The climate during our visit in June and July was one of the most changeable in the world. It was always cold when we left camp between six and seven o’clock, the sky often grey and cloudy and the mountains veiled in mist. After a while the sun would come out and I would throw off my overcoat, but probably would soon put it on again, as icy blasts were in the habit of descending suddenly from the hills. At noon it was often extremely hot, and I found the mid-day halt, even in such favourable spots as on the banks of a stream, very trying, owing to the scorching heat from which there was no escape. There are no trees on the Pamirs, and I have vivid memories of halts on bare hillsides where there was not even a boulder large enough to give shade, and where, in spite of my pith-hat, sun umbrella and thick clothes, I felt as if I were being slowly roasted as we lay exposed to the fierce sunshine. It was difficult to read or write, almost impossible to sleep, and I could appreciate the Jewish prophet’s word-picture of “the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.” Our chief alleviation was hot tea from the thermos bottles, our throats and lips being always parched with the dry air, and every now and again we had an unexpected shower-bath. Peals of thunder would reverberate from the hills, over which dark-purple storm-clouds had gathered, and suddenly a deluge would descend upon us. But the sky would be as blue as ever after a few moments, though the whole atmosphere felt sensibly refreshed; and later in the day these smart showers would descend in the form of snow. It was always very cold when the sun went down, and in camp I wore all the clothing I could muster and pulled a fur coat over all; my feet were slipped into my big felt boots lined with lamb’s-wool; and a woollen cap on my head completed the costume in which I sat at our dinner-table. At night my sleeping-bag lay on a thick mattress and a rug, as it is important to have as much below as above, and when my fur coat was thrown over me I was by no means too warm.
We were living at a height of twelve to fourteen thousand feet, and although the air was deliciously keen, like that of some Alpine winter resort, personally I never felt braced up, but was always languid and disinclined for exertion owing to the rarefied atmosphere. Riding did not fatigue me and I could walk for a considerable distance on the level, but I panted at the least effort and had a curious sensation as if a hand were on my throat. Certainly I slept profoundly and felt a continual wish to slumber, both in season and out; but in spite of all the exercise I was taking I had no appetite, and ate only as a matter of duty. Directly we descended to the level of 10,000 feet I felt a different being, and life, appetite and energy returned in a rush, as if by magic.
I had imagined that there would be an abundance of rich grass to support the flocks and herds of the wandering Kirghiz tribes, and was disappointed to find the Pamirs, as far as our tour extended, a dreary waste, often covered with boulders and gravel from the moraines of the mountains, with only small strips of pasturage at intervals. In general the grazing was scanty, and the inhabitants, who number but a few thousands, must often have a struggle to support life during the winter. Even during the summer they move their flocks frequently to fresh pastures, for the grass is soon eaten up, and a large population would starve. In narratives of travel in the Pamirs the provision of food for the baggage animals is always mentioned as one of the difficulties to be encountered, and it was fortunate for us that my brother’s official position saved us from anxiety on this score. We had been obliged to carry several loads of barley from Kashgar, but the local Begs were able to arrange for fresh supplies of forage at some points of our journey, and led us usually to camping grounds where the grazing was fair.
When we bade farewell to the Great Karakul Lake we spent three days on the Russian cart road, riding the ninety miles to Pamirsky Post on the Murghab River. On the morning of our start snow was falling fast, and as I dragged myself out of my warm sleeping-bag at 3.30 A.M. I felt thankful that my lot was not cast permanently in the Pamirs. But, when once we were on horseback and muffled up, the going left nothing to complain of. We rode along a broad unmetalled track made for the most part by the simple expedient of removing the boulders which thickly strewed these sterile valleys, having been brought down from the ranges bounding us on either side. This road was marked at intervals by piles of stones measuring it into versts and half-versts—five versts being equal to three English miles. The distances were painted on a stone on every other heap, though often the figures were placed upside down, and now and again were omitted altogether. All our servants were provided with smoked glasses, but would not use them at first, Sattur, for example, wearing his across his lips or hanging under his chin, until after a while he came to understand that they were of real benefit.
Our Cossack escort, consisting of a corporal and three soldiers, were cheery sturdy youths, clad in buff uniforms with blue facings and long buff greatcoats. Their forage-caps were set rakishly on one side, and the corporal brushed his thick yellow hair into a big well-greased roll which almost hid his forehead, and was evidently proud of his personal appearance. They wore blue glasses, a necessary precaution against the glare of the sun on the snow, and rode handy little ponies as born horsemen. I felt that they must have but a dull time in these outposts of the Russian Empire with so few of the amenities of life, especially as their pay was at the low rate of one and fourpence a month, supplemented by rations of meat and flour, forage for their horses, and the provision of a uniform and three shirts annually. Their service lasts for three years, after which they are free to return to their farms for the rest of their lives. Each man has a rifle and a limited amount of ammunition, and the corporal was for ever on the look-out for something to shoot at.
