20th August. To Waad Jilgo: a pleasant march of some ten or eleven miles, in my case agreeably diversified by good sport with antelope. Our route lay down the extensive plain of shingle, the streams of which were thickly coated with ice which jingled merrily under our trampling feet. A smart pace was necessary to keep up the circulation, so I strode on ahead of Abdool. The shikarries were detained, waiting till their tats had finished their seer of corn. The poor animal that knocked up on Saturday disappointed our hopes and expectations, after all his improving symptoms dying in the course of the night. He was one of the strongest of the lot, and in fair condition.
Many antelope were seen on either hand; but the ground presented no facilities for stalking, so I did not check my course for them. After about five miles' tramp, the shikarries came up. We now left the shingly watercourse, ascending on to some uplands yielding, here and there, a light sprinkling of grass, the blades few and far between, but just tinting the spot where they grew. A fine buck antelope suddenly stepped into view, as he surmounted a rise; gazed at us a second or two, and leisurely took himself off. This was tantalising. I dismounted, and with Subhan sought to circumvent him; but he had put many a hundred yards between us. We again descended to a bed of shingle of wide-stretching dimensions, on which moving objects were indistinctly seen in the uncertain hazy light, at first thought to be kyang, then decided to be antelope. Two peculiar features were now observable in our direct route, lying close together, apparently rocks which would be islets when the floods were out. For these we steered, determining there to breakfast. As we alighted, a buck antelope sped along far on the other side, coming down a shelving bank on to the shingle, as though he were about to cross it. He was far away; but Phuttoo handed me the Whitworth. I said, "Well, we have lots of bullets and lead; how far off is he?" They said, "three hundred yards;" so, putting the sight to three hundred, I rested the rifle against a rock, and aimed high and forward. The ball was seen ricochetting far beyond the buck, which had started, and then stood, head drooping. "Mara, mara," exclaimed the shikarries in great excitement. And so it appeared. The animal did not move: so, making arrangements, I advanced on him, and, as I neared him, he lay down—evidence enough of his being mortally wounded. Gaining his rear, I finished him; and a fine, handsome animal he proved, in prime condition, a different species from the black buck, the antelope of the plains; being of a rufous colour, with a thick felt of fur, the winter coat, and fine tapering horns with sharp points bending forwards, with regularly placed transverse bars from the base to six inches from the tip in front, smoothing off to the rear: there was a curious puffy lump at the nostrils.
Continuing our way, I observed something shewing above the level of the gravelly plain, so checked my horse, and called the attention of the shikarries, and asked if it were not the horns of an antelope. They said, it was a stick. But, while thus conjecturing in an under tone, the single object doubled, and proclaimed its character beyond any further doubt. I dismounted, and prepared for action. The buck, benefiting by our audible doubts, aware of danger, sprang up, and moved away, but not rapidly; so, using Subhan's shoulder as a rest, I levelled Whitworth, and with similar effect to the former shot, the missile being seen skipping far away, and the animal stopping with drooping head. He soon lay down, and on our approach rose and made off at a laboured trot; when an Enfield bullet, striking him in the rear, and traversing his body, stretched him lifeless.
We had ridden on some eight hundred yards, when another buck suddenly rose, and stood bewildered, beholding us. Phuttoo fumbled so long with the Whitworth ere handing it to me, that the buck had turned, and was going off at a brisk pace, when I aimed and fired. "Mara, mara," was again the exclamation. We thought he was another victim. But it was only to this extent; his left horn was struck off close to his head, to the intense discomfiture of the poor beast, which threw itself into all sorts of contortions as it dashed away. We left the carcases in Kamal's custody to be cleaned and brought to camp; where we shortly pulled up in a bight of an indent, down which trickled a thread of clear water which produced a patch of unhealthy-looking turf, and some scattered blades of grass in the vicinity.
