That night we camped on an open space surrounded by trees and irrigation channels, and as it was hot we slept à la belle étoile outside our tents. It was delicious to feel the cool night breeze as I dropped off to sleep, but not so pleasant to wake suddenly in the dark with the horrible sensation that something large was creeping over my face. By the dim starlight I saw crawling forms on my bed, and my torchlight revealed the largest beetles that I have ever seen—and I have a considerable experience of the cockroach—some reposing on my pillow and others flying round with a booming noise. How I regretted my mosquito net! But luckily I had a head-net in my hold-all, and after shaking off the unwelcome intruders I composed myself to sleep again as best I could, knowing that I had none too long a night, as I must rise at four o’clock.
On the third day we rode towards low conglomerate hills with a background of snowy peaks, and were soon painfully stumbling among the smooth boulders of the wide bed of the Gez River, which was the crux of the first part of our journey. In this district no one comments upon the weather—it is almost monotonously fine during the summer—but travellers ask one another how high or rather how low the water is. In our case the answer was important because, if we had arrived too late, the dangerous Gez River could not have been crossed and we should have had to make our way over a series of steep passes in the hills.
Fortune favoured us; for the “great water,” which is due about the middle of June and continues throughout July, had not yet commenced. But two or three days later the fast melting snows would have swollen the stream and rendered any crossing impossible: as it was, it was touch and go once or twice. The next three days were spent in the long Gez defile, the frowning mountains rising up in many places sheer from the river-bed and hemming the water within narrower and narrower limits as we proceeded. I was reminded now and again of the gloomy canyons of the Fraser River in British Columbia, and all the time the roar of the water crashing over rocks and boulders rang in our ears. During each stage we had to ford the river some five or six times, and at first I had the queer sensation of being carried down-stream, the land opposite appearing to swim away from me. But, having traversed rivers in Persia, I knew the danger of becoming giddy and falling helplessly into the torrent; therefore I kept my eyes on some fixed object and not on the swirling water, and as I was well looked after and had no responsibility, I enjoyed the excitement of the crossings. Old Jafar Bai took one of my reins and my brother’s huntsman, Nadir, rode at my side to rescue me in case my horse fell, leaving me nothing to do but to sit in my saddle and urge my steed with voice and whip. The animal, unaccustomed to deep water, would plunge and stumble as it tried to make good its footing on the slippery boulders, and now and again would become nervous, lose its head and attempt to swim. All around us were struggling horses, whose excited riders without ceasing yelled at the top of their voices as they drove the baggage animals before them, and shouted countless directions that could not be heard above the tumult and hurly-burly of the water as it poured over its stony bed. I was advised to keep my horse up-stream at first, and when half-way across to let it go down-stream, and was told that I must on no account cling to it if it lost its footing and fell, for it would probably trample upon me in its struggles. Apparently the best thing in case of an accident was to let myself go with the current and trust to being rescued. The natives are said to cross rapid rivers in safety, even when the water reaches to their armpits, by jumping all the time—a very exhausting method, I should imagine.
FORDING THE GEZ RIVER.
Page 109.
Though our baggage ponies were lightly laden they seemed at times almost overwhelmed, but the Beg of Tashmalik and his men who escorted us, knew the dreaded Gez River in all its moods, and shepherded the terrified animals most cleverly. At the deepest fords camels were called into requisition and with much querulous complaining were forced into the stream with our loads, and on these occasions the Beg insisted that I should mount his own horse, saying that it was an expert at negotiating torrents. The lord of this district was a big, ruddy-faced man, and could hardly take his eyes off the first Englishwoman he had ever seen, being particularly interested in my side-saddle, which he thought was a most insecure perch. He looked upon me as being more or less in his charge, and I heard afterwards that he had deputed three of his men who were strong swimmers to keep an eye upon me in case my horse foundered. As a rule the early morning is the best time to cross these rivers, because no snow melts in the mountains during the night, when everything is frozen, nor does it do so until the sun has been up for some hours. Once or twice our baggage animals were greatly delayed by the water, and on one occasion only our bedding reached the camping ground, a pasturage dotted with tamarisk scrub. That night I was roused more than once by some grazing pony lurching against my bed in the darkness.
The dreary Gez gorge became wilder as we penetrated its recesses. Here and there rocks and stones were piled one upon another in a chaotic confusion that gave one a glimpse of the tremendous power of ice and water, the scenery being so savage as to seem more like a nightmare than reality. It inspired me with a kind of awe, and I am not ashamed to own that I should have been terrified to find myself alone in these solitudes, shut in by the lofty conglomerate hills, above which one gained occasional glimpses of snowy peaks. The river, beneficent and life-giving in its lower reaches, is here an agent of destruction, with not a tree and hardly a plant on its banks; and yet at one of the gloomiest reaches, when I was filled with a sense of impending disaster, my mood was changed in a second by the sight of two small birds pursuing one another in a love flight.
We had to cross several native bridges made on the cantilever system, and always dismounted, for they swayed from side to side, and our horses were nervous at first, even when led over them. As the raging torrent at these points was penned into narrow limits it swirled and eddied and foamed among the huge boulders below us, and I was thankful that these bridges had been improved since Lord Dunmore visited the Pamirs in 1892 and wrote that they consisted of a couple of beams on which brushwood and large round stones were laid.
When there were no bridges and the water was too deep for our horses we were obliged to negotiate various passes. In these the narrow track, with only room for one animal abreast, was often formed of loose shale, which here and there poured down the mountain side in big fans, the shingle rustling as it fell on to our path and descended the precipitous cliffs to the torrent surging far below. I did not appreciate my pony’s fondness for treading on the extreme edge of the track and sending showers of tiny pebbles hurtling down; but as it would have been a physical impossibility for me to have walked up all these passes—I always descended them on foot—I used to console myself with the reflection that our horses were by no means anxious to commit suicide.