PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY—MALCOLM GOES ON AHEAD.

About the beginning of March, 1896, whilst the Inter-Regimental Polo Tournament was being held at Umballa, an occasion when representatives of regiments from all parts of India are gathered together, Lieutenant Malcolm, of the 93rd Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, and I, agreed to join forces in an expedition through Tibet. Our resolve was to traverse the northern portions of this little-known country from west to east, to find out, if possible, what mysteries lay beneath the word UNEXPLORED with which alone our latest maps were enlightened; furthermore to discover and locate the source of the Chu Ma river, which was supposed to be a source of the Yangtse Kiang; finally to cross the Tsaidam and end up our wanderings at the celestial capital of China. During the few weeks that remained before we should be able to take our leave, we were unfortunately quartered at different places many miles apart, consequently all our arrangements had to be carried out by post and wire. It was towards the end of March when we left our respective stations of Nowshera and Umballa. I remember well the mail train to Rawal Pindi one bright morning gliding from the latter station past the well-known grassy maidan, then worn to a dirty dusty brown by reason of the morning tramp of small mixed armies, and by the equally keen and destructive work of numerous polo players during the latter half of the day.

On occasions like this, the thought quite naturally arises in one's mind, "Is everything here? Has my faithful bearer left anything behind?" Let us see what was with me in the carriage. In one corner lay my rifles; these consisted of a ·308 with Martini-Henry action, and 300 rounds of ammunition with Jeffery's split bullets, a sporting carbine with 200 rounds, a shot-gun with 300, and a couple of government cavalry carbines with 100. These latter we brought not in the hope of using, but rather to lessen the chance of a skirmish with any natives showing hostile intentions, by merely making a display of them. The knowledge of a caravan being well armed and equipped, however small it may be, is very often a battle half won amongst unsophisticated inhabitants of little-known countries. The other rifles, for game, we selected chiefly for their handiness and the lightness of the ammunition, although a double-barrelled express may be equally or more destructive. All the ammunition was placed in government tin-lined wooden boxes, with rope handles.

Here, too, were our scientific instruments: A three-inch theodolite and stand, a six-inch sextant, three aneroid barometers, a hypsometer, maximum and minimum thermometers, plane table and stand, prismatic compass, and field glasses. Besides this we had a drying press for flowers, skinning knives, with alum and arsenical soap, a butterfly net, and a kodak; also the best map of the country we could lay our hands on, and a few stiff books, such as the "History of the Indian Empire," where the dullest mind and imagination can find unlimited food, for there are times on trips of this description when bad weather or illness may prevent outdoor progress, and the brain will at once cry out for an innings. Close by lay a despatch box and medicine chest, containing, for man's ailments, quinine, Cockle's pills, chlorodyne, auberge for colds, antipyrine, antiseptic wool, vaseline, and kola nut, the last named being particularly useful, for a small piece the size of a pea has been known to sustain strength and energy at the most urgent times; there were also mustard plasters, which are always effective for sticking on natives of any uncivilized country, Tibetans themselves being especially partial to this kind of medicinal adornment. For the mules and ponies, whose chief and probably only ailment would be the suffering from sore backs, we carried sugar-of-lead ointment and cyona. There lay, too, a small chair, a bundle of warm blankets and waterproof sheets, and a box containing twenty chain hobbles with bolt screw. We had learnt from Bower, who had crossed Tibet some five years previously, that one of the greatest delays was caused by the straying of the animals at night-time, and against this annoyance we were resolved to protect ourselves. These were very simply made. By way of a portable kitchen we had laid in a box of cooking utensils, consisting of some steel degchies and a frying pan. The stores were placed in six boxes, each weighing about thirty pounds, and made up principally of tea, cocoa, Lazenby's soup squares, Brand's essences, candles, matches, some sardines and bully beef, with three bottles of good brandy. In the luggage van were also two government cavalry saddles, with carbine bucket, wallets, and wooden stirrups, for we had been led to believe that the cold would be intense, and that metal stirrups would probably produce a frost-bite. Lastly, though more precious, was my little fox terrier, Ruby, so full of life and spirits at starting, yet in happy ignorance of the undeserved fate that overtook her some seven or eight months later.

