves and a kettle to boil them in. As soon as we considered that half the march had been covered, we would halt by a stream, if there were one, or by a patch of snow, and boil our water. During these operations the caravan would catch us up again and march on ahead of us. In this way we were enabled to keep an eye upon our men without appearing to do so and thereby raise their suspicions.

On the third day from Niagzu we made our breakfast halt by the side of a valley close to some white stones. From this point two more lines of white stones lay at intervals, separated at an angle of some twenty degrees, and ran right away across the valley and over the opposite hills. We were told that this was a gazelle trap laid by the nomads. As soon as they can contrive to get gazelle into the space between these two lines, they drive them along between them. The gazelle being afraid of the stones continue to be driven on to where the stones meet, where they are easily captured, and sometimes a big haul is made. Although we saw plenty of gazelle about here, they were very timid, and as we had no time to go in for a recognised stalk, we shot none at this period, nor did we drive any between the two lines of white stones!

On the same evening, after crossing a waterless, stony plain for several miles, we reached Lake Treb, so famous for the salt that is taken away from its neighbourhood and carried into Ladakh. Salt, in fact, is collected from any spot within a hundred miles of Ladakh wherever it can be found. We had been marching twelve hours upon arrival at this lake, and it was already dark. Our chances of finding fresh water were very small, for our guide informed us that there was none to be had till we reached the other side of the lake, another four miles. Certainly there was no water running into the lake from this side, and the guide's statement would have been correct, had we not luckily found two small patches of snow and a little grazing close by.

Marching after sunset is without doubt a mistake, for when a halt is made the animals are unloaded carelessly and the loads are thrown about in any fashion; the men become tired and short-tempered, and should there be no moon, there is necessarily much delay in searching for the things that are required, especially when candles are at a minimum. The animals' grain is wasted as well as the men's rations, tents won't pitch, the water won't boil, animals stray, and everybody is blaming some one else.

All such petty annoyances, however, are very soon forgotten again, when, after a sharp frosty night, a glorious morning like that we experienced at Lake Treb announces the commencement of another day. Everything, even the crystallised salt, sparkled in those first brilliant rays, nor was there the remotest breath of wind; all was perfect stillness.

Far away south of us lay a towering range of snow peaks. Their distance seemed to increase their overpowering grandeur and one could with difficulty cease to gaze at each outline of this pure white magnificence. To east and north of us lay Lake Treb, backed by more ranges of mountains. Even Lake Treb itself, which on a dull day would have probably produced a suicidal despondency in the gayest of hearts, seemed to throw aside its natural gloom and rejoice like its grander neighbours at the cheer and brightness of the sun's first rays.

We were almost tempted to try a swim in the salt water, but on close examination we found the shore sloped down in terraces to the water's edge, where it became soft and treacherous. All this distinctly showed that the size of the lake must have been for many years gradually decreasing, and one is led to believe that such is the case in regard to most salt lakes in Tibet. The water, we were surprised to find, was not nearly so brackish as the surroundings would have induced one to believe. The only life we saw about it were a few Brahmini ducks and a couple of geese, which latter did not settle on the lake.

CROSSING THE NAPU LA (18,500 FEET HIGH).

Throughout Tibet we never saw any kind of game on any salt lake, with the exception of the Brahminis. At the east side of the lake lies the foot of the Napu La (pass).

All the way, a track leads up a narrow, stony, and rocky gorge, an almost impossible road after a fall of snow. To have taken our own animals over this pass carrying heavy loads would have been ruination to our plans, and we more than ever congratulated ourselves on having engaged the assistance of these fifteen extra hired animals. During these few days too, a certain amount of grain and bhoussa had been eaten, so that our mules and ponies on this occasion were not really heavily laden. At the top of the pass was the usual pile of stones and sticks which always have been erected in these regions, to denote that the summit is reached. The stones had been piled up in the centre of the col, while a little snow lay on the adjacent heights, which it connected.

A snap shot with the Kodak at some of our poor animals after a four hours' climb was an opportunity not to be lost, for the pass was nearly 18,500 feet above the sea level.[1] After descending for a short distance, we saw below us a fine glacier sloping downwards from north to south; to have attempted to cross it would have been madness itself. Around its southern edge we found a narrow and very steep track, which we followed, and as soon as we had found some fair grass, lower than and beyond the precincts of the glacier, we halted for the night, the place being called Tanjun. Although our own animals had managed thus early to cross this pass, yet it was not until the following afternoon that the hired yak arrived.

At this stage we began to taste of difficulties and casualties. First of all our hired transport would go no further, and henceforth we were entirely dependent upon our own animals. One of our men, too, Bakr Hadji by name, a Yarkandi, declared that he could proceed no more. He lay on his back, and, rolling his eyes, moaned continuously. We pitied him, for he seemed a fairly decent sort of fellow, but we had no desire, so early in our trip, to be encumbered by a sick man. We concluded that he was suffering from mountain sickness, though all the Argoons came to us protesting that Bakr Hadji was a Yarkandi, and like all other Yarkandis had a "chota dil," or in other words, was chicken-hearted; they maintained that they themselves were of very different kidney, and prepared to follow us wherever we might choose to go. It was, at any rate, manifest that our men had no intention of turning back just at present, for with the return of the hired yak-men an easy opportunity was open to them, and in all probability it would be their last. Our guide, who had served us so well, agreed to come along with us one more day.

Our road lay through a broad valley, which stretched away eastwards, with a small stream which took its rise from the glacier running down its centre. On either side were small grassy nullahs, suitable spots for encampments. The guide told us that in two or three days we should find ourselves amongst men living in a district called Rundore, and that we should have met men before had not a great many of them been summoned to strengthen the post at Rudok. He himself was anxious to turn back before coming amongst the men of Rundore, for he was convinced that he would meet with but scant civility for having been the cause of bringing us that way.

After we had marched down the valley for about a dozen miles, we overtook two nomads, and having supplied them with some tobacco and other small articles we thought they would appreciate, we entered into negotiations as to their willingness to come along with us and show us a road that ran eastwards, receiving in return for their services food and money, and some small present, such as a knife. They became in time ready to accept these proposals, and promised to show us the way to Mangtza-Tso (or lake) where they said we should arrive in four or five days. They, however, feared the Rundore men, and said that they would undoubtedly stop our progress, should they happen to learn that we were in their vicinity. Yet they hoped before meeting with any opposition to take a turning up a certain valley to the left, and thus escape observation.

Throughout this valley we found sand-grouse, kyang, yak, and the heads of several dead ovis ammon; doubtless some of the adjacent ranges abounded in game. But at the present time we were still living on our sheep, nor had we time to waste in shikar pure and simple, for however fine a head we might have knocked over, we could never have dreamed of carrying it with us; besides, we valued each cartridge, and had no inclination to waste any on a useless errand.

OUR THREE RUNDORE GUIDES.

It was remarkable that although we were over 16,000 feet high, above the sea level, yet we were glad to cast aside our lambskin waistcoats and thickly-lined puttoo coats, and bask in the sun over our breakfast in our shirt-sleeves, while some of our men became ill, partly on account of the warm climate during the day, but chiefly from the excessive amount of mutton they ate. At night-time there were well over twenty degrees of frost.

We had not marched very far with our two guides before they pointed out to us two roads. One road continued down the valley we were in for a few more miles, and then turned up to the left hand along another nullah. The second road led over the hills into the same nullah, cutting off a corner. We had already discovered that with baggage animals the longest way round is the shortest way there, or in other words, that a dozen miles of level marching is easier for them, and takes less out of them, than half a dozen miles of steep climbing, which almost invariably did harm to one or more animals. We therefore sent on the mules to make the detour, while we ourselves cut across the hills. Even during this short climb we saw both ovis ammon and goa, and hitting off the nullah before the arrival of our caravan, we sat down by the stream that wound its way to the main one, and, having found some dry droppings, made our fire and the water boil.

