CHAPTER LXI

THIRTY DAYS OF STORM

On February 19 we had good country for travelling, declining gently to the shore of the Lemchung-tso, which appeared in the distance. I travelled mostly on foot, as I could easily do, for the storm had abated, but, as usual, we were chilled through by the wind, though the temperature rose to 28° at one o'clock. At the foot of some hills in the south we perceived numbers of black spots, which we took for tame yaks. They soon resolved themselves, however, into whole troops of antelopes, which sped in light springs over the plain northwards. Now were often seen signs of the summer visits of the Gertse nomads. We had left Deasy's and Rawling's routes a couple of days behind us, and now found ourselves on the western margin of one of the largest blank spaces in the map of Tibet.

After a grey horse had perished in the night we had only ten animals left, or a fourth of the original caravan. They were fed in the morning with meal and spent tea-leaves in water, which they swallowed with avidity. Our store of provisions would last out barely a month.

We were 6 or 7 miles from the shore of the lake, and on arriving there we encamped close to a cave in which a millstone and a couple of yak hides had been left in the summer. Along the shore ran a path worn by the feet of men. We stayed here a day and sorted out the baggage again. All spare instruments, such as thermometers, measuring tape, eye-glasses, etc., as well as some European garments, a couple of caps, bandages, portfolios, were sewed up, together with some stones, in a sack, and sunk in a hole in the ice, which covered the lake to a depth of nearly 3 feet. Now I had only three changes of under-clothing left, one of which might be sacrificed at the next sorting out--we were like a balloon from which ballast is thrown out to keep it in the air till it has crossed a sea and has firm ground below it.

In the evening we hear a whole orchestra of roaring winds. The air hurls itself down like cascades from the mountains on to the camp, and cannot rush fast enough over the clear ice of the lake, where the moon produces bright silvery streaks on the surface, while the mountains show a dark outline to the north. Grazing and fuel are plentiful to-day, and therefore we are in high spirits. The men sing, sometimes softly like a swinging lullaby or rounded billows in a bay, sometimes in the wild and passionate style of Asiatics, and dance around the fire. But when the most violent gusts rush down, they pause, prepared to prevent the tent from falling over the fire. They seem to sing responses to the storm, and I am pleased with the performance, for it chases away thoughts of the long hours of solitude, and calls forth pleasant dreams and hopes of spring, warm winds, discoveries and adventures in Tibet. I wonder daily how this journey will end, but every day I am a step nearer to the answer.

On February 22 we left the little freshwater lake on our left hand, while the Lemchung-tso proper extended its partly frozen surface to the right. In the middle the water was quite open and of a dark-green colour, and was lashed into vapour by the storm. To the east-south-east the country seemed favourable--an open plain, where no obstacle came in our way. In front of us were two grazing animals--perhaps yaks or wild asses. Gulam, who went in front, held up a field-glass and reported that they were horses. So we were near nomads again. We searched about in every direction but could perceive no tent. Had, perchance, the horses strayed away? However, they were not shy, but became very sprightly when they caught sight of us, galloped straight to the caravan, and greeted every horse and mule individually. After this civility they followed us all the way, prancing and neighing. They were three-year-old colts which had never carried a saddle or a load--fat, fresh, and nimble-footed, very different from our last three horses. When we encamped they went off to the south and were lost to sight. The storm increased in violence, and our last iron spade and a kettle were carried away by the wind, but were afterwards recovered.

February 23. The thermometer sank to -19.8°. Our last ten animals made a short day's march along the same easy valley. I could perceive no trace of the "Snowy Range" of English maps in the prolongation of this valley. We observed a couple of tents in the mouth of a valley to the north, but we were now in no distress. I lived exclusively on tea, bread, and jam, of which there were still two pots left.

The storm continued next day also. We seldom covered more than 6 or 7 miles. In the past month we had travelled 220 miles, 30 more than in the previous month. During the evening and night the snow pelted on to our tents. I still had my warm comfortable bed, but at a pinch it would also go piecemeal into the fire. Everything that was discarded was burned or buried, lest, if it were left, it might arouse suspicions.