Unlike many Indian trains, where, too, the fashion would have suited me far better, this particular train landed me punctually at Rawal Pindi at 2 a.m. Despite this unearthly hour and the drizzling rain, I was a little surprised to find my special tonga awaiting me, though it proved insufficient for carrying all the luggage. Leaving my little terrier to take charge of this, I embarked on to a wooden springless box, pulled by a mule, and steered for the nearest serai, in hopes of being quickly able to find an ecka. Here I squeezed through some bars of the large wooden gates which were supposed to keep out night intruders, and any sleeping inmate who lay in the various rooms I prodded with my stick, and demanded an ecka. None of these, however, at such an hour, would accede with any kind of willingness to my proposals. Some absolutely refused to awake, while others who did, strongly objected to being roused and to helping me. The only arrangement that would suit any of these men at all was, that twenty-five rupees should be paid instead of the proper fare of eighteen. In that case, and providing that my luggage was brought to the serai, and that there were not too many things, they agreed to start for Baramula when they felt inclined. Bribes, threats, and even blows were of no avail, and finally, being opposed by superior numbers, I retreated, and sad to say not gracefully, for I had to squeeze through those bars again. Another ride in the box brought me to a second serai, where I luckily fell in with a choudrie, who produced an ecka with so stout a pony that he reached the station before I could in my mule box. Here the ecka was loaded and sent on in advance, shortly to be overtaken by my tonga, for a tonga will cover the journey of 160 miles to Baramula in two days, while an ecka takes about five. The only difficulty that arose this morning was the constant jibbing of the horses, and had they not the providential dodge of repeatedly collapsing and lying down, I should undoubtedly have rattled down some open precipice. Despite this delay, I reached the well-known hill station of Murree for 10 o'clock breakfast. From here the road was heavy, and had not some gangs of long-suffering coolies, who were working on the road, come to our assistance, the tonga would be there now. That evening we reached Domel, where a tumbledown shanty had supplanted, for the time being, a well-built bungalow which had recently been washed away by heavy rains and snow. In one respect this was an ill-chosen spot to spend the night at, as the horses had to be taken away for shelter some three miles off, I was told, and to induce natives to bring the tonga ready to start by daybreak was as difficult as to squeeze blood out of a stone.

By 7 o'clock, however, we were once more rolling along in dripping rain, with the everlasting but somewhat monotonous roar of the river Jhelum below us, so that it was a decided relief to stop for breakfast, even at an inn like that at Chagoti, where I could hardly mount the slippery steps that lead up to the entrance, benumbed as I was by wet and cold, and cramped from several hours of the same position, for the constant downpour prevented any stretching of legs when changing horses at the various stages. In somewhat heavier rain we journeyed on through slush and mud, and arrived at Baramula about sunset. It was my intention to have embarked here at once on to one of the river boats and reach Srinagar as quickly as possible. But darkness and rain, and an inviting light from the adjacent dak bungalow dissolved these plans, and I was soon ushered inside by a Kashmiri, by name Mahomed Malik. This man was to be our cook on the expedition; he was armed with several letters of recommendation, amongst others from Curzon and Littledale, and had doubtless travelled over a great portion of Asia, and we vainly congratulated ourselves on having managed to pick up a servant with so much experience. I was struck, too, by his pleasant appearance, his quiet yet quick and business-like way of doing things, little knowing at the time that he had at heart no real intention of accompanying us, but merely of buying the articles required for our expedition, and persuading us to buy a great many unnecessary ones, in order to reap a small fortune from the transaction.