As time wore on, we began to grow anxious about our caravan, and suspected that something adverse must have happened. We were just about to retrace our steps, when the leading mules made their appearance round the corner, and in less than an hour we were once more amongst our followers. The only deficiency was the absence of the two guides, who having pointed out this route, had refused to go any further.

Now we saw the folly of having left our caravan even for that short period, for had we been present we should never have allowed the guides to leave us in that fashion. We now began to suspect there was something in the wind, and decided that our best plan would be to march as far as we could, and perhaps avoid contact with anybody.

Our road unfortunately began to wind too much to our left, and, not wishing to run the risk of taking our animals in the wrong direction, we called a halt, resolving to explore further ahead, and find out whether there was not some other nullah that ran more eastwards, before launching forth the whole of our caravan along an uncertain route.

Shortly after we had unloaded, and while the animals were picking up what little grazing they were able to get, our two guides suddenly reappeared accompanied by several other men, and, during the evening, others continued to flock in from Rundore. We invited the headmen to our tent and endeavoured to persuade them to allow some one to show us the way to Mangtza-Tso. At first they would not hear of such a proposal; they denied the existence of any road, and even hinted at opposing us. Thereupon we adopted fresh tactics, and quietly told them that if such were their game we should retrace our steps down the nullah we were in and march down the main nullah right through the Rundore district on to Lhassa. This produced a consultation resulting in their willingness to show us a road that would take us direct to Mangtza-Tso. Everything was finally settled agreeably to both sides, and we became friends for the time being.

On their departure from our presence, we were congratulating ourselves upon the good fortune that continued to follow us, when to our astonishment some officials from Rudok rode in in hot haste, and throughout the night and following morning we constantly heard fresh arrivals, the rapid jingling of the bells which were hung round the ponies' necks proclaiming how hurriedly they were riding. It was dark, and we could hear men's voices from the stream that ran down the centre of the nullah, while we ourselves had encamped close to the mountain side. We could see they had lit some fires and were sitting and standing around them, occupied in eager conversation. From the light of the flames we could see their matchlocks standing up against one another on the ground. Our hopes, which only a short time ago had been so sanguine, had now received a severe blow, and we wondered, yet guessed, what the intentions of these men might be.

In order to solve this mysterious gathering we sent and invited the chief men to our tent. Two of them were before very long ushered in by Esau, intelligent-looking fellows enough and open to hear all we had to say, yet staunch in their determination to obstruct our further march onwards up the nullah we were in. Threats, bribes of money and goods, as well as every other kind of argument, entirely failed to carry any weight with these Rudok officials, for they very wisely remarked that "if we allow you to go this road, we shall for such an act of disobedience undoubtedly lose our heads, whereas if we stop you we shall receive a reward." They maintained that they would rather risk being killed in attempting to oppose us than meet with certain death for negligence of their work in letting us go through. Argue as we might, nothing would alter their determination, namely, that the only road open to us was back by the road we had come. It was by this time growing late, and the officials took their leave of us.

Throughout the still night we could hear the loud talk and peals of laughter that rang out from the groups of men who had bivouacked by the stream.

At daybreak we discovered that more men had swollen the gathering, but nevertheless we began to load up as usual, and having distributed our sporting rifles and guns amongst our muleteers, tried to impress upon them the necessity of having to fight our way through, should we meet with opposition.

A few hundred yards from our encampment, in the direction in which we were anxious to go, was a stone wall, built probably as a shelter against the wind, and behind this the Rundore and Rudok men had taken up a position, and from their demonstrations it was evident that they did not intend to let us go by easily.

X WALL BEHIND WHICH THE TIBETANS FORMED UP.

As soon as our last mule had been loaded and we had begun to move towards the wall, our opponents rushed forth and began to drive our animals back, meeting with little or no resistance from our faint-hearted followers, who had no pluck to face superior numbers, whose actions and feelings were those of fanatics. A loaded revolver pointed at a few paces distant at the chest of one of them had no other result than to induce the man to tear aside his garments, and, showing his bare flesh, point to us to shoot at it. Such frenzied determination on the part of these Tibetans proved to us that we should never make any headway in the desired direction, and that our only chance of being able to do so would have been to shoot the most determined of our obstructionists. But inasmuch as we had not started on the expedition with the remotest inclination to shoot Tibetans, we stayed our hands. Even supposing we had shot some of them, it would have been a very hazardous step to have risked a serious scrimmage almost on our very frontier. We also reflected upon the results of such an affair; not only would it bar any future travellers from peaceably entering the country from this direction, but we ourselves would be pestered for many days to come by an increasing force of Rundore and Rudok men following in our rear.

Therefore, after we had been driven back some distance and were left alone again, we pitched a fresh camp with the intention of remaining another day, in hopes that something or other would turn up in our favour. Perhaps we might get round these officials after all, or perhaps others of more influence would in the meantime arrive from Rudok and allow us to go the way we wanted, when they became convinced that we had no intention of making an attempt on Lhassa.

Such were our faint hopes as we commenced unloading, for we dreaded beyond measure the very idea of having to recross the Napu La a second time, being alone dependent upon ourselves for doing so.

Throughout the morning we tried every means we could think of to be allowed to march up this nullah, which they called Kerambutabuk. The officials informed us that no other Englishmen had ever been there before, and that, had their men, whose duty it was, been properly on the look-out, we ought never to have been permitted to come so far. These officials were quite reasonable and sensible men, and hoped we would not fight, for they said that war between the English and Tibetans would result in consequence.

It was a very cold and raw day we spent in this Kerambutabuk nullah, and most of the time, too, sleet was falling. The only noise we heard, besides an occasional sudden blast, was the firing off of the Tibetan matchlocks further up the valley, and the tinkling bells on the ponies of fresh arrivals as they trotted past a few hundred yards from our tents. There had been so much ringing all day long that, by the end of the day, quite a small army had been amassed.

We told our friends that we wished to go into Turkistan, but the upshot of all our war meetings ended in our having to retire by the same way we had come, namely, over the Napu La, thence northwards to the frontier pass called Lanak La. They agreed to give us four men to show us the way as far as Lanak La, but did not see the force of giving us any help with our transport.

CHAPTER VI.

OUR RETREAT—CROSSING THE BORDERLAND OF TIBET—A STRANGE ACCOUCHEMENT—SPORT—PONIES SHOT.

On the following morning we commenced our retirement, followed by a large body of Tibetans, armed with matchlocks and spears. Most of them were very dirty-looking little fellows, with long black locks, strongly reminding one of some of Punch's "Prehistoric Peeps." Their guns, which we examined, consisted of a long smooth-bore barrel, roughly fastened on to a stock, with a wooden prong on which to rest the gun when firing.

At the corner of this nullah, where it joined the main Rundore valley, was a small nomad encampment called Kerinagar. These people lived in some very dirty and dilapidated old tents, and possessed a small amount of grain and a few sheep, but the prices they demanded for them were high. Close by was a hill called Chotenchenbo, conspicuous amongst a chain of others. The hill is probably volcanic, as these nomads informed us that every month much noise was emitted from the summit, which has so worked upon their imaginations that they hold it in the deepest veneration, and on the 15th day of each month numbers of people from the surrounding district come to worship and propitiate the spirit of the mountain.