For another day's march we had the advantage of this fine longitudinal valley, which imperceptibly rises to a flat threshold, beyond which we passed a gold placer. The holes from which the auriferous sand is extracted are 3 to 16 feet in diameter, and little more than 3 feet deep. It is evident that some of them have been dug out last summer. A little farther down gold had been searched for some time ago. Folds, stone shelters for marksmen, and stone cairns were to be seen in several places.

Still lower down we came, on the following day, to a third placer, situated where the valley contracts to a trough. Here large sheepfolds and abundant tracks of men were found. The gold is washed out on flat stones in a flume 100 yards long. The valley afterwards contracts to a breadth of 5 yards, and the bottom is mostly filled with ice, here and there forming ledges. These had to be levelled with axes and strewn with sand, and each animal was led and held up by men. We could not afford to let any one of them break his leg and be lost to us. Then the ice came to an end, the valley opened out, and we pitched our tents in an extensive flat. Towards the east the land was all favourable, and no "Snowy Range" stood in our way. We could see 25 miles ahead. Tubges shot five hares and we had a feast that evening. A pack of wolves howled round the camp at night.

February 27. A thousand wild asses were seen on the plain which sloped down gently to the east-south-east. They formed dark lines, sometimes large, sometimes small, sometimes spots like a rosary. Some herds galloped off to a point about two hundred yards in front of the caravan, where they stood and gazed and then dispersed, springing away in graceful movements. Perhaps they were here for a great spring congress, to decide questions relating to their territory and pastures. It is certain that, like the nomads, they migrate at fixed seasons, for they also are dependent on the occurrence of grass and its varying abundance at different heights and different times of the year.

Farther down the plain, beyond a small cliff, were five herds of kiangs, the nearest of which numbered 133 head. They came galloping almost up to us. Lobsang ran towards them. Then they set off in wild flight one after another, their hoofs thundering over the ground, made a wide curve behind us, and vanished in a dense cloud of dust, the hard beat of their hoofs being still audible. A strong puff of wind dispersed the cloud, and they came into sight again; they stood quaking with fear, and looked at us, pricked up their ears, dilated their nostrils, and sniffed the wind.

To the south of our route we perceived two tents among small scattered heights. Abdul Kerim and two men went off to them while we pitched camp 341. On their return they reported that the tents were the property of a certain Tsering Ngorpel from Gertse, who had come hither with his family for two months and was going back in a month. They were poor people, and owned only 70 sheep and goats, 6 yaks, and 1 dog. The neighbourhood of camp 341 the man called Senes-yung-ringmo, and he said that if we marched south-eastwards we should almost daily meet with nomads from Gertse and Senkor, districts in the south which I had passed through in 1901. They were afraid of our men and would not let them enter the tents. Two fine sheep and a lump of butter were bought, and rescued us from starvation for a time. The hare meat was discarded and given to the dogs.

We made the two sheep carry themselves our newly-acquired store of meat to camp 342; we had no room for extra loads. We mounted slowly to a flat pass. Three tents stood in a side valley and some men came out to look at us, but we passed on without exchanging questions and answers. On February 29 the wind raged furiously all day long. Clouds swept ceaselessly over the country, and at one o'clock the temperature was 22.1°, quite low enough to chill a rider down to the bones and marrow.

In front of us lay a large flat hollow, in the midst of which two small lakes shone white with ice. We slowly approached the isthmus between them. A herd of antelopes took to flight and nearly fell over a lonely wild ass, which looked at them uneasily, but at the last moment they turned off in another direction as though they were afraid of him. On the left, in a deep trough running towards the lake, a flock of sheep was driven along by two shepherds. Wait one moment. Hand me the turban. Gulam wound it round my head, and then I went on foot like the rest. Along the shore a young man was driving six yaks. Abdul Kerim and Gulam went up to him while we set up the tents on the shore (15,200 feet).

