Jafar Bai and Humayun rode behind us, Iftikhar Ahmad and the Doctor were escorted by their own attendants, and Sattur, with the lunch and tea-box, kept up with us fairly well in a blue-tilted mapa. Our tents and baggage were packed into covered carts termed arabas, drawn by three, and later on by five, ponies apiece, Daoud finding a seat in one of them. These waggons have very high wheels, with only one horse between the shafts, the others being harnessed in front, pulling at the side. The drivers shouted “Oo—ah! Oo—ah!” to their horses all the time, but I noticed that riders called out “Choo! Choo!” to stimulate their mounts, and without that magic exclamation I should never have got my pony along, as the whip made no impression upon him. The donkeys in this part of the world were urged by a peculiar sound reminding me of one of the symptoms of mal de mer, while a series of sharp whistles answered the same purpose with the sheep and goats.
In the East, travellers like to attach themselves to the caravan of any one of position, partly for the sake of protection and partly for the prestige which it gives them among the natives. As highway robbery is practically unknown in Chinese Turkestan the men that joined us did so for the latter reason, and among them the Master of the Horse of the Rajah of Punyal and his groom were picturesque figures, always riding as if they were showing off the points of their wiry ponies to would-be purchasers. They were in search of a couple of Badakshani stallions for their chief, and throughout the entire journey their eyes were riveted on the handsome grey and the chestnut that my brother and I rode. At each town where we halted they searched for horses, even making a purchase once or twice, which they sent back as unsuitable before the expiration of the three days during which either side has the right to break a bargain. They were unsuccessful in their quest, so that when we returned to Kashgar they purchased our Badakshanis, and we felt glad to know that the animals that had carried us so well and had given us so much pleasure were in the hands of horse-lovers, whose methods were far more enlightened than those of the Kashgaris.
OUR ARABAS ON THE YARKAND ROAD.
Page 176.
Another interesting personality was the Chief Falconer of the Mehtar of Chitral, who was engaged in a search for a pair of white hawks. These birds, which are extremely rare, if indeed they exist as a species, are said to be found in the district of Ili; but our fellow-traveller, having heard that one had been offered for sale at Kashgar and another at Khotan, determined to throw in his lot with us, as we were bound for the latter city. Truth to say, he was a timid man, entirely devoid of the love of adventure that is part of the equipment of the true traveller, and moreover he had no knowledge of the Turki language. He found no white hawk in Kashgar and probably expected none in Khotan, but I fancy he joined our caravan to pick up the language and so fit himself more or less for the still longer journey to Ili.
When we were at Tashkurghan during our visit to the Pamirs, we heard that a pair of white falcons had been procured in the valley for presentation to the Agha Khan. Unluckily one of the birds died, but the Sarikolis, not to be foiled, stuffed it and offered it to the Head of their faith together with its live mate.
This admiration for white falcons is old, and in the annals of the crusades it is mentioned that Philip of France owned a white falcon to which he was greatly attached. According to the chronicle, “Le roi aimait beaucoup cet oiseau, et l’oiseau aimait le roi de même.” But one day it made a long flight and came down among the Saracens, who refused to give it up until Philip had paid a huge ransom for its recovery.
Another addition to our party was a Hindu trader with a wooden leg, who had a few words of English at his command, saluted us in military fashion, and excited my admiration at the agility with which he mounted and dismounted from his horse. If Chaucer could have come to life again, he would have delighted in our caravan, composed of such diverse elements, and I never tired of observing the many gradations it contained between the Aryan and Mongol races. For example, one youth from Gilgit had the features and limbs of the immortal riders of the Elgin marbles and bestrode a big grey with the same effortless mastery, carrying my mind back to Alexander and his Greek colonies in Asia.
Our first real halt was the town of Yangi Hissar, which is practically a continuation of the Kashgar Oasis, the cultivation being merely broken at intervals by bands of salt desert and narrow stretches of sand-dunes. The inhabitants worked the land up to the edge of the sand, and in many cases had placed their mud-built hamlets so close to the dunes that they were in danger of being overwhelmed, should a violent sandstorm occur. The whole of our route was marked by potais, these Chinese equivalents of milestones being erected two and a quarter miles apart. They are built of mud bricks, in form not unlike the castles used in chess and some fifteen feet in height. Whenever the potai stood near a rest-house or at the entrance of a town it was attended by five miniature potais, reminding me of a hen and its chickens, a device employed to show the traveller that rest and refreshment were close at hand. It impressed me to know that these “milestones” not only marked the road to Khotan, but the entire distance to Peking, a journey that would take six months to accomplish. The Forsyth Mission speak of tall wooden mile-posts as marking this road, placed about five miles apart, i.e. a farsang or one hour’s journey, the same word being used as in Persia.