REMARKABLE LIMESTONE.
August, 1848.
Not far from the point where the direction of the valley changed so suddenly, the blue or greyish massive but brittle limestone of the higher mountains gave place to a rock of a very different appearance. This was also a limestone, perfectly white, or with a very faint yellowish or greyish tinge, and either quite amorphous, with a saccharine texture, and often honeycombed, or composed of a congeries of very minute crystals. Occasionally, but rarely, rolled pebbles were seen in it. No traces of stratification were anywhere discoverable, in which respect it differed very strikingly from the limestone of the previous day, in which lines of stratification, much contorted, were well seen in many sections exposed at different heights. This remarkable limestone formed the rock on both sides of the gravelly plain during the greater part of the day's journey. In one place only metamorphic slate was seen below it, dipping at a high angle to the north-east. The limestone was extremely brittle, and the cliffs terminated above in sharp pinnacles of the most fantastic shapes, while at the base they were covered with heaps of angular debris[26]. A coarse conglomerate replaced the limestone during the last mile previous to my encamping.
ELEVATED PLAIN OF KARAKORAM.
August, 1848.
On the 18th of August, after following for a few hundred yards the course of the stream through a narrow rocky gorge, the road turned abruptly to the right, up a dry stony ravine, ascending rather rapidly. The coarse conglomerate of the lower part of this ravine was succeeded by a coarse sandstone, and that again by an incoherent alluvial conglomerate with a clayey matrix. After a short distance, the ravine widened out into a narrow, gravelly, moderately steep valley, with low rounded hills on either side. By degrees, as I increased my elevation, superb snowy mountains came in sight to the south-west, and on attaining the top of the ascent an open, gravelly, somewhat undulating plain lay before me, while behind a grand snowy range was seen in perfection, forming apparently a continuous chain, with a direction from south-east to north-west. The snow was to the eye perfectly continuous in both directions as far as the mountains were visible, and appeared everywhere to lie on the mountain-sides to three and four thousand feet below their tops. As I had passed through this apparent chain of mountains without rising above 16,000 feet, the continuity of the snowy mass was of course a deception. Many very lofty peaks rose above the others at intervals. The height of the more distant ones I could not venture to estimate, but I felt at the time fully convinced that a very high peak, just opposite to me, and distant, according to bearings taken afterwards, about ten miles (in a direct line) from the edge of the plain, was 6000 or 7000 feet higher than the ground on which I stood, or at least 24,000 feet above the level of the sea. I do not wish that any great degree of confidence should be placed on this estimate, but I think it right that I should state my impression at the time, formed without any wish to exaggerate.
The stream along which I had ascended during the two last days lay in a deep ravine far below the level of the plain. Its source was evidently not far distant, and it issued no doubt from a large glacier at the head of the gorge, though the slight upward slope of the plain to the west prevented me from seeing its precise origin. In a northerly direction the plain appeared to extend for six or seven miles, and beyond it lay several ranges of mountains running from east to west, but only very moderately patched with snow. Eastward the plain diminished slightly in elevation for four or five miles, at which distance there was a low range of hills, and immediately at their foot a small stream apparently running to the northward. Beyond these low hills were a number of lofty black peaks to the northward of the great mass of snow, on the further side of which the country probably dips to the eastward in the direction of Khoten. Every one of my guides positively denied the existence of any road in that direction; afraid, perhaps, that I might attempt to proceed by it; for I learned afterwards, on my return to Le, from a merchant of Yarkand, that there was an unfrequented path by which Khoten might be reached, if the Chinese authorities were willing to permit it to be used.
My road lay across the open plain in a direction very little west of north. The surface of the ground was covered with a few boulders and many small pebbles, for the most part rolled, and very various in composition; granite, greenstones of many sorts, amygdaloid, limestone, and different-coloured slates, being all seen. Many of these were encrusted with a calcareous concretion, and the whole plain had the appearance of having formerly been the bed of a lake. Skeletons and scattered bones of horses indicated with great exactness the road across this arid tract, which seemed to be almost destitute of either animal life or vegetation. The only living beings seen were a few ravens, a hoopoe, and a small bird somewhat like a sparrow. Tufts of the moss-like Alsine, referred to on the 17th, were the only vegetation, except in the bed of a little rivulet near the middle of the plain, which produced a few specimens of Saussurea and Sibbaldia. This streamlet rose in a large patch of snow about half a mile to the westward, and ran towards the east, turning afterwards nearly due north along the foot of a low range of hills mentioned above. The elevation of its bed, which was the lowest part of the table-land in the direction in which I crossed it, was 17,300 feet, and the lowest part of the plain was immediately under the low hills to the eastward, where it probably was about 17,000 feet.
There was no snow on the plain, except one patch close to its highest part, in which the little rivulet had its source, and a very few remnants on the shady side of a low undulating ridge, which crosses it near its northern border. After about five miles, having been ascending very gradually since leaving the banks of the stream, I passed through an opening between two low gravelly hills, and found myself looking down upon a wide valley, into which I descended very gradually along a dry ravine. Passing a small patch of swampy, grassy ground, at which I left my horse with a servant till my return, as there was no food for him further on, I arrived, about two miles from the point at which the valley just came in sight, at a small river about thirty feet wide and ankle-deep, running from east to west. According to the information of my guides, this was the river which runs past Sassar,—in fact, the Shayuk. None of them had followed its course, but they assured me that there was no doubt of the accuracy of their statement, which indeed is confirmed by the fact (which I mention on the authority of Yarkand merchants) that formerly travellers used to ascend the Shayuk from Sassar, in order to reach the Karakoram pass, instead of pursuing the circuitous route by which I travelled; but that about ten or twelve years ago the glaciers above Sassar descended so low as entirely to prevent any one passing in that direction, for which reason it became necessary to adopt a new road[27].
SHAYUK RIVER.
August, 1848.
The course of the Shayuk was visible for several miles, running nearly due west. Beyond that distance, it disappeared among rocky hills. Fording the river, I ascended a steep bank, to get upon a stony platform, over which I proceeded in a northerly direction, gradually approaching a small stream which came from the north to join the Shayuk. Passing a low rounded hill to the right, I descended after about two miles into the ravine excavated by this little stream, and, crossing it, encamped under low limestone rocks on its right bank after a march of twelve miles. I did not ascertain the elevation of this halting-ground, but, from the result of an experiment made at a place which appeared nearly midway (in point of elevation) between it and the bed of the Shayuk, where I got a boiling-point, indicating an elevation of 17,000 feet, I estimate the bed of the river at 16,800 feet, and my encamping-ground of the 18th at 17,200 feet. The plain all round seemed destitute of vegetation, so that, as on the two last days, there was a great scarcity of fuel, which had to be collected from a distance of many miles; and consisted only of the roots of a small bushy Artemisia or Tanacetum, which rose three or four inches above the ground. During these three days, I suffered very considerably from the effects of the rarefaction of the air, being never free from a dull headache, which was increased on the slightest exertion.
KARAKORAM PASS.
August, 1848.