After a while they returned with the yak-driver, a boy of fourteen in a large white skin hood. He was terribly frightened, and could with difficulty be persuaded to come to our tents; our intention was that he should guide two of our men to his dwelling. He called the lake Lumbur-ringmo. As my disguise was now complete, I went to look at the boy, who did not seem at all suspicious.

Lobsang and Tubges followed the boy to his tent, and after a long time returned with unwelcome news. Two Tibetans had rushed out of the tent, stopped them, and asked roughly what they wanted. They replied very quietly that they wished to buy food; but there was nothing of the kind for sale.

"But who are you?" an elderly man asked.

"We are Ladakis in the service of a merchant, and we are on the way to Saka-dzong," they answered.

"No," the Tibetan exclaimed; "you lie. No merchant travels this way, least of all in winter; there is no trade in Chang-tang."

"We are not trading," Lobsang replied; "we are commissioned to inquire how much sheep's wool can be bought up next summer."

"Sheep's wool--in uninhabited districts! No; you are servants of a European, who keeps himself out of sight in one of your tents. Out with the truth, or it will be bad for you."

"Ask the boy here," returned Lobsang in his most innocent tone, "if he saw any European in our tent. We abhor Europeans as heartily as you. If you doubt us, you can come to our tents and see for yourself."

"No, thank you; we will not come to your tent," the old man answered, and disappeared with his people behind the black hangings.

Lobsang was very serious when he came back, and proposed that, if we had not already come to a standstill, we should in future set up our camp as far as possible from the nomads. I was alarmed, and I had a feeling that we should not advance much farther into the forbidden land. It was also disappointing to be so openly suspected to be a European.

Now good advice was precious, for evidently the nomads would betray us to the nearest authorities. At the evening's lesson in Tibetan, which occupied some hours, I discussed the situation with Lobsang and Kutus. It was resolved that Abdul Kerim should go early in the morning to the tent, and if the nomads were still hostile we would try to lengthen our day's march so as to get out of the way of a probable summons to stop.

This time Lobsang met with a better reception, as he could present our chief and leader, whom the nomads correctly addressed as _bombo_. The old man introduced himself under the name of Sogbarong Tsering Tundup--Sogbarong is his home in the west, and this name is placed before his own much as Anders Persson i Stor-gården. The old man invited his guests into his tent, took a couple of sheep's trotters, cut them in pieces with an axe, threw them into the caldron, and offered some broth to Abdul Kerim, saying it was the only tea he had. In the tent were five antelopes cut up, a gun, a knife, and other articles. The old man did not this time express any suspicions of us, but related that a European with a large caravan had crossed the country to the east more than a year ago. He did not suspect, of course, that that same European was hiding in one of our tents. When the messengers came back they had a fine fat sheep and a can of milk with them.

This day, March 1, the wind was so strong that it was impossible to travel. My tent fell over and was held fast by the load of sand and stones on its folds. Not a trace of the surroundings was visible, and I should have obtained no notion of country on the route. At two o'clock Tsering Tundup and another Tibetan came to return the visit. They emerged from the mist only when they were close at hand, and a couple of men hastened to protect them from the dogs. The visit was a complete surprise, but there was nothing which could excite the least suspicion. My things were crammed into a sack, and I was disguised as usual; indeed, I had now no other clothing to put on. Even if they had come and looked into my tent there would have been no danger.

Our guests had capacious sheepskin coats drawn up above the belt so as to form the usual protruding bag where a large part of their property is stored. They wore hoods of sheepskin and looked like Samoyeds or Chukchis. They stood a while and chatted with our men in the wind, but I did not hear a word, though they were standing only 3 yards from the loophole in my tent through which I was watching them. After some hesitation, they went into Abdul Kerim's tent, and then the yak question was discussed. They had only six yaks, which they required for their own journeys; but if we would buy sheep, they would let us have as many as twelve, and each sheep could easily carry a fifth part of a mule's load. The offer was accepted with pleasure, and the price was fixed at 38 rupees. Then they went off through the storm and I felt safe again.