Subhan and I started after an antelope we had seen near by. He had vanished. We saw others—but does, too wary to get near. We wandered up and down; found tracks of kyang, and made for a gorge, where they might harbour. There we spied a buck; and, as he appeared to have spied us, retreated, and, creeping up the dry watercourse, surprised him feeding on the bank, and rolled him over. Now we turned towards camp; on reaching which I was informed that another horse had knocked up, and been left on the road. It was a poor, lanky, diseased animal, but had stood out well hitherto, although I had, from the first, predicted its giving in. I sent two men to try and lead it in; but they could not succeed, so I fear, though there is both grass and water close to it, the poor creature is doomed. Just before dinner I climbed a hill overhanging the bivouac, on which I found the head and horns of a yâk, a truly massive head. This had probably been killed by a shikarry, there being no other bones near. From this eminence I noticed antelope in to-morrow's line of march, and anticipate sport. There is now great frizzling and kabobbing of flesh.
21st August. I did not turn out very early, but, when I did, found that the horses had not yet been driven in, the Bhooties continuing their cooking. I took the Whitworth from Phuttoo, and, followed by Abdool and nag, started off. We saw antelope on every side in numbers, but could not get within five hundred yards, so wild were they. There were fine grassy uplands for this barren country, i.e., sandy downs bearing a greenish hue, caused by a blade of grass every square yard or so. But it was extremely agreeable to see even this scanty herbage—a wonderful relief to the aching eye. We could not get near the antelope; so, after footing it some five miles, I took the path, as usual, in a wide river-bed, and mounted. I rode on some five or six miles, and then, finding water, halted for breakfast, when Phuttoo and Subhan came up on foot, having tired of waiting for their tats. After an hour's rest, leaving them till the nags arrived, I pursued my journey, and about 3 P.M., after a most wearisome five hours of foot's pace under a burning sun and intense glare, pulled up in a dismal hollow under the mountain leading to Sugheit. This spot, being soon in shade, was bitterly cold, and it soon froze sharp. These rapid alternations of heat and cold are very trying.
It was long before any of my people arrived. I then learned that four horses were left behind, having strayed away—Moosa, Ali Bucks, and Mooktoo remaining behind to bring them on. These came in during the night, but several coolies did not arrive. I gave orders not to move till after breakfast, having on enquiry been assured both by Moosa and Abdool that it was but three hours to Sugheit, and I wished to get all the people together.
22nd August. A bitterly cold morning, and the coolies still absent. I was, notwithstanding, in good spirits from the near prospect of reaching our shooting quarters, the far-famed oasis of Sugheit, rich in grass and timber, and abounding in game, only three hours off; and I cheered up my shivering followers with visions of unlimited quantities of meat. The coolies came in at seven, looking only a little pinched. We set off at 8.30, and had a steady, even pull for some three miles up a hill, from the top of which we understood we were to gaze upon the verdant charms of Sugheit; when, to our utter dismay we looked down upon a long valley of complete nakedness, shut in by mountains equally devoid of clothing. Moosa and Abdool endeavoured to explain that 'the happy land' was not distant, pointing down the valley. But I now thought it prudent to reduce my expectations, although I had received such glowing descriptions, from so many, of the surpassing merits of the fertile Sugheit.
We went some six dreary miles down this vale of disappointment, in which, however, we saw some traces of yâk; and then we turned easterly over another mile or so of barrenness, with an occasional patch of grass by the stream. Then, coming to very rough, broken, rocky ground, the stream became our road; and a very awkward one it was, full of boulders, and the incline now very great. Grass began to form a regular border on the bank, gradually widening until we descended into a narrow valley, or rather gorge, and the grass filled the bottom. The stream was fringed with willow-like bushes, which also grew here and there in large patches. And this was the much-vaunted Sugheit. But it is not to be wondered at, that the natives of this desolate region should imagine this strip of fertility a perfect paradise, and magnify its beauties and merits accordingly.
We passed a Yarkand merchant with a few horses, who stated that he had seen a dozen or so of yâk in a spot known to Moosa. We had noticed tracks of those animals, as also of shâpu, on first entering the valley. We passed on through some fine rich herbage—a sort of lucerne abundant—and finally dismounted at a spot where were two Yarkandies, apparently known to Moosa and Abdool. Here we were to halt. These men did not give a cheery account of our prospects, as they had seen no game.