IN THE LAND OF THE WILD YAK
We broke up our camp on the morning of October 29, after a night of 49 degrees of frost, at an early hour, so as to find water for our thirsty animals as soon as possible. A small lake and two springs we passed were frozen as hard as rock; beside one lay the skull of a yak, which had evidently had its throat cut with a knife; we also saw two fireplaces on the way, and at camp No. 50 a path, which, however, might have been worn by wild yaks. We therefore were no doubt coming near to other men, and we were always on the look-out for tents.
Next day the storm increased in strength, and it was only with the greatest effort of will that I could use my hands for map-sketching. We seemed paralyzed and could no longer think clearly. We were like the field-mice, which run from one hole to another seeking to find shelter from the wind and cold.
On arriving at a spring I slipped down wearily from my horse, and thought I should be frozen before the fire was kindled. Muhamed Isa, also, and four other men, were ill, and could not assist in setting up the tents. When my tent was ready, I crept into bed in my clothes, boots and all. While Robert and Tsering were covering me up with warm wraps I was seized with violent ague, my teeth chattered, and my head ached terribly. Robert, who had been trained in nursing in Dr. Arthur Neve’s school, now proved an excellent doctor, and took every care of me. As soon as we were under cover he plunged into the study of Burroughs and Wellcome’s medical instructions. The Tabloid Brand Medicine Chest stood open, as frequently happened, in my tent. Stanley, Emin Pasha, Jackson, Scott, and many other travellers have prized this ideal travelling dispensary as highly as myself. My case, a present from the English firm, had been filled with especial regard to the climate of Tibet.
At ten o’clock at night Robert and Tsering undressed me. There were 47.9 degrees of frost in the night, and the storm howled dreadfully. Robert took my temperature every two hours, and it rose to 106½°, high-fever mark. As he told me after, he pondered whatever he was to do if I remained for good at camp No. 51. I could not sleep, and Robert and Tsering watched beside my bed in turn; glowing lumps of fuel were brought in all through the night, and a burning candle was placed behind a box, where it was protected from wind and draught. I was constantly delirious and the men were much concerned, for they had never seen me ill before.
Next day the fever had slightly abated, when Muhamed Isa slipped gently into my tent to inquire how the Sahib was. He informed us that the wounded yak was dead, and that, in cutting it up, two Tibetan bullets had been found; also at three places hearths had been seen, which could not be more than two months old, for ashes still lay among the stones. So hunters had been here in autumn, and he was quite convinced that we should soon meet with the first nomads.
It was still as the grave, only the storm howled and moaned. All the men in the camp were afraid of disturbing me, but I gave orders in the evening that they should sing as usual. I could not lift an arm without help, and I lay hour after hour watching the curious lights in the tent. Within, the stearin candle emitted a dull light, and the yellowish-red blaze of the fire and the bluish moonlight penetrated from without. The singing sounded melancholy and wistful, and was accompanied by the howling of the storm.
On November 2 the storm still raged, having now continued to the sixth day. I had slept a few hours, though the cold sank to 52° below freezing-point. I was getting a little better, but I was still extremely weak. Robert, who was troubled because his horse had died in the night, read to me one of the novels we had stolen from Deasy’s depôt. Tsering and Rehim Ali massaged me in the Asiatic manner to restore my strength. And so we arrived at the fourth evening. I had been confined to my bed for four-and-eighty hours, the soil of Tibet seemed determined to keep me, and perhaps I should be allowed only to dream of the forbidden land at a distance.
Surely on November 3 the god of the winds must have said to the westerly storm, “Six days shalt thou labour—on the seventh thou shalt become a hurricane.” Dust and sand penetrated the thin canvas and covered everything in the tent. The men, who had led the animals to water, had rings of dust round their eyes, and their faces were ashy grey. For my part I felt like one of our poor worn-out brutes, which does not know whether he will reach the next camp. Then I decided to remain here with some of the men and some provisions, while Robert and Muhamed Isa went in search of natives, whom they might send to fetch me. But no; I would try to hold myself in the saddle, for I did not wish to remain in this miserable fever-camp. I wore a whole wardrobe of winter clothes: several trousers, my leather jersey, the ulster, fur coat, cap, and bashlik; it was a heavy weight for my weak, tottering legs as I walked to my horse and was lifted into the saddle.
We followed the shore of the small lake near our camp. But I soon perceived, after nearly falling again and again, that the exertion was too much for me, so we halted and lighted a fire. After a short rest we rode on, and were delighted when at length we saw the smoke of our caravan rising behind a hill, where it had camped by a source and had found fireplaces erected last summer, with skulls and horns of tame sheep around them. Yak dung was very plentiful; the source was, therefore, a watering-place of wild yaks. A third of the men were really ill, most of them suffered from headache, and all were more or less indisposed. Robert alone was in good health, and he nursed us.