Gulam Razul had presented me with six bottles of whisky, which, sewed up in thick felt, had been brought all the way; for Ladakis maintain that when a mule shows signs of exhaustion and weakness it can be cured by giving it whisky or other spirits. But the bottles were heavy, so three of them were emptied and set up as a memorial on some stones. Perhaps some time or other they may be found by another traveller. The other three were kept.
On the 18th we continued to follow the same longitudinal valley. All the ranges in this country run east and west, the usual direction in Tibet. To the right was a lofty range we must cross if we would travel south-eastwards. Through a gap in the northern mountains was visible to the north-east the mighty snowy dome we had passed to the right of in 1906. Eastwards there seemed to be no obstacle in the way, but we diverged south-eastwards up a valley. Before we encamped (Illust. 301) another mule had fallen, and then we had lost a fourth of the caravan.
Next day we proceeded further up the valley. Sometimes it was only 10 yards broad between solid horizontal terraces. Below a steep crag lay five pot-stones, and therefore Tibetan hunters must have come thus far. The Ladakis were delighted to meet with signs of human beings again. The valley opened out into an extensive plain, and a gap was seen to the south-east, but as the ground was lower towards the east we turned our steps in that direction. From the low threshold the view was anything but encouraging—a world of mountains. We resolved to encamp where we were (17,405 feet high) and to try the other, southern, passage next day.
A miserable camp! The storm raged so violently that the tents could hardly be set up, and the iron tent-pegs beat together and rattled until they were fixed. We had first to make a fire before we could use our numbed hands, and a small stone wall had to be raised to prevent the fire from being carried away. Now Nature and the elements were against us, whereas we might in the future expect opposition from man. The pasture was wretched, and a grey horse and the last mule from Poonch lay dead in the morning. It was the senior of the veterans, for it had come with me all the way from Srinagar and had done good service, and I was grieved at losing it. Now there was only one creature left which had seen the first beginning of the caravan, namely, our brown Puppy. She and the little puppy kept me company in this oppressive, weary solitude.
From camp 309, where we stayed a day, there was an uninterrupted view over another longitudinal valley, to the south of the former. There lay a contracted salt lake. At almost every camp, as on the former journey, I drew a panorama of the surroundings, and tried sometimes to paint small water-colour drawings (Illust. 302). Then I had to sit in the opening of the tent and hold the block over the fire to prevent the brush freezing into a lump of ice. But the sky, which should have been of an even blue or grey tone, usually turned into a film of ice with strange stars and crystals.
In camp 310 we also remained a day, for the pasture was better than we had found for a long time. The grass grew in sand on the shore of a small freshwater lake with a free opening, where at length the animals got a good drink after having had to quench their thirst with snow. We had travelled 188 miles since Christmas Eve, or about 6½ miles a day on an average—a terribly slow pace. Now we had had a furious storm for three days, and here yellow whirls of sand flew over the ice and the wind moaned and rustled through the grass. Abdul Kerim sewed together a long Mohammedan coat for me, which I was to wear under my fur when I assumed my disguise.
On January 24 the whole country was covered with dazzling snow and the sun shone, but a stormy blast drove the fine snow particles in streaks over the land, and a roaring sound was heard. Antelopes careered lightly over the ground, dark against the white snow. A mule died on the way; not even Tibetan mules can bear this climate. I was benumbed and half-dead with cold before I reached the camp.
After a temperature of −21.3° the neighbourhood was enveloped in semi-darkness by heavy clouds. The jagged mountains to the south reminded me of a squadron of armoured vessels at gunnery practice in rainy weather. Their grey outlines peeped out from the low clouds. The valley was about 6 miles broad. Towards the east the snow lay less thickly, and finally only the footprints of wild animals were filled with snow, like a string of pearls in the dark ground.
| 306. Camp 307. |
| 307. Camp 333. The Beginning of a Storm. |
| 308. Camp 335. Lemchung-tso, looking East. |
| 309. Camp 401. Kanchung-gangri from the North. In the foreground Lapchung-tso, the source of Chaktak- or Charta-tsangpo. |
As I turn over the leaves of my diary of this terrible journey how often I come across the remark that this was the hardest day we had hitherto experienced. And yet days were always coming when we suffered still more. So it was on January 26. The sky was covered with such compact clouds that we might fancy we were riding under a prison vault. The storm raged with undiminished violence, and a quarter of an hour after I had mounted my horse I was benumbed and powerless. My hands ached, and I tried to thaw my right hand by breathing on it whenever I had to take a note, but after reading the compass for two seconds my hands lost all feeling. My feet troubled me less, for I had no feeling at all in them. I only hoped I should reach the camp before the blood froze in my veins (Illust. 305).