About noon we reached the village of Egu. The people about here and the headmen of the different places we came to had received news of our coming, partly from our imposing caravan having passed through a few days previously, and also through rumour, which in these parts travels in a miraculous way, and, being friendly disposed and anxious to aid us (for they were under the impression that we were tremendous swells), were awaiting our arrival headed by the chief man and his attendants, all ready with their humble salutations. On this particular occasion my dignity had a great fall, for when we had approached within twenty yards of this gathering and were riding up in pomp and circumstance to receive their homage, my pony put his foot into a hidden hole, sending himself and rider spinning on their heads.
I think this unlucky coincidence somewhat damped our lordly reputation, for we had great difficulty in getting sufficient baggage animals after it, and were compelled to take yak, a slow conveyance even compared to ponies at the walk. Over the ground we were about to traverse they never made more than two miles an hour.
After another eleven miles, we came to the village of Sherwos, having about half-way noted the village of Upchi on the other side of the river, a spot worth knowing to sportsmen, for it lies at the mouth of the Gya nullah, so famous for its ovis ammon and burhel shooting. To-day we saw our first game in the shape of a few wild duck.
Anxious to push on from Sherwos, yet unable to get as far as Lickse that evening, for there were two little bridges that had to be crossed by daylight over the river, we determined to make neither of them our halting-place for the night, but to journey on and bivouac when darkness stopped us. It was a grand march, for the river here became very narrow, perhaps only ten yards broad, with a swift and busy torrent rushing through the gorge, while almost from the water's edge arose precipitous rocks some hundreds of feet, the grandeur being magnified by the uncertain light of the moon. At night-time we made our bivouac close by the waterside, and found this cleaner than some of the rest-houses we had of late frequented. From here we crossed two bridges and reached Lickse after two and a half miles, and once more re-crossing the river came to Herma, having come ten miles altogether. Here we changed our yak for new ones, ponies again being very scarce. These were the slowest going yak that ever did work for us. After six miles we passed through the village of Cunjian, as we were unable to change them there. We continued our slow march, a very trying one for these thickly-clad animals. The sun beat down with pitiless vigour upon the loaded brutes as they struggled up and down a narrow stony pathway, completely sheltered from any welcome breeze there might have been. So toilsome became the march that one poor yak carrying the instruments was actually slipping, and would have rolled down the rocky edge to destruction, had he not completely collapsed from exhaustion in a heap on the very brink. It was some time after dark before we could find a place called Gya to stop for the night, having only come eight and a half miles in six and a half hours. Here was a little cultivation, and just room to pitch tents, but no village close at hand wherefrom to get any supplies.
From here for seven miles the road is bad, stony, and hilly, and at this distance the village of Kera lies on the other bank of the river. One mile further on our yak were once more replaced by new ones at the village of Yakiki. On paying the drivers of the last lot of yak, we gave them eight annas each, that being their correct pay, yet to our surprise they showed much delight at receiving what was only due to them. This was probably owing to the fact that the few sportsmen who go up there for shooting allow their Kashmiri shikaris to pay these yakmen, and these latter being of timid and simple nature are afraid to complain, and are probably threatened with all sorts of punishment should they dare to tell the sahib that only half the money has been given them. After leaving this place the gorge becomes broader, and the road in consequence improves.
At six and nine miles we passed the villages of Ni and Keisir, and at the latter place were met by the Lama of Chumatang. Although this man was of portly mien, and mounted on a stout pony, he was kind enough to agree to an exchange of animals. Two miles further on we saw the village of Tiri on the other bank of the river, and a little later reached Chumatang. Supplies here were plentiful enough, and we took up six bags of bhoussa, a sheep, flour, and milk. The people were simple, kind, and ready to help us in every way. We had intended to change animals again, but, as sunset was close at hand, it was arranged that, to save time in changing the loads, we should drive on our own yak till darkness, and that the good people of Chumatang should bring on the animals we were to have the following morning, as well as some donkeys laden with wood, and a number of other articles in their own hands. We grew that evening into a large and mixed rabble; everybody was carrying or driving something for the two miles we marched, before halting for the night on a small patch of grass close to the river.
Thus far in our journey we had only seen a few gulls and some duck, so in hopes of seeing more I shouldered my gun the following morning. Plenty too, indeed, we saw, but all of them persisted in flying down the centre of the river or over the opposite bank, so that shooting them would have been a waste of birds and ammunition. This was aggravating, to speak lightly of it, when Malcolm agreed to fetch any I might shoot, should they fall on the other bank of the river. A few minutes later over came the duck again, and one falling midstream was soon carried away, but a second falling on the opposite bank awaited Malcolm. He, true to his word, was soon swimming in the icy water to the opposite shore, which he reached without mishap. He soon seized the duck with the intention of throwing it across to me, but falling short of his aim, the duck fell in the water, and was soon floating away after the first. To plunge a second time into the Indus and swim across it, at this time of year, and at this height, cannot easily be described, but Malcolm's frozen state on return gave me some idea of what he had undergone, all, too, to merely throw a dead duck into midstream. There was no compensation in the shape of a good supper for his swim, but we both agreed, at any rate, that shooting duck along the banks of the Indus was but a poor kind of amusement.
That morning we reached the little village of Maie, which did not seem to hold more than half a dozen men. Although no transport animals were procurable, yet supplies were plentiful. At this spot there are two roads that branch off to Shushal, the shorter or left hand one leading over the mountains. We fancied we could see the pass over which the road went, and there appeared to be but little snow there. Yet every one told us the pass was not open, and we had reluctantly to take the longer one. We came upon a herd of eight kyang, who are pretty sure heralds that there is good grass somewhere in the neighbourhood. They appeared unable to understand what we were, and allowed us to come within a hundred yards of them. After making an easy ascent, we saw a few miles off on our left hand the village of Numa, conspicuously seated on a rock, quite an important place with its numerous ponies and yak, and plentiful supplies. We loaded up the yak first, to send them on ahead of the ponies, for they won't travel as fast, especially in the middle of the day. It was a sharpish morning.
After going some ten miles the Indus became broad, resembling a lake, and about here pigeons were fairly plentiful. We agreed that we could never afford to waste a single cartridge so early on our journey, and decided to economise by endeavouring to make every shot do double execution. A chance quickly presented itself. There were two pigeons close together on the ground. "Fire away," I cried, "now's our time." "I really couldn't," said Malcolm, "they will be blown to pieces." "Never mind that," was my encouraging reply, "we shall be able to collect the bits." Immediately afterwards, off went both the barrels, and terrible to state, off went both birds too, safe and sound, only a little bit startled.
Seven miles further on we bade farewell to the river, which flowed away to the right, while our road branched off to the left, taking us to the black tents of some nomads. Where there are nomads, good grass will also be found for the grazing of their large flocks of sheep. We spent the night close to one of their encampments, and found them pleasant and hospitable enough, receiving from them dried apricots, nuts, butter, and milk. These nomads, too, have a knack of always finding a sheltered nook with a flowing stream. Although we were on that night over 14,000 feet high, we did not feel the cold at all, doubtless because we were well protected on all sides from any wind.