CHAPTER LIX

IN THE SNOW

The storm howled round us all night long, and our thin tent canvas fluttered in the blast. Gulam awaked me with the information, "It is nasty weather to-day; we can see nothing." Even the nearest mountains were hidden by the snow, and if I had not already taken a bearing along the valley in the direction south, 35° E., we could not have set out. This day, January 30, we had to keep together, for the driving snow obliterated the tracks immediately. We had two leaders, and I rode last along the trail, which at first was marked as a black winding line, but farther on, where the snow lay 2 feet deep, no ground or rubbish could be seen. A brown horse which carried no burden lay down and died in the snow. We could see the snow making ready its grave before it was cold. It vanished behind us in the dreadful solitude.

We move forwards at a very slow pace through the snowdrifts. The fury of the storm carries away the warning shouts from the lips of the guides and they do not reach our ears; we simply follow the trail. Lobsang goes first, and he often disappears in the dry loose snow and has to seek another direction. In the hollows the snow lies 3 feet deep, and we can take only one step at a time after the spades have cut us a ditch through the snow. One or other of the animals is always falling, and the removal of his load and readjusting it causes a block, for all must follow in the same furrow. All, men and animals, are half-dead with fatigue and labour for breath. The snow sweeps round us in suffocating wreaths; we turn our backs to the wind and lean forwards. Only the nearest mules are plainly visible, the fifth is indistinct, and those at the front are seen only as slight shadows amidst the universal whiteness. I cannot catch a glimpse of the guides. Thus the troop passes on a few steps till it comes to the next block, and when the mule immediately in front of me moves on again it is only to plunge into a hollow filled with snow, where two men wait to keep up its load. The direction is now east and the ground rises. A few such days and the caravan will be lost (Illust. 312).

At length we come to a low pass (18,268 feet high). Even at sea-level such a journey would be hard enough, but how much worse it is in a country which lies some hundreds of feet higher than Mont Blanc, and where there is nothing but granite. On the eastern side of the saddle the snow lay 3 feet deep in some places, and it seemed as though we should be stuck fast in the snowdrifts; and what had we to expect then? For the provender was coming to an end, and we must go on if we would find pasture. Now we went gently down, the snow became a little less deep, and we came to an expansion of the valley where there were stretches of ground swept bare by the blast. On the right appeared a slope where Abdul Karim thought he saw blades of grass sticking up out of the snow, and he asked permission to camp. It was difficult to set up the tents that evening. At dusk the two sick men came up, their faces blue and swollen.

A miserable camp! The storm increased to a hurricane, and nothing could be heard but its howling. When I looked out of my tent I could see nothing that was not white, and there was no difference between the ground, the mountains, and the sky--all being alike white. Not even the men's tent could be distinguished in the driving snow. The fine particles penetrated into the tent and covered everything with a white powder. It was impossible to look for fuel, and at three o'clock the temperature in the tent was 1.4°. I could see nothing living outside, and I might have been quite alone in this wilderness.

My trusty Gulam comes, however, at length with fire, for Lobsang and Sedik have found some brushwood. Gulam says that Sonam Kunchuk is ready to lay himself down on the snow and die, but I advise him to take a good dose of quinine instead. Late at night the tones of the hymn to Allah reach my ears, sounding softer and sadder than usual amid the raging of the storm. We are moving towards a dark destiny, I have attempted too much, and any moment the catastrophe may come. We are snowed up here, the animals must die of starvation and I myself--well, it is but a question of time.

A little below the camp the valley made a turn to the right. Thither the animals had gone at night, but came back as there was no grazing. A grey mule had stayed behind to die. It lay in a curious position, as though it had died in the act of getting up--on its knees with its nose pressed against the ground, and was frozen hard in this position. Yet the temperature fell only to -16.4°.

