It was a risk to take ponies from the far north through the tropics, and then across two thousand miles of stormy sea on a very small ship, but we eventually established ourselves at the winter quarters with eight ponies. Unfortunately, however, we lost four of them within a month of our arrival.
In the case of three out of the four the loss was due to the facts that they were picketed at first on sandy ground, and that we did not notice that they were eating the sand. I had neglected to supply them with salt, and as they found a saline flavour in the sand they ate it at odd moments.
Until Sandy died and a post-mortem examination revealed the cause of his death, we were at a loss to know why several of the ponies were ill. Naturally we shifted them at once to a spot where they could get no more sand, but in spite of the remedies we gave to them two more of the ponies died.
The loss of the fourth pony was due to poisoning, for Manchurian ponies will eat anything that can possibly be chewed, and this particular—or unparticular—one seems to have eaten shavings in which chemicals had been packed. These losses were a matter of the deepest concern to us.
We were left with four ponies, Quan, Socks, Grisi and Chinaman, and they were so precious in our eyes that they were guarded with most keen attention. During the winter months we had many opportunities to learn the different characters of each animal, and as every one of them seemed to possess an extraordinary amount of sense and cunning, we were not infrequently suffering from petty annoyances.
Quan was the worst offender, his delight being to bite through his head-rope and attack the bales of fodder stacked behind him; then, when we put a chain on him, he deliberately rattled it against the side of the hut, which operation kept us awake. Grisi was our best-looking pony, but he was so unfriendly to the others in the stables that we had to build him a separate stall.
Socks was shaped like a miniature Clydesdale, and was always willing to work and very fiery.
The last of our remaining ponies was Chinaman, a strong animal, sulky in appearance, but in reality one of the best of workers. He also liked to bite his head-rope, but when we put a chain on him he did not emulate Grisi by rattling it against the hut.
We had been able to obtain only nine dogs, but many puppies—most of which came to an untimely end—increased this number. The presence of the dogs around our winter quarters was very cheerful and gave a homelike feeling to the place, and our interest in the pups was always fresh, for as they grew up each one developed peculiarities of its own.
All the pups were white and were most useful to us in guarding the ponies, for if a pony got adrift the little army of pups, which slept in the stables, at once surrounded him, and by their furious barking warned the night watchman that something was wrong.