We found it heartrending work having to retrace our steps to the Napu La again, and in order to waste as little time as possible, and reach new ground, we made long marches, testing our animals to the utmost. Certainly there is a shorter road to Lanak La crossing over the Serai La and cutting off a corner. But here again we were foiled, for the men we sent on ahead to discover the possibility of going that way reported the pass to be deep in snow and absolutely impassable for ponies and mules. As we marched along this valley we had more leisure for shikar, as our surveying, etc., had already been completed. Malcolm knocked over an antelope, and being alone at the time, hallaled the animal himself; but our followers, being filled with pride and mutton, declared that nothing on earth would induce them to eat the meat, for it had not been hallaled by one after their own religion. Little did they dream at the time how, before very long, they would have to change their minds and be a little less particular. Our four nomad guides thoroughly enjoyed their frugal feast, as they sat round a fire of droppings, boiling what meat we gave them in a small pot, while the bones themselves, after having scraped off every particle of meat and skin from them, they broke between two stones, and ate the marrow raw, just as it was, without any boiling or stewing.

This was the last occasion on which we saw anything of our big dog Tundu. He wasn't going over that Napu La again, and having had a royal repast over portions of the slain antelope, he perhaps imagined that if he remained where he was there would be an equally big meal every evening. Nearly a year after this desertion of Tundu we learnt, when we were back in India again, that this dog had turned up one day at the Residency in Leh, where Capt. Trench was living, in somewhat reduced condition. He must have found his way back of his own accord over three hundred miles. Our little fox terrier bitch Ruby had no hesitation in re-crossing the Napu La, for nothing on earth would have induced her to remain with the nomads, amongst whom she had made her presence most obnoxious.

We made a long, toilsome march over the pass again, down to the entrance of the gorge, close by Lake Treb. There we found two small pools of fresh water close to our camp, but no grass whatever, so there was nothing left for us but to lessen our loads by doling out a pound of grain all round and three bags of bhoussa.

During the recrossing of this pass, there were a few of the animals who were unable to keep pace with the majority, necessitating one of the men being left behind to bring them on. This was the first experience of many such delays we were about to meet with during the next few months.

In this gorge we picked up some curiously-pointed stones, relics, perhaps, of a bygone age.

Owing to the great care we took of our animals when recrossing the Napu La, they were better off as regards sore backs and galls than we could have anticipated. Their chief ailment showed itself in the shoulder, at the point where the front ends of the saddle terminated. The shoulders used to swell from the irritation caused, and matter would form, yet there appeared to be but very little pain attached to it, and after the swelling had broken, and the place had healed, the animal never suffered again from the same cause. When possible, we used to change the palan with the wooden saddle of another animal, and in some cases averted the evil altogether. There is no doubt, with properly padded palans so as to prevent the ends from pressing against the shoulders, or if the ends themselves were bevelled off, there would be none of these sore shoulders at all. Our sore backs up to the present time were practically nil.

As we marched northwards along the eastern shore of our old friend Lake Treb, shut in on one hand by the mountains, and on the other by the water, the sun's morning rays beat down with surprising warmth at this height of just under 16,000 feet, and finding no fresh water running into the lake we were tempted to test the water of Treb itself. It turned out to be far less saltish than that on the other side of the lake, and on giving our ponies and mules free access to the water's edge they drank the precious liquid eagerly. The four guides informed us that the nomads frequently bring their ponies to the lake to drink the water for its medicinal purposes. It was more than ever a wonder to us to find the water very nearly fresh, for along the banks there lay a white crust of saline particles resembling snow, and when the wind blew, a cloud of this fine white powder was raised, not at all unlike sea spray. In some places close to the edge was a layer of ice.

At nightfall we halted by the northern edge of this lake by a fresh water spring. Here we found numerous Brahminis and a few geese, and a fair amount of antelope dwelt in the hills close by.

That evening the wind blew with sufficient force to create considerable waves in the lake. The water itself was of dark Prussian blue, its colour being intensified by the background of snow mountains and the last rays of the setting sun. This grand sight, together with the clouds of fine salt, reminded one vividly of the sea itself. Our ponies and mules were let loose all the night long, but as no other grass could be seen, excepting what was close to the spring, they had no occasion to stray; besides, they had really not recovered from the effects of the useless double crossing of the Napu La.

We left the lake behind us blessed with another brilliant morning, the sun again becoming intensely hot about 8 or 9 o'clock. At this time, we used to find this the hottest hour of the day, before the wind had come; then, with the rising wind, clouds were very often blown over too, making the middle of the day sometimes quite chilly. After sunset again the wind would drop, and every star would shine out clearly and brightly.

This same day, the 29th May, we reached the foot of the eastern side of the pass, called Lanak La, the very same pass that Bower had crossed some five years ago, when, first of explorers in this direction, he made his famous journey across Tibet, passing a few miles north of Lhassa. We found fairly good grass growing here, the best, in fact, we had come across since leaving Niagzu. We decided, therefore, to stop a day and give our transport a chance to recover their strength, especially as on that very evening two ponies and one mule had failed to reach camp. Our casualties were already beginning in earnest.

It was now a full month since the day when our caravan, under Shahzad Mir, had started from Leh for the Pangong Lake. They had only traversed 397 miles and were already beginning to give way, yet we had only just reached the borderland of Tibet, for Lanak La separates Ladakh from Tibet, and our journey across this country only commenced from here. Our store of grain and bhoussa was now reduced to thirteen maunds of grain and twenty maunds of bhoussa, while nearly a month's rations of the men had been consumed. That evening there were twenty-four degrees of frost, and little Ruby, who during her life had only felt the severity of an Indian winter, begged for a warm seat, and was allowed one on my knees beneath a thick fur-lined coat, while we made our evening repast. Her appreciation of this comfortable bed she signified by giving birth to five pups. Three of these little beggars we soon put out of their misery, and after the first day Ruby would have nothing to do with the remaining couple. They were placed in a box well protected from any wind or cold, placed between some bags of bhoussa on the back of a quiet mule. Ruby, however, would only condescend to cross Tibet in this lordly fashion for one day. Her nose was outside the box all throughout the march, with no consideration for her two little pups. On the second march she jumped out altogether, for she far more enjoyed trotting along by our sides and putting her nose into every little hole with the chance of finding shikar.

On the morning after our arrival at the foot of Lanak La, we woke up with the astounding news that our four nomad guides had deserted, with what object it was difficult to imagine. We had intended before parting with them to have given them some slight remuneration, for they had been willing helpers, and had proved themselves useful to us in many ways.

On leaving this place, we wanted, if possible, to strike off a route which is called the Polu road, running in a northerly direction into Turkistan, and after following this road for a few days to strike due east again.

Our men, however, seemed more in favour of crossing the Lanak La into Ladakh, and finding a way from thence into Turkistan, and thence across to China. An idea of this kind we would not entertain for a moment, inasmuch as we should have at once given up the object of our expedition. They enumerated the amount of supplies that had already been consumed, and were anxious to travel as far as Khotan, and lay in a fresh store before making for China. We explained to them the distance we were from Khotan, and the idiocy of adopting such a measure, and reassured them that as long as we had guns and ammunition there was no need to fear of ever running short of food, and even if we did that we could easily strike north again at any moment, and reach Turkistan in a very short time. Fortunately, that same day, when Malcolm was away spying out the country, he shot a yak, and as one of the muleteers was at hand to hallal the beast, he and his comrades were enabled to feast on all the tit-bits they fancied to their heart's content, helping considerably to put them in a better frame of mind.

