Buried in Snow
eyelashes became covered with icicles. Every time I tried to open them there was an uncomfortable feeling as if the eyelashes were being torn off, for the slit of the eye became fast frozen directly the lids were closed.
At last the morning came! The night had seemed endless. When I tried to raise the blanket in order to sit up, it seemed of an extraordinary weight and stiffness. No wonder! It was frozen hard, and as rigid as cardboard, covered over with a foot of snow. The thermometer during the night had gone down to 24°. I called my men. They were hard to wake, and they, too, were buried in snow.
"Uta, uta, uta!" ("Get up, get up, get up!") I called, shaking one by one, and brushing off as much snow as I could.
"Baroff bahut!" ("There is much snow!") remarked one as he put his nose outside his blanket, and rubbed his eyes, smarting from the white glare around us. "Salaam, sahib," added he, as, having overcome his first surprise, he perceived me, and he waved his hand gracefully up to his forehead.
The others behaved in a similar manner. Kachi was, as usual, the last one to wake.
"O, Kachi," I shouted, "get up!"
"O, bahiyoh!" ("O, father!") yawned he, stretching his arms. Half asleep, half awake, he looked round as if in a trance, muttering incoherent words.
"Good morning, sir. Oh, much snow. Oh look, sir, two kiangs there! What is 'kiang' in English?"