MUZTAGH ATA—THE SNOUT OF A GLACIER.
Page 162.
We had had a superb view from the flank of Muztagh Ata, but nothing to compare with that which we enjoyed from the shore of Little Lake Karakul that lies at the foot of this giant of the Pamirs. Here to the north stood up in all its grandeur the great mountain barrier separating us from Kashgar, which we had looked upon as some enchanting vision when seen at rare intervals from the roof of the Consulate. The “Father of the Snows” and its rival—the natives call it Kungur—rose sheer from the lake, in company with peak behind peak, all nobly serrated and wrapped in eternal snow. Guardians of the Roof of the World, their proud virginal crests, as yet untrodden by the foot of the explorer, offer an indescribable attraction to him who has felt the lure of the Inaccessible.
A KIRGHIZ AND HIS DAUGHTER.
Page 164.
Our tour was now drawing to a close. I felt a keen regret at leaving our free life in these uplands and exchanging an akhoi for a house, and I had also become fond of the friendly Kirghiz. These people are most devoted to their children. In one camp the Beg brought his little daughter to see me, and my guest played tune after tune on her rough home-made sitar, her fingers working with wonderful agility. In fact, her repertoire was so extensive that I feared the performance would never end; so I showed her a string of coral, which made her stop short in a glow of rapturous excitement. It was pretty to see her holding out the ornament to her proud father and then whispering in his ear to ask him to express her thanks, and finally putting on the necklace with shy smiles for the donor. A sturdy boy, some twelve years old, also rises in my memory, son of a Beg’s wife. This lady, who, I was told, practically ruled the tribe, was most pleasant and voluble and called upon me with her boy, bringing offerings of dirty lumps of cheese, a skin of rancid fat, and a strip of woven carpet. It was the fifth day of Ramazan and she expressed much regret that the fast forbade her to sample my tea and biscuits; but Kuli did full justice to everything, drinking with loud noises and waving his teaspoon excitedly, as he had never seen such an object and could not understand its use. Next day I noticed that he was taking an active part in the “goat game,” a green silk handkerchief that I had given his mother being tied round his waist. His father was giving the performance in my brother’s honour, and the players accompanied us as we left their encampment for a new halting-place.
The game began with a series of wild yells, and so recklessly did the players dash about that we were really in danger of being ridden down, in spite of shouts of warning from Jafar Bai and our Kirghiz guide. To our amusement Daoud joined in, forcing his pony into a reluctant canter; but, as he could not bend low enough from the saddle to pick up the goat when it lay on the ground, he was jeered at by Sattur and our less ambitious followers. The game finally ended on the shore of Lake Bulunkul, which is so choked up with sand from the hills rising close to it that, when we crossed, we found it practically dry ground with shallow streams meandering over its bed. It was towards the end of July and our horses were tormented by horse-flies, which we avoided as best we could by cantering whenever the rough ground allowed. In camp the grass was full of mosquitoes, which as we walked rose up in swarms and fastened upon us greedily. Luckily their bite was mild, and as this was our only experience of these pests we could not complain. Since we had left Lake Bulunkul we had made, as it were, a loop and returned again to Kuntigmas, where we halted for two days in order to meet Sir Aurel Stein, who was bound for the Russian Pamirs and Persia.
We could not return to Kashgar by way of the Gez defile, as it would have been impossible to cross the river, which was now in full flood; therefore we traversed the difficult Ulughat Pass, which is open only during the summer, and is dangerous for animals at the best of times. A long stony valley led us past great glaciers hollowed into caves, the entrances to which were fringed with stalactites of ice, and the mountains seemed to close in more and more forbiddingly. I confess that my heart almost failed me when we reached the foot of the pass and I saw a series of zigzag tracks faintly marked on what seemed to me to be the face of a precipice. It would have been impossible to negotiate such a place on horseback; but yaks were in readiness, and I mounted mine thankfully, with a grateful remembrance of the shaggy bull that had carried me up the flank of Muztagh Ata.