At daybreak, the man who remained behind with the mule and two ponies, came into camp with the former, declaring that the ponies were too weak to go any further. Not wishing to lose any animals so early in our trip, we sent back other men with grain, but they too returned, corroborating what had already been told us by the first man. As we could not leave them to die slowly in that cold, bleak land, a poor return for the good service they had done for us, we sent Shahzad Mir on a stout pony with a carbine to go and shoot them. His journey was, however, unnecessary, for he found that both the ponies had already died.

Whenever a mule or pony lagged behind it was our custom to leave a man or two men with them, as well as clothing and food for both; but in nine cases out of ten this arrangement was a waste of labour, for if an animal is incapable of carrying a load any further, the most satisfactory and economical way is to shoot the poor brute, unless there is at one's disposal time to halt for three or four days by some good grass, giving it a chance of recovering some of its lost strength. Without being able to do this, an animal will be driven along for several days carrying no load, and at the same time, it must be remembered, he is being fed up with more than his full share of grain, which the other animals are carrying, in the hope that he will recover sufficiently to earn his keep. When once they have given in, and there is no chance of a halt whereby to recoup, it is false economy to drive them along any further. Yet we did this over and over again, to our own detriment, for one forms a great attachment for such patient and long-suffering animals as our mules and ponies proved themselves to be.

The district of Lanak La is a good shooting-ground for yak and antelope, and it would well repay a sportsman shooting in Ladakh to quietly pop over the frontier and enjoy his sport in secrecy.

CHAPTER VII.

A COLD NIGHT—DEATH OF MULE—A FRESH-WATER LAKE—BAD WEATHER—DEATH OF THE FAVOURITE WHITE PONY—BY A SALT LAKE—ILLNESS OF TOKHTA—I SEARCH FOR MISSING ANIMALS.

We left our camping ground at Lanak La on Sunday, the 31st May, and failing to find the sign of any track running northwards, we tried to make out by which route Bower had gone, but our only map was drawn to such a very small scale that we could decide on nothing with any certainty. Riding ahead on our ponies, we found our easiest way was to continue up the nullah we were in, which led over an easy pass, from the summit of which we looked back over the Lanak La.

In spite of our extensive views, we could discover no route running in any direction whatever, and having come so far, we decided to give up all searching for routes and to find a way for ourselves, marching due east as much as possible, and, failing that, north rather than south. Quite naturally, therefore, we descended the other side of the pass just the same as any one else would have done, and then we found a range of mountains north of us, and another range south of us, compelling us to take to a rather narrow nullah which eventually debouched in the early afternoon into a broad valley some miles across, running in an easterly direction, and bounded north and south by ranges of snow-tipped hills. Thus the actual finding of our way was not such a difficult undertaking as one might have expected. We could see the valley stretching far away to the east, and calculated that we had some days of clear sailing before us.

We trotted on ahead in search of grass and water to halt by. Straight in front of us, we noticed what we took to be snow in the middle of the valley, but the nearer we came to it the farther off it appeared to be, and we were most anxious to reach that snow, for otherwise we saw no chance of finding any water. We finally concluded that it was a hopeless job to try and get there; and as the sun was setting, and a short distance in front of us we saw some antelope, we knew there must be some grass close by and probably some water too. Such proved to be the case; there was a small stretch of very short growth with two little pools of rain-water, as good a camping ground as we could have expected to find that night.

A strong wind was blowing from the south-west, enough to cut us in two, and as the skies clouded over pretty quickly, we had no chance of taking any observations. I really felt inwardly thankful that the clouds had come up so thick, for it is no joke observing stars with twenty-five degrees of frost and a keen wind. Unless the clouds absolutely obscure the view and one slips in between the blankets without attempting observations, one's conscience feels a prick of guilt.

Our mules and ponies must have suffered from the cold that evening, and seemed to find but little amusement in nibbling at the short grass. Throughout the night we heard some of them becoming entangled in the guy ropes of our tent in their endeavours to find some small amount of shelter from the blast. And it was a marvellous thing how the tent managed to stand at all.

Despite these and other divers annoyances, we both fell off to sleep till daybreak, when all seemed clothed in perfect stillness—the whole atmosphere was calm. It was difficult at first to collect our thoughts and to remember where we were and what had befallen us. Why was it we could hear no sign of man or beast? Something unusual must surely have happened. In another moment we were up and outside the tent; the wind had completely died away, and everything and everywhere was covered with a fresh layer of snow. The men were silent in their tents, some of our mules lay without moving, others stood with drooping heads, and, on counting their number, we found that several were missing. It was not very long before we found one of these latter; there he lay stretched out close to our own tent, as dead as dead could be. We felt sad for the poor brute, for little had we thought whilst we had been abusing him for fiddling with our guy ropes, that he had been actually dying from cold or from some other painful cause. We turned away from the corpse, and tried to forget our own selfishness.

At this moment the sun was just appearing and omened a fine and warm day, arousing us to the fact that the snow would soon melt, and if that happened, we should have no small difficulty in tracking the animals that had strayed. We at once turned out our men and sent some of them off on our stoutest ponies to search for the deserters.

This morning's disastrous work undoubtedly laid the seeds of many more deaths to come. As to our own riding ponies, which had been ridden by the muleteers in the search, so much was taken out of them that we were only able to ride them for a very few more days, and ever afterwards were solely dependent upon our own feet. The five delinquents were eventually found about five miles back in the nullah we had come from the previous day, but they were in so exhausted a condition that one of them could scarcely drag itself along, let alone take a few pounds' weight of luggage, in fact, he never reached another camp.

Even at this early stage there was no use blinding ourselves to the truth that there were a goodish number of the animals that could not possibly last out many more days. Had we been able to find good grass and water together, our best plan would have been to halt there for a few days; then, again, it must be remembered that during that period the men would be eating their rations all the same, and probably more, without making any onward progress at all.

It was almost noon before we were off, and by that time all the snow, excepting on the tops of the hills, had completely thawed, for the day was warm and pleasant. Again we fortunately had easy marching down the valley, and we went towards the patch of snow we had been so anxious to reach the previous day, but we never seemed to get there; the illusion was caused by vapour or steam rising up from the salt ground and hanging over it like a white sheet, and when we conjectured we were on the very spot, we could see nothing at all.

After fourteen miles we came to a fresh-water lake completely frozen over, having been seven hours over the march. Knowing how deceptive the distance is across such lakes at this great height, namely, just over 16,000 feet, we decided to halt where we were; besides, there was fairly good grass, and a bright moon for observations, but no water for the mules. The man, too, whom we had left behind to bring in the exhausted pony, had not turned up, and despite our discharging our guns pretty frequently, he never reached camp that night at all. In addition to all this, my own pony, which had made the march riderless, had some difficulty in struggling in. We here gave our beasts three bags of bhoussa, leaving us only thirteen more, and allowed them to graze till 8 o'clock the following morning. At that hour the sun had begun to thaw the lake, and on reaching the further side, after a most slippery walk, we found a small stream had just commenced to trickle, a great boon for our beasts.

That same evening, after marching over a stretch of undulating ground, with a certain amount of grass in some of the nullahs, frequented, too, by antelope and kyang, we came to a large salt-water lake. There was but poor grass around, but a stream of good fresh water. Ahead of us, on all sides of the lake, the land appeared absolutely barren and arid, possibly on the southern side there might have been a little hidden grass; but then, again, had we marched south, we did not know that we might not meet with another show of opposition, so stuck to our original plan of steering north when in doubt. We began at this early stage to recognise the superiority of the mules over the ponies, for three of the latter could only just crawl into camp at a late hour in a very weak condition.

