In the night of October 19 two more of our horses were frozen to death, and a sheep. Of the latter we had now only 16; puffed up with gas the three dead animals lay on the slope and stared at us with dark blood-stained eye-cavities; the ravens had already been at them. The ground was very difficult, constantly sloping upwards and then down again. We saw the caravan struggle up to a pass, but beyond appeared another still higher, with patches of snow. The crests of the mountains in this country run in general to the east-north-east. In the south lies a lake at a distance of about 20 miles, but it is far to the right of our route.
When we reached camp No. 44, at a height of 17,539 feet, in the midst of terrible mountains, it was announced that Muhamed Isa was ill. He had suffered for some days with severe headache, and had been well dosed with quinine. As he could not reconnoitre as usual, Robert asked permission to climb the high pass which barred the way to the east, and to look around. He did not come back till dark, and then informed us that we should soon emerge from these troublesome mountains if we turned to the south-east. Muhamed Isa therefore received instructions for the following day in accordance with this information.
What a difference from the previous evening when the stars twinkled down from a blue-black sky and the fires blazed bright and red! Now heavy masses of cloud lie over mountain and valley, so low that they seem almost within reach of the hand. It snows unusually thickly; the ground is white, and the inequalities and tufts of moss throw long shadows about the fires. A pale light rises out of the provision fortress, now reduced to small dimensions, and casts a feeble glow on the black tent of the Ladakis. Tsering sits with his men round the kitchen fire, wrapped in furs, and delivers a lecture more than two hours long, without pausing a second. His tongue is like a windmill in a breeze. They have all known one another for years. What on earth can he have to tell them that they have not heard already twenty times over? But Rabsang, Rehim Ali, and a couple of other men listen attentively, and express their satisfaction from time to time. I join them for a while. They rise to greet me, and lay a fresh armful of dry dung cakes on the fire. The flickering flames throw a glaring light over the snow, which crunches under the feet of the men. But the brightness does not extend far, and, beyond, the darkness of night yawns on all sides. The grazing animals can neither be seen nor heard, but the snow hisses as it falls continuously into the blaze of the yak-dung fire.
CHAPTER XIII
UNFORTUNATE DAYS
October 20, 1906, was a bad day. The snow lay three inches deep, and all around was dazzling white in the sunshine; only to the west blue shadows spread over the slopes. We were to cross the pass. In the universal whiteness the distance seemed short, but after the caravan had advanced half way, the pass still appeared as a small, black, fixed point. The field-mice were awake and scurried about between their holes in the snow, which became deeper as the way became steeper. It was soon a foot deep, and we had to keep carefully in the track of the caravan, lest we should roll over into the snowy abyss. Spots of blood were seen; one of the animals had hurt its foot against the sharp-edged detritus. Step by step we mount upwards, blue-black clouds gather threateningly together behind us, and in an instant we are enveloped in the wildest driving snow: the dry particles, fine as flour, whirl round us, like comet tails, with a rushing sound. They collect into drifts, the track of the caravan is hidden, and we can no longer see how far it is still to this deadly pass.
A dead horse lies on the way, without its eyes—the wicked ravens must always have the eyes while they are still warm and soft. The wind had driven the snow over his back and neck, as though to make him a nice and comfortable couch. He lay as on a bed of state, exposed to all the winds of heaven, with clean white pall, and the black ravens as a guard of honour—the only thanks he got for his services.