At one part of our second day’s march the road wound over a pass in the hills, and my brother and Nadir, who had espied game in a valley beneath us, went off to stalk while the rest of the party rode forward. On a cliff to our right the corporal pointed out a large group of vultures feeding on a dead sheep and emitted shrill whistles that made the great birds hop about in a most ungainly fashion. I watched them with interest, which changed to anger when the Cossack let off his rifle at them, making our horses shy violently. The birds, though unharmed, were so gorged that they could hardly rise from the ground, but my brother’s quarry, startled at the shot, made off and escaped, and Nadir became livid with rage as he endeavoured to explain to the Russian how ill-timed his love of sport had been on that occasion. During these three days the country was monotonous in the extreme, the stone-strewn plateaux having hardly a sign of life. At one spot, where the hills were formed of hardened mud, Nadir told us that Mr. Haydon, the well-known geologist, whom he had accompanied on a tour in the Pamirs, had found fossils. We were anxious to see some for ourselves, and he led us to a curiously shaped hill where, after some groping, he disinterred two or three sea-shells, a sight that filled me with wonder as I realized that this mighty Roof of the World, with its valleys twelve to fourteen thousand feet high, had long ages ago been under the sea, and indeed sea-sand composed much of the mountain whose side we were probing. That afternoon, between the intermittent showers of snow, we had the curious spectacle of a violent thunderstorm in the range to our right, another raging at the same time in the mountains to our left, while overhead were brilliant sunshine and a bright blue sky.
On the afternoon of the third day, as we neared Pamirsky Post, we were met by a couple of Mingbashis or Headmen, gorgeous in purple robes, broad silver-embossed belts and snowy turbans. These officials led us down the valley to the Murghab, one of the head waters of the classic Oxus, and here we were warmly welcomed by the Russian commandant with his Cossack escort. He had most kindly ordered out his carriage for me, and though I should have much preferred to stick to my horse, politeness made me dismount and do my best to scramble into what was really a box on wheels. As the ponies were too fidgety for me to mount by the wheel, and there was no step, I fear that I got in with a sad lack of dignity, and then I was hurled from side to side of the conveyance as the coachman whipped up his horses to a breakneck speed. We tore along at a great pace to a stone fort built on a spur of the mountains above the river, and galloped through a gateway of the high wall that surrounded it into a large courtyard. The Cossack captain insisted on putting us up, turning out of his own carpet-hung room for my benefit, and, as his quarters faced the barracks of the soldiers, I had from the windows a good view of lounging Cossacks, who spent much of their time playing with a crowd of thick-coated, quarrelsome dogs or shouting at their ponies, which were driven in at sunset from the grazing grounds along the banks of the river.
We met here a colonel of engineers who was engaged in putting up signalling posts on the hills in the vicinity, in order that communication might be established with the headquarters at Kharuk; for there was no telegraph wire connecting Pamirsky Post with the outer world. As he and our host spoke only their own language I could take no part in the conversation at supper, and, moreover, I felt very sleepy, since the meal began at nine o’clock, an hour when I, who had risen at half-past three, wanted to be in bed! A diversion was provided in the shape of a wolf-cub, a quaint and engaging little creature, but not the sort of animal that I should care to bring up as a household pet.
Next morning I grasped the difference between English and Russian meal-times, and when at half-past nine there was no sign of breakfast, my brother and I went down to our camp, pitched by the river, where we had a meal and I gave out stores and made arrangements for our clothes to be washed. We were now at a comparatively low level, and it was warm as an English summer’s day, with just a “nip” in the air; but the long narrow valley must be a dreary abode in winter, as it is shut in by lofty mountains from which the wild sheep descend to graze and then fall an easy prey to the hunters. As we stood by the river we spoke of Lieutenant Wood, the first Englishman to travel in the Pamirs, who wrote of the yak as an unknown animal. But Lord Dunmore and Major Roche were the first to visit Pamirsky Post after the occupation of this desolate region by the Russians, and the former gives a description of how in 1893 the officers and Cossacks were living in akhois furnished with brick stoves.
Just below the fort there was a squalid little village of mud and stone shanties inhabited by Kirghiz, and here were collected great bundles of wild sheep horns ready to be sent to Tashkent, where they are used to decorate native saddles or to make knife-handles or combs, the hunter receiving only a rouble and a half—less than three shillings—for the horns and skin.