The storm continued with undiminished violence on January 31. We loaded the nineteen mules and horses and marched down the valley at random in the same dense snow. The snow came down in incredible quantities; such a snowstorm I had never witnessed even on the Pamir. We could not travel more than 2¾ miles, and then we halted and pitched the tents, which looked dirty against the pure snow. Four big wild yaks were moving over the slopes, tramping like snow-ploughs. The dogs made after them, but soon gave up the chase, for they could not go far in the drifts. The animals received their allowance of rice, and then trailed off to a hill where they poked about for the scanty grass.

I examined all the baggage with the help of Abdul Kerim and Gulam, and discarded all that could be spared. Unnecessary clothing and worn-out boots were burned, and reserve garments were brought out. My articles, note-books, and instruments were stuffed into two small sacks. Writing materials and other things for daily use were packed in a small handbag from Stockholm. The other chests were used as firewood, when the men had stripped off the leather coverings to make new shoe-soles. Even the box for the cooking utensils and the provision boxes were burned, and all the baggage was henceforth carried in sacks. By this means the loads were made lighter and more convenient, though there was more trouble in turning everything out of a sack when anything was wanted from the bottom.

In the afternoon there was a short break in the snowstorm. Beyond the white limits of the valley was seen to the south-east the large lake Shemen-tso, with a dark purple sky above it, presaging more snow. I took bearings of the next day's route, and it was well I did so, for soon the snow began to fall again unusually thickly. It snowed all day and all night, and a swishing sound was heard as the snowflakes were driven by the wind against the canvas of the tent and from time to time slipped down. In the morning of February 1 piles of snow lay round the tents. The minimum temperature was only -0.8°, and it felt quite pleasant. We loaded our weary hungry pack animals and marched slowly south-eastwards. The gale blew from the south, and the snow pelted on to our faces.

Silently and heavily the fainting troop moved on towards the lake. All the men's beards and moustaches were white with rime, and we seemed all to have turned grey in a night. Abdul Kerim walked in front with his staff, but he took a wrong direction, and I chose another leader. In some places we were nearly suffocated in the snow, and the crestfallen men stood in the drifts, at a loss what to do. But we plunged and floundered on a bit, and then stood still; then a little bit further. The pass over which we had made our way the previous day was no doubt blocked by snow. Had we reached it two days later we should never have forced a way over it. Now our retreat was cut off, and we must seek safety southwards. It was some consolation to know that we had burned our ships.

Fortunately the ground sloped down, and as we toiled on hour after hour the snow diminished and travelling became easier. But the storm, which had now raged for a fortnight, showed no signs of abatement. Down on the western flat by the lake the snow mantle was thin, and we encamped in a spot where the grass was not bad. I gave the men some cigarettes every evening--at other times they smoked yak-dung and filled their narghilés with tea-leaves.

The night was unusually mild, with the minimum temperature only 5.2°, but the clouds were as dense as ever and the snow fell unceasingly. It was dark all day, as though a curtain hung over the forbidden land. We stayed at camp 319. The storm blew from the south-west more wildly than usual. The animals grazed with their heads to leeward, and had to be driven windwards again every time they came to the edge of the restricted area of grass. On February 3, also, we remained where we were. All night long the hurricane had raged, tearing, raving, ploughing up the ground like a gigantic plough, and endeavouring to pull down our tents. In the evening I secured everything that could fly away if the tent were overthrown. In the morning all the animals had disappeared as though they had been carried away by the blast; at any rate, they had gone with the wind to the northern shore of the lake.

Immediately beyond our camp was a spring of fresh water and a round fold for sheep. I had ceased to look forward to spring, it seemed so hopelessly distant, and to be farther off every day that passed. Brown Puppy and Little Puppy kept me company as usual, and we played together to pass the hours of our imprisonment. Gulam continued to rub my feet, but with little result, for they remained numb and cold as ice. Then he brought two pairs of _paipaks_ of thick felt and a pair of _charuks_ or Yarkand boots of soft leather outside. They were really warmer than my Kashmir boots, which were ruthlessly burned.