Another snowstorm prevented us from making a fresh start before 11 o'clock, and as the snow had put a stop to the grazing, poor as it was, we prepared some bhoussa for our remaining thirty-five animals, yet only thirty-four came hurrying up for this much appreciated food. There stood the thirty-fifth, a few hundred yards off, gazing at the remainder, who had their noses hidden deep into the chopped straw. Poor brute! he could not reach the spot, his condition was so weak and impoverished; there he stood, resembling mostly a bag of bones, a grievous sight for us: for this was the very white pony who had been such a great friend of the black mule, and he had struggled hard for some days to keep up with the caravan. After he had been shot, we were glad to leave the spot to try and forget the sad event.

By reason of the late snowstorm, the going along the edge of the lake was heavy in the extreme, so much so that we lost a small black mule from exhaustion, the only advantage gained by this disaster being that fewer animals were left to eat up the grain. The land was barren and useless to a degree, with no chance of finding any fresh water or grass; the former difficulty was overcome by collecting some snow, and the latter by being extravagant with our bhoussa. The ground fell in terraces from the hills that rose up some distance from the lake, and was split up by several deep, narrow and harsh nullahs running into it; nor was there any sign of life, with the exception of an occasional startled hare.

Although there were twenty-four degrees of frost that night, yet at 6 o'clock in the morning we were eating our breakfast with comfort in the open, by the edge of the salt lake. There was not a single ripple on the dark blue water, whose colour was only rivalled by the magnificent sky, nor was there a sound excepting the murmurs that came from our own camp. Although enjoying this peaceful scene for a few minutes, we were all the time getting most anxious about our inability to find grass, as another few days of this kind of marching would have been most disastrous. As far as we could see, a barren salt land extended due east, and we were therefore very likely following a regular zone of salt country, and, to get clear of this belt, it was advisable to strike north.

At the eastern extremity of the lake, we found a nullah running in that direction. This we followed, a gradual ascent between two ranges to the top of an easy pass, where we found a very small stream and fairly good grass. It was freezing hard by the time our animals reached this spot, defeating us in our hopes of being able to water them properly. Three ponies and a mule failed to reach camp, and we grew more anxious than ever to hit off a suitable place for a day's halt.

It was a grand, hot morning as we commenced the descent of this pass, so much so that we were somewhat puzzled to know really what amount of clothes we ought to put on to suit the extraordinary variety in the temperature. As soon as we had come down a few hundred feet, we came to a more hospitable-looking country. Grass grew in some of the valleys, and water, too, was to be had, while a herd of antelope close by gave us an easy chance of knocking some of them over. Early in the afternoon we came to a stretch of fairly good grazing, and in the sandy nullah close at hand, a foot or so beneath the surface, flowed unlimited water. Antelope were plentiful and tame around this spot, and having fallen into such clover, we agreed to remain there over the following day.

During this necessary halt our time was by no means wasted. Men and animals had to be doctored up, the shoeing had to be seen to; there was mending, repairing, washing, sketching, mapping, and writing to be done; above all things, we began to overhaul our impedimenta to see if there were not a few articles we might dispense with. As it was, we had only been making some nine or ten miles a day, and even with this care we feared to think of or to count our losses. At this spot we left a yakdan, with some horse-shoes and a book or two inside. Whoever may happen to come this way will find something worth having. One of our muleteers, too, named Tokhta, was so ill that he could do no work; he had swollen to an abnormal size, more resembling a balloon than a human being.

Looking ahead of us, it seemed as though a range of mountains barred our road, and our only chance was to follow the sandy nullah from whence we had obtained the water. It was now covered with snow and ice owing to another storm during the night. On our left hand were some very heavy craggy-looking rocks, and through them was a very narrow gorge, only a few yards across, sorely tempting us to follow it through and see what would be disclosed on the further side. It almost invited one to enter and explore, but we feared marching too far north, and followed instead the nullah we were in, which eventually led to the summit of a pass. The way was steep and rocky, and the sun so powerful that we slung our coats across our arms and loitered on the top for the breeze and the caravan. Snow lay there in heaps, a welcome quencher to our thirst. This was a stiff climb for our caravan, the height of the pass being nearly 17,000 feet. Having waited till they were nearly at the top, we began to descend again the other side.

Quite suddenly we seemed to be transplanted into a new zone, for a cutting snowstorm blew straight in our faces. We were almost frozen, and any portion of the head we exposed suffered severely. We looked for some overhanging rock that would serve for a shelter, but there the cold became so intense that we preferred to fight the elements and keep in motion. As soon as we had completed the descent we found a broad valley stretching east and west, apparently to eternity. We walked along this, for our ponies had become too weak for us ever to think of riding them again, and sought grass and water for making a halt by. Having found a fairly suitable spot, and waited for a considerable length of time, we were perplexed to hear no sign of the caravan. They would have to come thus far, for until they did they would find no fit place to camp in.

Darkness and cold came upon us, and we kept up an intermittent fusillade till eight o'clock, when a distant shout in reply revealed to us that they were at length coming. But alas! although some of the mules walked in fit and strong, others came in wretchedly weak, and, worst of all, six animals and three complete loads had been abandoned altogether.

This was a crushing bit of news, coming as it did just after our day's halt, when we had expected to make such good headway. The men, too, declared that these six animals had all died; but we suspected, from their demeanour and the way they spoke and behaved, that very likely some of them had been left behind in good condition for a reason, namely, that should any of the men take it into their heads to turn back, they would have the assistance of one or two stout animals to carry what they wanted. We knew they had been taking but little care of the transport, even in the proper adjustment of their loads.

In order to satisfy our suspicions, we arranged that Malcolm should remain in camp, or, better still, shift the camp a mile or so further on to a better spot, while I should take a man and go back in search of the mules and ponies that had been left behind. After a five-mile tramp, we came to a dead black pony, and another mile further on found a single mule grazing, to whom we gave some of the grain we had brought with us. In another nullah close by was a second dead pony and another mule, which must have very shortly died had we not hastened on his end with a revolver. The fifth, a grey mule, we found grazing, apparently enjoying himself. The sixth, a dun-coloured pony, we could discover nowhere. He was a useful pony, and had probably wandered a long way in search of good grass. We returned triumphant to camp with the grey and black mules, the latter especially doing good work afterwards for some weeks to come. Had one of us not gone back we must have lost the services of two strong mules, which would have been due solely to the men's laziness, and we could not help thinking that they, the dun pony, and the three loads of food, had been temporarily abandoned with the intention of helping some of the men on a return journey to Ladakh. My satisfaction was, however, marred on return to camp by the news that my own riding pony had succumbed in the night.

CHAPTER VIII.

LAKE LIGHTEN—INTENSE HEAT—AN OLD FIREPLACE—SERIOUS ACCIDENT THROUGH OVER-HASTE OF MULES TO DRINK—A COUP D'ŒIL—THE FIRST FLOWER—OUR PET SHEEP—ANOTHER FRESH-WATER LAKE—A PLEASANT BATH—DEATH OF ANIMALS AND DEARTH OF GRAIN.

We were now reduced to twenty-eight animals, and we knew our muleteers to be so careless and untrustworthy a lot, that we resolved that henceforth one of us should always remain with them and the mules—never, in fact, let them out of our sight. This would ensure the animals being properly cared for, and would be a prevention against the muleteers forming any scheme for desertion. We decided, too, to make very easy marches. We continued to see snow mountains in all directions, and somehow or other managed to steer our way amongst them, either east or north-east, over valleys and plains or stony nullahs, but we were most unfortunate as to finding good grass. It must have been too early in the year, for in many places it was just beginning to sprout.

