Accompanied by specially selected Kirghizes, I tried four times to climb to the top of the "Father of Ice-Mountains," but always without success. Our camp was pitched high up among the moraines. Islam Bay, six Kirghizes, and ten yaks were in readiness before sunrise, and we took with us ample provisions, fur coats, spades and alpenstocks, food and a tent. At first we climbed up over gravel, and then over snow which became deeper the higher we went. As the air became rarer, respiration was more difficult, and even the yaks halted frequently to recover their breath. The Kirghizes walked on foot and urged the animals up towards the giddy heights. It took us the whole day to reach a point 20,700 feet above sea-level. At this point we halted for the night, intending to push on higher in the morning, but two of the Kirghizes were so overcome with weariness and headaches that they asked to be allowed to go down again. The others shovelled away the snow and pitched the little tent within a wall of snow. A fire was kindled and the tea-kettle put on, but our appetites were poor, as we were suffering from mountain sickness. The ten yaks stood tethered in the snow outside, and the Kirghizes curled themselves up in their skin coats like hedgehogs. The full moon soared like a silvery white balloon just above the top of the mountain, and I left the tent to enjoy this never-to-be-forgotten spectacle. The glacier below us lay in shadow in its deep bed, but the snow-fields were dazzling white. The yaks stood out jet black against the snow, their nostrils steaming, and the snow crunching under them. Light white clouds floated rapidly from the mountain under the moon. At last I returned to the tent. The fire had died down, and the recently melted snow had frozen into ice. There was a smell of damp and smoke inside, and the men groaned and complained of headache and singing in the ears. I crawled under my furs, but could not sleep. The night was quiet, but at times a dull report was heard when a crevasse was formed in the ice or a boulder fell from the mountain-side.
When I crawled out from under my furs in the morning, a violent snowstorm was sweeping along the flanks of the mountain. Through the dense cloud of whirling snow we could not see our way, and it would have been death to mount to still higher regions. We might be glad if we could struggle down again alive in such weather, so down we started through the drifts, down headlong. We all needed a thorough rest after this experience.
On another occasion we had a perilous adventure on the rounded ice-cap of Mus-tagh-ata. We were marching upwards as usual, suspecting no danger, when the foremost yak, which carried two large bundles of fuel, suddenly sank through the snow and disappeared. Fortunately he was held fast by his horns, a hind leg, and the faggots, and there he hung suspended over a dark yawning chasm. The snow had formed a treacherous bridge over a large crevasse in the ice, and this bridge gave way under the weight of the yak. We had all the trouble in the world to haul him up again with ropes.
A Kirghiz Gymkhana
At the foot of Mus-tagh-ata there is a level and extensive valley, where grass thrives luxuriantly. The black tents of the Kirghizes stand scattered about like spots on a panther's skin. I hired one of these tents for the summer of 1904, and spent several very interesting months in studying the habits and mode of life of the people. If the weather was fine, I made long excursions on horseback or on a yak, and compiled a map of the surrounding country. If rain poured down, I kept inside my own tent, or visited my Kirghiz neighbours and talked with them, for by that time I had learned to speak their language.
Round the large hive-shaped tents fierce dogs keep watch, and small naked sunburnt children tumble about in play. They are charmingly sweet, and it is hard to believe that they will grow up into tall rough half-wild Kirghizes. But all children are attractive and lovable before life and mankind have hardened them. In the tent sit the young women, spinning thread or weaving cloth; the older women are busy with the sour milk and butter behind a partition in the tent, or perhaps they are sitting round a pot, cooking meat. A fire is always burning in the middle of the tent, and the smoke finds its way out through a round opening in the top. The young men are out with the sheep or are looking after the yaks grazing in the mountains. The older men repair saddles and boots, make harness for horses or household utensils. Sometimes they go hunting after wild sheep and goats. When the sun sets the sheep are driven into folds near the tent; the women milk the ewes and yak-cows. During the night a watch is kept on account of the wolves. The Kirghizes are Mohammedans, and are often heard intoning Arabic prayers outside the tents.
Not many days had passed before I was on friendly terms with all the Kirghizes. They perceived that I wished them well, and was glad to live among them. They came from far and near and gave me presents—sheep and milk, wild sheep they had shot, and mountain partridges. All my servants except Islam Bay were Kirghizes, and they followed me willingly wherever I chose to travel.
One day the chiefs of the Kirghizes decided to hold a grand festival in my honour. It was to be a baiga, or gymkhana, and early in the morning small parties of horsemen were seen gathering to the great plain where the wild sport was to take place.
When the sun was at its height I was escorted to the arena by forty-two Kirghizes, who rode beside and behind me. In their best clothes, coloured mantles with girdles and embroidered caps, and with their daggers and knives, fire steel, pipe and tobacco box rattling at their sides, they presented a stately and festal appearance. Among them might be noticed the chief of the Kirghizes who lived on the eastern side of Mus-tagh-ata. His long mantle was dark blue, his girdle light blue; on his head he had a violet cap with a gold border, and at his side dangled a scimitar in a black scabbard. The chief himself was tall, with a thin black beard, scanty moustaches, small oblique eyes and high cheek bones, like most Kirghizes.
The plain in front of us was black with horsemen and horses; there was bustle, neighing, and stamping on all sides. Here the high chief, Khoat Bek, a hundred and eleven years old, sits firmly and surely in his saddle, though bent by the weight of years. His large aquiline nose points down to his short white beard, and on his head he wears a brown turban. He is surrounded by five sons, also grey-bearded old men, mounted on tall horses.