GREAT LOSSES
We had scarcely pitched our camp on the west shore of the Pul-tso when Muhamed Isa came to ask for a day’s rest. The grazing, he said, was good, fuel abundant, and the animals needed a little time to recover. I fell in with his wishes the more readily that they fitted in with my own plans—another lake voyage. I intended to go with Robert and Rehim Ali early in the morning across the lake in the direction of a precipitous mountain which lay 56° east of north; then we would sail over to the south bank and pass the night at a mountain 62° east of south. The following morning we expected to reach the north-east corner of the lake, where the caravan would wait for us on the yellowish-green pastureland. We should thus take two days on the lake to cover a distance which the caravan would traverse in one day. We would take with us food, warm clothing and bedding, and a quantity of fuel, that we might not be in such straits as last time. Water was not wanted; the lake water was potable, though it had a rather queer taste.
The lake looked very inviting and picturesque at even, its perfectly smooth mirror lying dark, dreamy, and silent between the mountains capped with eternal snow. Great, reeking fires of dung burned cheerfully among the tents, the men prepared their supper, or mended the pack-saddles, chatting merrily the while; all was quiet and peaceful, and the moon floated, silvery white and cold, among rose-coloured clouds.
| 79. At Deasy’s Camp. |
| 80. Afternoon Tea in the Open Air. |
| 81. Melting Snow for Drinking-Water. |
Then I hear far in the east a droning sound, which swells up rapidly, comes nearer, and changes into deafening thunder, and in a moment a very violent storm sweeps over the shore. I call men to close the opening of my tent. I hear Robert raise a whoop as his airy dwelling flaps about and threatens to split up into shreds. But a dozen men set it to rights again. Then my tent is strengthened with sand heaps and boxes; I am shut in with my brazier, but a small spy-hole is left in the tent opening. The moonshine glistens on the surf of the billows rolling against the shore—a grand spectacle—wild, weird, almost theatrical in its beauty. A storm of unsurpassed violence rushes ruthlessly along. It sounds like express trains rolling through covered stations; it lashes, roars, and howls, and dashes the surf thundering against the beach. The fires, but now flickering so cheerfully, are put out; the spray is spurted out like rockets; I hear Muhamed Isa’s tent flapping about; then the sound of men’s voices is heard no more, only the howling of the storm and the thunder of the waves disturb the silence of the wilderness. If I do but look out of my spy-hole I am almost suffocated by the pressure of the condensed air. Only the yaks delight in such weather; they grunt and snort with pleasure when the long black fringes of hair on their flanks flutter in the gusts.
September 28, however, was clear, the storm had sped off on its course to the west, and the dull splashing of the swell on the beach was all that was left of its fury. Before we were half way along the first line of soundings, the lake was again as smooth as a mirror; it was only flecked with small flakes of foam left behind by the storm. The water had been too thoroughly stirred up to be clear. We took little more than an hour to reach the rocky promontory, sounding on our way a maximum depth of nearly 56 feet. We left on the north a considerable bay which the caravan would have to go round.
After a short rest we continued our voyage to the south-east, and were well helped on our way by a gentle northerly breeze. This time we reached the shore without any adventures and before sunset. We landed with all our belongings. Rehim Ali collected heaps of dry dung, Robert set the camp in order, and I cruised about in the evening breeze till twilight came, and cold and darkness surrounded our bivouac. We sat down by the fire, talked, and cooked. The mince of fried sheep’s brains and kidneys tasted delicious in the open-air. To the west we could see the fires at camp No. 23. Later in the evening a strong east wind rose up again, and the waves dashed against the shore barely two yards from us. We rolled ourselves in our furs and gazed into the fire; the head is never so full of projects and aspirations as when the eyes follow the play of the blue flickering flames and the fiery forms that arise in the glow.
But the storm increased in violence, we could hardly keep the fire alive, and soon we crept under the boat, which we used as a shelter without taking it to pieces. We all three lay in this improvised tent, and strengthened it with the sail and two tarpaulin cases, which covered the halves of the boat on the march, and which we had brought with us to protect our night wraps and beds in bad weather. Above us hung a lantern which we extinguished when we were ready; now the moon shone on the sail, the tempest howled and moaned round the boat, and the surf soon lulled us to sleep.
The minimum thermometer marked 14°; it is always warmer near lakes. We were early on our feet, a good fire put new life into us, and we breakfasted beside it, the sun looking on. Our berth for the night was restored to its element, the baggage was packed in, we stepped on board and steered eastwards to the entrance of a passage which divides the Pul-tso into two basins. Its breadth is about 65 yards; in the southern basin the water was often almost red with small crustaceæ. We crossed it south-westwards, and found depths of barely 46 feet. Then a strong breeze came up from the north-west, and the waves splashed and lapped against the boat. If we only got a south-west wind we could easily sail to the appointed rendezvous. We would wait a little by the shore. It curves gracefully, and has four terraces, each about two yards high.
On the sail back a new line was sounded, the maximum depth being about 60 feet. Now we had a favourable wind on the quarter, let down the weather-board, hoisted the sail, and danced along to the strait. As we came up to its eastern point, a rider with spare horses and several men on foot came in sight. It was Muhamed Isa coming to meet us. Now Rabsang relieved Rehim Ali, but he was so awkward with the oars, that we preferred to take back our old oarsman. We said good-bye to the rescue party, and steered northwards over the northern basin of the lake, where the depths were 10 feet at most. Unfortunately the wind veered to the north, so that we were thoroughly chilled through during the two hours’ sail to the north shore.