Owing to the heavy loss to our transport we could only march some four or five miles the next day, which brought us to a big fresh-water lake, completely frozen over, resembling a large white sheet. Here we resolved to lighten our loads, and left on the ground a number of cartridges, horse shoes, cooking utensils, clothes, candles, etc., besides giving the mules and ponies a feast of forty pounds of flour made into bread. Some old pistols, rather heavy ones, which we had brought with us as presents for natives, we allowed the men to carry themselves, on the condition that should we require them as presents we would buy them back from them, otherwise they might retain them for ever. Every one, too, carried a certain number of cartridges, the men doing so under the proviso that we would lend them a rifle when game was close to camp.

LAKE "LIGHTEN" (WE LIGHTENED OUR LOADS HERE).

To celebrate the occasion we christened this lake "Lake Lighten." The size of this frozen water was deceptive. Our direction took us over a portion of it which we reckoned to be about a mile across, but in reality this turned out to be six miles. On the other side we found good grass, and in a snug corner a very tiny fresh-water lake, or what we should call at home a duck-pond. Here were geese, antelope, and kyang, so we were able to make a substantial addition to our larder, which at that time was in the same state as Mother Hubbard's cupboard. This spot, too, became famous in its way for two events. First, it was here discovered that one of our carbines had been left behind the day before, and the men were so unwilling that none would go back to fetch it. To do more than they were obliged to do was quite against their grain. Secondly, another mule had to be shot, for he was too weak to rise and march. The next day another pony met the same fate, and we began to think our ammunition was more useful for this purpose than for killing game, which, as a rule, was scarce. Our march took us another six miles over the ice, and on the way we narrowly escaped losing one of the best mules, who dropped his hind legs in a crack; luckily, he was extricated unhurt, but he might easily have broken a leg.

On the 13th of June we camped by another salt lake. From the top of a pass we had been rewarded with a very fine view of it, for the water under a cloudless sky was of a wonderfully bright blue, backed as it was by massive snow mountains, but detestable when near for its uselessness. As we marched along its banks, the heat was intense, the maximum thermometer registering 105° in the sun, and although there was no fresh water to be seen, we found some by digging, though not enough to satisfy our mules, and on making our tea, its constituency was, to say the least of it, thick; perhaps Esau's description of it was nearer the mark, for he said it was like jam. On warm days like this we were always glad to discard our heavy boots, and coats, while our little terrier Ruby could only lie and pant for breath. Such heat in the Chang at a height of between fifteen and sixteen thousand feet may seem to some people incredible. Its effect upon our animals was most disastrous, sapping their strength in no small degree, and on this account we decided in future to make an earlier march.

In this little nullah we found three stones which from the way they were placed showed that they had been used for a fireplace, but not at any very recent date, more likely two or three years ago. This was the first sign of mankind since leaving Lanak La, and had probably been made by some nomads who had wandered in this direction. We here consumed two more of our remaining three bags of bhoussa, thereby still more lightening our loads.

According to our intention, camp was astir at 3.30 a.m., and we were well off before 5 o'clock, and even at that hour it was so warm that our gloves were not even wanted. It was a grand morning, and as we faced the glorious rising sun, we were blinded by its brilliancy and found it most difficult at first to see precisely where we were going. After passing into a fairly grassy valley, the home of the kyang, we descended to a fresh-water lake. At the time when the caravan was approaching this water, we were both some distance off, shooting and taking observations, and blamed ourselves afterwards at having left the muleteers. These men knew the animals had been short of water lately, yet took no step to prevent the calamity which naturally occurred at the sight of a clean fresh-water lake. They, poor brutes, forgetful of the loads on their backs, with one accord made a simultaneous rush to satisfy their thirst. The water, although only two or three feet deep, concealed a treacherous bottom of several feet of soft mud and as they plunged in further and deeper, a general collapse ensued, and the mules and ponies lay in a heap unable to extricate themselves, with a good chance too of being drowned. Nor did any of our baggage benefit by the soaking it received. Each animal as he lay had to be unloaded separately, no easy undertaking, and then pulled out of the mud on his side by head and tail, by four or five men. Furthermore the weight of each load was considerably increased by this disaster, and as the going along the edge of the water was not of the best, there were more stragglers than ever into our new camp, two of them not even getting in at all. Around the lake were several antelope, while geese and Brahmini ducks were fairly plentiful.

There appeared to be no outlet, and from the nature of the soil for some distance round the lake, we judged that its size varied in accordance with the rainfall. From this lake two routes were open to us, one running in a somewhat northerly direction through a good, grassy, watered valley, which we should have liked to have taken; but as the other route led almost due east, we took it, and perhaps made a wrong decision, for we came to a dried-up country, with small salt lakes, and had to dig deep in a dry river bed for water. The antelope we had slain made its mark upon the men, for the quantities of meat they ate made them lazy and late in making a start the next morning.

As we moved off at six o'clock, there was a light mist hanging over the land, with no breath of wind to dissolve it, a pretty sure sign of a hot day. We began ascending for some miles, and then dipped into a dry river bed. This looked a likely place to find water again by digging, and as fair grass grew around, we decided to halt. We had only marched seven miles, yet there were stragglers, and four loads had to be abandoned. This loss we could ill afford, so agreed to halt another day, when we could send back some of our stoutest mules and recover the baggage. We had no fear whatever of a stranger turning up during the night and running off with some of the goods. As we intended remaining another day at this spot, it was indispensable that we should contrive some means for watering the animals properly. We found water flowing three or four feet below the surface, but a single hole was very quickly emptied, and then we had to wait until it had refilled, so that watering in this kind of way would have taken half the day. Every one, therefore, was set to work to dig water-holes. We carried with us a large waterproof sheet, and having made a trench in the sand, in the shape of a trough, we spread the sheet over it, and then filled it up from the various holes. In this way the mules and ponies could come and drink as often and as much as they liked, and they probably would have drunk more than they did, had not the water been somewhat saltish, with certain purging qualities. We also set about lessening the loads again, and many of the articles which we had imagined before to be absolutely necessary were here discarded. Two of our five little tents were abandoned, and we took the opportunity of photographing our last entire camp. Other things, too, were left, for our animals were dying at an alarming rate. Out of our original thirty-nine only twenty-one remained, including the riding pony of Shahzad Mir. Our own riding days had before this come to an end.

17th JUNE. THREE OF OUR TENTS ARE ABANDONED AT THIS SPOT.

Yet we had only come 150 miles from Lanak La, but our hopes of coming across nomads, from whom we might either purchase yak or exchange some of our own worn-out mules, strengthened us in our determination not to entertain for a moment the idea of turning back. The men, too, were so confident that we should ere long fall in with nomads that they became lavish with their rations. Instead of continuing the practice of doling their allowance out to them every three or four days, they had latterly been permitted to have the full run of it, after being made well aware how long the rations should last if they never exceeded the amount agreed upon. This plan was instituted because in spite of all our endeavours to regulate the consumption of food, yet in the dead of night they would undo and take out whatever extra they fancied, even when the foolhardiness of such a procedure was carefully explained to them. Nevertheless, we reaped one advantage from their avarice, namely, that the loads grew lighter in a shorter time than they otherwise would have done. One man, Mahomed Rahim, annoyed at being upbraided for his laziness and sulky temperament, threatened to turn back. This we gave him full permission to do, much to his astonishment, and on second thoughts he withdrew his threat, and even our own persuasion would not induce him to go.