The purchase was concluded on March 2, and the twelve sheep stood with their heads together in the shelter of the men's tent. To start on our travels was impossible, for we could not have kept our legs in such a storm. We therefore remained here another day, and the men had full occupation in sewing sacks for the sheep, arranging and weighing the loads. I was worse off, for I had nothing to do and nothing to read, but I sat and wrote Tibetan notes and entered new words in my lexicon. Then I heard a hasty step coming towards my tent; it was Kunchuk bringing fire. A rustle, an oath, all the contents are swept out of the shovel, and the man has to crawl back to the camp-fire for more embers. So the day passes and the storm roars, and every one is weary and listless.

During these stormy days our animals lay for the most part quietly in a hollow where they were sheltered from the wind. The storm kept them from grazing, and they were much enfeebled by fasting. A white mule, therefore, remained behind at Lumbur-ringmo-tso when we moved off south-eastwards on March 3 with 3 horses, 6 mules, and 12 sheep, delighted that we had passed this critical point with a whole skin. Freshwater springs formed a number of picturesque ice volcanoes on the shore of the small lake. Before we encamped behind a projecting cliff, we met three large flocks of sheep with their shepherds. On such occasions I always went on foot. The new sheep all carried burdens, and gave invaluable help to our tired animals. They were tied up every night between the tents that they might be safe from wolves, and the yellow dog from Gartok proved an excellent guard. They bleated piteously the first evening, probably distressed at leaving their native country. I was sorry for them, for they had been treated as cruelly as Uncle Tom, but in time they became quite accustomed to their new way of life.

Violent storms prevailed all day and all the following day, on which we passed two black tents. At every camp we had to take the greatest care that no pieces of paper, match-boxes, candle ends, or cigarette stumps were left lying about, for we might be sure that the Tibetans dwelling near would come and search about after we had left the spot. Our route took us over a low pass (16,030 feet). The rocks comprised weathered schists, quartzite, and granite--the last only in detached blocks. On the other side we followed a deeply excavated valley opening out on to a plain, and we were just setting up our tent by a projecting rock when two large black dogs came running towards us barking. Nomads, therefore, were encamping in the neighbourhood, and we must be on our guard. Abdul Kerim, who always showed himself prudent and tactful in delicate negotiations, went off to a tent which stood on the other side of the rock and was inhabited by four Senkor nomads who owned 400 sheep. The chief of them was named Shgoge, and sold us three sheep at 3 rupees a head, some butter and milk. He said that the country here, around camp 345, was called Pankur, and that we were three days' journey from the encampment of the Gertse Pun, or the chief of Gertse. With him, however, we had nothing to do. It was to our interest to avoid as much as possible officials of all kinds, not to approach Gertse or Senkor in the west too closely, and not too near my route of 1906 to the east. We must steer our way through many pitfalls. Just in this district we crossed the meridian of 84° E., and my plan was to travel due south from the Tong-tso right across the large blank space. The continual storms which had done us so much harm, were so far advantageous to us that they enabled us to cross the great wastes without being much noticed. This day all was hazy from the dust, and our neighbours' sheep, which passed my tent in long columns with shepherds and dogs, made a very curious spectacle in the dense mist.

March 5. Abdul Kerim obtained two more sheep, and now we had seventeen to help the mules and horses. Our intention was to increase our sheep caravan by degrees, and make ourselves independent of the other animals. We must also have a spare horse for Abdul Kerim, for he was our master, and it was incongruous that he should go on foot while I, a simple caravan man, rode. This day we had the storm at our back, and we travelled 8½ miles over the same even, excellent ground which had made progress easier since we left Lemchung-tso. We encamped at a sheepfold and enjoyed the feeling that there were no neighbours to spy on us. A sheep was slaughtered; only the worst were sacrificed for food, and were to be replaced by new ones when an opportunity presented itself.