From experience gained on this trip and on others, I prefer servants of all descriptions, with the exception of guides pure and simple, to be men who have made no previous journeys. Although the possession of letters explaining what good men they have been on previous journeys is a useful recommendation, still it can never guarantee what they will be like. Many of them, after receiving liberal and well-deserved pay for their services, become inflated with their own importance and vainly think that no expedition can manage without them. Besides, men of this description are far more expensive articles than the fresh and keener man, anxious to make his first essay. It is hardly worth while, too, to quote the proverb about the fish and the sea. The following morning, I found myself being towed up the river towards Srinagar, fairly sheltered from the incessant rain by the matting that forms a roof to these boats, or doongas, as they are locally called. The water was thick and brown, no view of the famous snow-capped peaks or pine-clad mountains could be seen, all was obscured in damp dreariness, and my thoughts fled back to those I had left to enjoy the sunny plains below. Nor was there any more inducement on the morrow to slip out from between the blankets and admire the wonderful scenery of these parts. I continued to prolong the night until my boat was suddenly boarded by one of the chief agents of Srinagar, a member of the Sumud Shah family, so renowned for their Jewish appearance and ways, and for their partiality in buying and selling all kinds of goods, and for lending or borrowing money to any amount in any shape or form. There was a second invader, a moment afterwards, by name Ramzana, who was a chapliwalla, or seller of chaplies, which are shoes made of leather and straps, and are worn by most sportsmen who shoot in Kashmir; besides these he sold everything that man's imagination could conceive as being made of leather, but, it should be added, of an inferior kind. They brought with them some large brass plates loaded with white almonds, sweets, and dried currants, and placing them beside my bed as a friendly initiative to business, began to ramble on, with beaming faces, about the superiority yet cheapness of their own goods, and of their eternal willingness to provide me and my friends who might come to Kashmir with them, at all places and at all times.

About midday the clouds began to lift, and having lightened my cargo of these persevering Jews, I decided to take a muddy walk and finish the last eight or nine miles on foot. Part of the way lay along the Baramula and Srinagar road, along which tongas should certainly be able to ply the following year, and if the many heaps of flints that were lying alongside were beaten down into the road itself, there is every chance of its being able to withstand the traffic. On either side, too, was a row of dwarf poplars, or "pruss" as they are called by the Kashmiris, beautifully planted in line at about a yard interval, doubtless helping to make the drive pleasant and shady enough.

By the river side were men breaking up between two stones black, spikey nuts called tinkara; these are gathered from the bottom of the river, and the outside appearance belies what lays hidden beneath, for they are rather good eating. About dusk, Sumud Shah's shop came in sight, and having climbed up the steep stairs into his showroom, which overlooked the river with its many opened windows, I was surrounded and made much of by numerous Sumuds, each of them inquiring amongst other things whether I carried any banknotes, and if so, whether they might take care of them for me. Soon afterwards they produced dinner, composed of about a dozen plates holding different coloured messes. Fortunately Malik came to my assistance and brought a mutton bone, and certainly saved me from an illness. I was glad to escape from so much civility and hospitality and descend the stairs again and wend my way to my bedroom, which was airy enough, for three sides could only be described as windows of perforated wood, whilst the fourth held two doors and no wall.

The first thing I learnt here was that, if I wanted breakfast at 8.30, it must be ordered for 6 o'clock, which lesson saved me a vast amount of trouble and impatience in doing all other business in Srinagar. My second lesson learnt was to believe nobody, however sincere they might appear to be, for these vendors are for ever plotting and scheming against one another for the sake of gaining the merest trifle, and many of them, who are seemingly bosom friends, are in reality the most unscrupulous enemies, and vice versÂ. My time was spent in bargaining and purchasing goods from men of this description.

It was our intention here to have collected, if possible, some good mules and ponies for transport, and send them up to Leh, which would be our starting-point. But the route was at this time of the year impassable by reason of heavy falls of snow. All our transport, therefore, had to be bought in Leh itself. There was plenty to do at Srinagar, nevertheless, in fitting out the expedition in other ways, and in endeavouring to pick up some muleteers, as it is not always easy to pick up good men at Leh to accompany one on a trip of this description.

One day I visited the Tibetan serai which lies a little lower down the river, to see whether I could get some Yarkandi saddles for our mules, although it seemed rather ridiculous to purchase these before the animals. I was under the wrong impression that they were not obtainable in Leh. They are made of coarse grass or reeds, covered with sacking, with soft munnah over the part that rests on the animal's neck and shoulder, costing from eight to ten rupees each when complete. They have the advantage over the wooden saddle, as mules can roll with these on their backs, and they are, besides, easily repaired, and can have holes cut into them, or otherwise shaped, so as to relieve any pressure on the tender part of a sore back.

Whilst engaged in getting these saddles mended up, I fell in with a man called Tokhta, who was clever at shoeing, and as he seemed willing to come with me I at once engaged him. He was a Yarkandi man, and had travelled in Turkistan.

ON THE RIVER, SRINAGAR.