During our halt we were able to overhaul all the luggage. Some of it had suffered from the immersion in the lake, notably the contents of our dispatch box, for all our papers inside it had had a thorough soaking, and each one had to be put under a stone to be dried again, and to save it from being blown away by the strong wind.

About half a mile from our camp was a solitary hill rising up between eight and nine hundred feet above the level of the camp. I climbed over the rocks to the summit of this to spy out the land, and see which would be the most favourable route to take. South-east of us lay a fine range of snow mountains, and I reckoned that if we could manage to steer just north of these, there would be no more difficulty about water to annoy us. All the ranges, large and small, seemed to run east and west, and it struck me how much more difficult, for this reason, it would be to traverse Tibet from north to south. Directly south of us, some sixty or eighty miles off, was another magnificent snow range with enormous white peaks. Some six or eight miles south-east was a dark blue salt lake, with two other smaller ones nestling close to it, and in the nullah immediately south of us grew grass which, for this country, was rich. Far away to the north again loomed another mighty snow range. Our own way eastwards, as far as I could make out, would take us past a small lake, and then, skirting round some low hills, turned up a nullah half left, where there seemed, through my glasses, to be good grass.

On account of the heat we delayed our march till early in the afternoon. During a part of the morning we tested the skill of our muleteers in rifle shooting. We thought that, should we come across nomads who showed any signs of hostility, our men would have more confidence in their arms, and perhaps would not show the white feather. None of them could hit an empty bottle at forty yards, so the confidence in their aim received rather a demoralising shock.

Two days after leaving this camp, we crossed over an easy pass of some 17,000 feet high, and about the top of this found a small white butterfly and a yellow flower, the first we had seen, and it was satisfactory to think that our flower press had not been carried along all this way for nothing, for it nearly shared the same fate as other things thrown away. A few miles further on, we camped in a grassy nullah, close by some heavy, craggy rocks.

Finding the morning again too hot for the mules to march, we shouldered our rifles and set forth in search of game, and to try and find out the lay of the country ahead. We had completely run out of meat and had no wish to slay our single sheep, which for many days had marched along with us, the sole survivor of our flock. He had now become inured to hardships, was never fatigued, and was looked upon as our very last reserve in case of starvation. Although we actually found no game, yet we saw tracks of antelope, kyang, and one or two entire skeletons of yak.

WE CAMP IN A GRASSY NULLAH.

We were rewarded for our tramp in another way, when, from some high ground, we saw below us a fresh-water lake with rich grass growing around it, and we wondered why nomads did not go and live there if they knew of the spot. We hurried back to camp with the good news, so as to march to such a paradise as soon as possible, and halt there another day, to give our animals the opportunity of thoroughly enjoying the luxurious spot. Poor brutes, strive as hard as they might, there had been more casualties amongst them and we were reduced to nineteen, less than half our original number.

On arrival at this lake, we found the centre portion of it was frozen over. By the edge of the water were a number of geese; but they might as well have been living in another country altogether, for they would give us no chance of shooting them, and we began to meditate the slaughter of our pet sheep, when, coming over the crest of a grassy rise, we spotted a herd of antelope. They were certainly timid, but, with a lucky longish shot, Malcolm knocked one over, saving us from hunger and our dear old sheep from an unmerited death. How often we looked at our living mutton with hungry feelings, it is hard to say, and how often an antelope just saved him from the slaughter-house would be equally hard to relate. We admired him, too, for his pluck and endurance, for he had long outstayed every other member of the flock. Our affection for him was great, and we even meditated his triumphal entry into China, and he would undoubtedly have accomplished it, had not an unforeseen mishap later on demanded his flesh and blood. Poor beast, if he had only known how we admired him, he would willingly have given us a dinner long ago.

It was a great treat for all to get good water clear and fresh, for latterly the water we had been digging up had been mostly muddy and saltish. We were blessed with a perfect day for repose, the mules and ponies grazed along the edge of the lake, sometimes standing up to their fetlocks in the still water, a day of thorough enjoyment to them. All their swellings and sores too were doctored up and the shoeing looked to. Considering what they had undergone, their backs were in a very satisfactory state. Tents and clothes were mended and a general clear-up was organised, so much so that about midday, we and Ruby were bathing in the lake itself, and although the lake was partly frozen over with ice, and we were living at a height of nearly 16,000 feet, the water was quite enjoyable, and we could remain splashing about in it for half an hour, and afterwards bask naked in the sun. So much pleasure did we derive from this bath that we ordered all the men down for tubbing. They went, certainly, but the amount of washing they executed would not have been sufficient for some people.

A DAY'S HALT BY A FRESH-WATER LAKE.

A climate like this at such a height struck us as truly marvellous. After seventeen degrees of frost by night, we found ourselves basking in the open in a temperature of 106 degrees, showing a variation of ninety degrees in the twenty-four hours. At 7 p.m. again, the thermometer registered as much as forty-eight degrees Fahr. Our route, as far as we could make out, lay over a large open plain with but scanty grass, and far off we could see a hill standing out alone conspicuously, a useful landmark for us to march on to. Without a distinct feature to make for, the caravan would very often zigzag down a broad valley and perhaps cover a mile or two more of ground than was necessary.

We were off before 5 o'clock, with a keen morning air in our faces, but after a couple of hours the heat became so unbearable that we would fain have halted. We had, however, to march ten miles before we could find a spot at all suitable, where, too, we had to resort to digging for water. Around here we shot sand-grouse, excellent food. Owing to the impossibility of marching with the sun so powerful, we decided to make two short marches each day, one of three hours in the very early morning, and the second during the afternoon. The drawbacks to this method were the uncertainty of finding grass and water twice in one day, and the fatigue involved in doubling the work of collecting the animals and loading and unloading them. But to march ten miles straight away in one morning as we had just done would have been suicidal. We reckoned that by making these two short marches, we should cover rather more ground each day, about twelve miles.

Whilst resting the animals, that they might recover from the results of the hot morning's march, we sent Esau on in front to spy out the land, who brought back the favourable news that lakes and grass were ahead of us, and no mountains to climb. It was bitterly cold as we moved off at 4.30, but no doubt a bracing morning for our animals, but as soon as the sun rose, the heat again made itself unpleasant, and we were glad to find a suitable camp before 8 o'clock. One of the mules, a big black one, could only carry his load a few yards, and had to be shot. Although at the end of the first march we had found a good halting place in a clean gravel-bedded nullah, with running water from the snow mountains, and fair grass, yet the second march ended by moonlight with no grass at all, and two of the ponies were left behind. Our second attempt at a double march failed.

During the early morning we hit off a rivulet, which, as we continued to follow it, increased in volume, but on issuing from the nullah into a large open plain, this rivulet became a river, some ten yards across, and two feet deep, and wound away northwards. As our course took us due east, we reluctantly had to leave it, with the hope of meeting it again further on, and of finding its size still larger, so that we might be able to map out its course for a considerable distance. For some time afterwards we could see a silver streak in the distance, and beyond it an enormous range of snow mountains.

As soon as we left the river and marched east, our route lay across a sandy gravel plain, and our chances of ever finding water and grass again seemed very small, when, fortunately, from one of the hills I climbed, I noticed a hidden dip in the ground, with grass, and here, as usual, water was found by digging. The number of our animals was still decreasing, and the strength of the survivors was growing weaker and weaker. We had to economise every cupful of grain, for that was the way we always doled it out. There were six bags remaining, in all about 480 pounds, and we reckoned that each bag would last out for eight marching days if we gave to each animal two cupfuls of grain per diem. There were only sixteen survivors. One of the mules showed an obstinate and mutinous frame of mind, for when loaded with his fair due, he absolutely refused to march; as soon as we gave him a light load, he trotted along gaily and felt no effects from the march. He was about the fattest and strongest mule we had, thereby convincing us that his inability to carry his proper amount of baggage was a mere sham, and in order that he should not get the better of us, we gave his grain to others who did his work, until he saw the folly of his obstinacy.

