Whose ears are adorned with gold,
Would that I might become thy closest companion.
3
Thy breasts are as a newly plucked apple.
Oh, mount thy swift steed and ride with me.
When its shoes are worn, I will replace them with silver.
We left the Russian Pamirs by a pass that seemed, when we reached its summit, to have an almost interminable descent, as we saw miles of a stony track stretching out below our feet. Half-way down we were met by a contingent of tribesmen clad in long red, blue, yellow, or crimson coats, with the white felt Kirghiz hats or leather and sheepskin caps, their bedding of vividly coloured felts being strapped on to their saddles; and when we finally emerged from the long winding valley, great Muztagh Ata was so close that it seemed as if we could easily ride up to its snow-line. We were now back again in the delightful uplands of Chinese Turkestan, and for the first time for many days we saw what might by courtesy be called a house. It consisted of two dark and dirty rooms opening into a squalid courtyard surrounded by a mud wall, and I felt that the Kirghiz akhoi was a far preferable dwelling to this, as it can be moved from place to place and its surroundings are thus kept clean. In the few instances where the Kirghiz had built a walled enclosure for their flocks, and in consequence occupied the same camping ground permanently, the place was quite uninhabitable for Europeans.
We made one of our longest halts on the fine grazing grounds of Tagharma, a broad plain with encampments at intervals. A group of akhois had been prepared for us, and a big crowd welcomed my brother as we rode into camp, many Sarikolis having ridden over from Tashkurghan, their capital, some sixteen miles off, to greet him. We were now at an altitude of some nine thousand feet, and the lassitude and the “hand-at-my-throat” feeling that I had experienced on the Roof of the World left me entirely, and I revelled in the delicious weather, which was neither too hot nor too cold. It was delightful to stroll about the valley in the evenings, my heavy fur coat and wool-lined boots being no longer needed, and I was charmed with the sheets of mauve primulas, the big white cistus, white and mauve anemones, pretty blue daisies with yellow centres, millions of little cream flowers with a most deceptive resemblance to a daisy, the familiar dandelion, and others. In the hills I came across a curious plant, dark brownish-red, the size and shape of a sheep’s tongue, which had no leaves, but pushed its way out of the sandy soil. It was rough to the touch when pulled up, but white and fleshy under the outer skin, and was heavy, with no distinctive smell.
One day the Kirghiz gave a display of the baigu, or “goat game,” which is the national form of sport. A goat was killed, and after its head and entrails had been removed and all its bones broken, the skin was stitched up and it was then thrown into the middle of a throng of men mounted on their wiry little ponies who constituted the mêlée. The first man that succeeded in picking it up tucked it under his thigh, holding it with one hand while he rode off, pursued by the others eager to wrest it from him. If he managed to keep his booty while he galloped round a flag and returned to the goal, he won the round and the game began afresh. The riders often held their short-handled whips in their mouths in order to have the right hand free when they bent down from their saddles to seize the goat, but owing to the shortness of their stirrups they had not particularly good seats and seemed to come off easily. I noticed that there was no excitement on the part of the ponies, and their masters could keep them at a canter only by tugging at their mouths, using the whip and belabouring their sides with their long boots. We watched the game from the far side of a stream that surrounded the playing-ground, but every now and again were obliged to retreat hurriedly; for some of the performers would plunge into the rivulet with a great splashing, or even leap it, and ride amuck among the spectators. Our servants and the large crowd of onlookers did their best with shouts and crackings of whips to keep the players to their own side of the water; but the Kirghiz were half mad with excitement, yelling, shrieking, pulling at one another, and never ceasing to urge their unfortunate ponies.