On viewing the country from a neighbouring hill, I found that if we marched due east we should meet with obstacles in the shape of innumerable steep nullahs of red, sandy soil, but that by marching north-east we should travel over undulating grassy ground skirting round a small range of hills. This latter route we decided upon, with the hopes of marching due east again before very long. We also made up our minds to try and find a good camp where we could halt for two days, so that during that time we could send off men north and south, with food to last them, in order to search for signs of people. Even if the men were not successful in their object, still we reflected that the animals would be gaining strength and a complete rest all the while.

At 3.45 a.m., 23rd June, Camp 36, we were drinking our cocoa with chupatty in the open, without feeling any discomfort from the cold, preparatory to marching. We required neither gloves nor coats, and we almost imagined we were about to start for an early morning shoot in the Indian plains. For the next two days we made successful double marches, inasmuch as there were no transport disasters. As usual, we dug for water, and found it brackish for our labours.

Towards the end of the second day, we came to a small nullah with beautifully green grass, and two tiny pools of water almost fresh. Imprinted on the moist sandy soil were marks of kyang, antelope, and yak. Evidently we had hit upon a favourite drinking resort of game, and accordingly pitched our tents just out of sight but close to the pools, expecting to get as much food as we wanted, for it was no easy matter to keep ourselves supplied in meat. Although we stopped here a day, the only game that came for his drink was a cock sand-grouse, who suffered the penalty of death for his intrusion, while just above the camp was an old hen, who sat undisturbed upon her nest. We should have had to be a good deal hungrier than we were before we could have found it in our hearts to kill her.

CHAPTER IX.

TERRIBLE GUN ACCIDENT—WE SEND OUT SCOUTS.

We were still favoured with wonderfully fine weather. About this time the wind would blow from the east in the morning, and afterwards from the west, if there were any wind at all.

During our halt, we sent out men to the north and to the south, to try and find some signs of nomads, while we ourselves sallied forth in search of game. The total result of all our exertions was nil. The men who went south spoke only of a hilly country with grass and no water, and the northerners reported that after crossing a broad grassy valley they came to a range of hills, and that on the other side flowed our lost river, then consisting of a small stream running south-east in the centre of a very large sandy nullah; that still further off was another range of hills but no grass. We could not put much faith in the assertion of having found our lost river, which must have been still further north.

There is a place marked as a town in our map, called Barkhalu, which we intended to try and steer for by keeping as nearly as possible on the line of its exact latitude. From our present camp we reckoned that it was about a week's journey off. With such expectations, we endeavoured to keep up our men's spirits, and to induce them to double their exertions. It was always a difficult task to get them up of a morning in time to load the animals for an early start, and upon their doing this our success greatly depended. In order to make a start at 4.30 a.m., the camp would have to wake up very soon after three, and unless Malcolm or I awoke, the camp would go slumbering on till sunrise. But when we knew it depended upon ourselves, one of us generally managed to wake up in time. As the men had returned unsuccessful from their search for people after one day, there was no need to stop two, especially as all were eager to get on to Barkhalu. At our first halt for grass and digging operations, the sand-grouse came over in fair numbers and did well for our breakfast. Ahead of us a range of hills obscured an extensive view, although they did not appear of a very formidable nature, differing from those ranges to our north and south. The very feeling of not being able to see our onward course made us all the more eager to surmount the obstacle, peep over the other side, and see what lay in store for us.

On the 27th of June, Camp 39, we marched up the hills that hid our view and camped near the summit, where the water was brackish and purging. We inspected our men's rations, and found there was only sufficient to last them twenty-five days more, and as to ourselves, our consumption would have to be curtailed to one pound a day between the two of us, so as to last out for the same length of time. We all hoped to reach Barkhalu and there lay in fresh supplies, and we felt that if we could not find the place, our difficulties would be hard to overcome. From this summit we made a very early start at 4 a.m. I went on ahead, as it was my turn, finding it fairly plain sailing, considering it was not yet light. It was my intention to reach some point of vantage, whence I could get a good view as soon as there was sufficient light. Below me was an expanse of uneven, barren, sandy country, and the haze prevented me from seeing at all far.

As I was finding a way over these low mounds, I looked back, as was my wont, to see how far the caravan had come, when I noticed that Esau, a long way off, was coming towards me all alone, but, thinking little of it, I went on again to another bit of rising ground. There was Esau still alone, and on using my glasses I saw that he was first walking, then running; no doubt he wanted me. I waved my handkerchief and waited. On he came faster than before, so that when he reached me, he was so breathless from his exertion and feverish agitation, that it was some minutes before he could come out with even a single word. His first utterance was, "Shot—gun." It struck me that something terrible might have happened; all sorts of things entered my head, and the worst thought of all—had Malcolm met with an accident? I made Esau sit down, and as soon as he had grown calmer, he told me that our cook, Lassoo, had been carrying a shot gun, and that Mahomed Rahim had tried to take it from him. Whilst they were struggling for the loaded weapon, off went the trigger, and the contents of the cartridge had blown away the lower half of the face of one of the muleteers, by name Sulloo, who was marching only a couple of yards off at the time.

I hurried back as fast as possible, only hoping that Esau, like many other people, had been carried away by his own imagination, and greatly exaggerated the truth. I thought it quite possible that the man might have been wounded, and at first sight that Esau had on the spur of the moment concluded that half the man's face had been blown away. I soon met the caravan, still coming along with most of the men, but their long faces and downcast looks told me too clearly that there had been some sad mishap. They told me that Malcolm had remained with Sulloo to doctor him up and give him brandy, and had sent on the caravan, with orders to halt at the very first spot where water could be got. It seemed to me that at the place where we met water could be obtained by digging, so the animals were at once unloaded and set free.

On my way further back to the scene of the disaster I met Malcolm coming towards me. He explained to me how the poor man had completely lost the lower half of his face, and how he had done his best for him in the way of bandaging and doctoring. It was impossible for him to walk or ride, so the men took back one of our bamboo beds, whereon to bring him into camp. Whilst they were away on this errand, Malcolm and I set to work to dig for water, the toughest dig we had had, and as the water could be only taken out by cupfuls it was a very tedious business before the animals had had sufficient to drink. The water, too, was very brackish, and almost undrinkable.

In the meantime Sulloo had been brought in, and we found the most effective solution in the way of soothing his pain was cyona and water. The poor fellow was most plucky over it, and implored to be merely left where he was to die. His only thought was that somebody owed him twenty rupees, and he wanted this money to go to his brother, and not to the woman he had married the day before he had set out from Leh! And there was no one else he cared about. We had certainly fallen into a most distressing fix. We could not help wishing that it might be so willed that the unfortunate man should die quietly that same morning. We could then have buried him, and marched away from the sad calamity to fresh scenes. As one of our men, Shukr Ali, philosophically remarked, it would only be his "kismet." Should, on the other hand, the man live, for all that, it was not in our power to remain where we were, for in that case the small store of rations would have soon been eaten up, and when they were gone there was nothing to follow, as far as we could see, but starvation. "We must shove on and find people" had been our daily axiom for some time, and to halt more than was absolutely necessary for the strength of the mules would be entirely fatal. Yet it was our duty, it we possibly could, to keep the man alive, and we knew it, too. We were in a most unpleasant situation; whichever course we adopted was equally hateful to us.