FOLLOWING THE INDUS—EGU—WAITING AT SHUSHAL—A WARNING.

It was a warm afternoon as we descended the hill already mentioned towards the River Indus. We felt full of spirits in expectation of the journey that lay before us, for great is the charm of entering an unknown country in absolute ignorance of what lies ahead. We thought perhaps we might be fortunate enough to be about to open up a land rich in minerals or pasturage, or teeming with game, for none could tell us what existed over the border land nor who lived there. We might, too, be instrumental in discovering a new and easy route into China. All these thoughts and many others were foremost in our minds, while the glory of uncertainty and the pleasure of perfect freedom, added to the success we had met with in overcoming all the initial preparations, made our hearts light that day. On the other side of the river we saw the straggling village of Shushot, and at the time I thought to myself what miserable wretches the people must be who live there with no thought of ever going beyond its precincts, such as could never attempt to make a trip like ours, or even dream of it.

On one side of the river we passed by several chortens or monuments, and the village of Shey with its ruined fort, an almost indelible sign of its former importance. This village straggled on into Tickse, which was to be our first halting-place. Throughout this valley we had been travelling, the young grass was just beginning to bud, and we fondly imagined the richer grass we expected to find when we crossed the frontier a few weeks later. In the fields around Tickse, men and women were busily engaged, but ceased from their labour to watch and salute us, apparently glad to see Europeans. On the hills were the houses of the Lamas. We put up at the rest-house and bought two maunds of bhoussa for one rupee and filled three of the bags we had brought with us. We used a patent weighing machine of our own, which, of course, the men of Tickse could make neither head nor tail of, nevertheless they trusted us implicitly, for they said we never cheated, but remarked that if they had had the weighing machine and we had been unable to understand it, they would have done their level best to defraud us of as much as possible. From Tickse we continued to follow the River Indus, or Tsang-po-chu, as it is called in these parts, through a large open plain and still blessed with that fine blue Ladakh sky. After easy riding for nearly ten miles, we came to the small village of Chemre. At this spot there is a road which bends sharply to the left, passing over the Chang La, La being the Tibetan word for Pass. At this time of the year, however, the pass was closed, for the snow was deep. We were therefore compelled to take a more circuitous road but still following the river.

A short distance beyond Chemre is the village of Maserung on the other and left side of the river, and almost opposite Chemre itself is the Hemis nullah, famous for its great yearly festival and still more important gathering every twelve years. The monastery up this nullah can be seen from the other side of the river just after leaving Chemre.

About noon we reached the village of Egu. The people about here and the headmen of the different places we came to had received news of our coming, partly from our imposing caravan having passed through a few days previously, and also through rumour, which in these parts travels in a miraculous way, and, being friendly disposed and anxious to aid us (for they were under the impression that we were tremendous swells), were awaiting our arrival headed by the chief man and his attendants, all ready with their humble salutations. On this particular occasion my dignity had a great fall, for when we had approached within twenty yards of this gathering and were riding up in pomp and circumstance to receive their homage, my pony put his foot into a hidden hole, sending himself and rider spinning on their heads.

I think this unlucky coincidence somewhat damped our lordly reputation, for we had great difficulty in getting sufficient baggage animals after it, and were compelled to take yak, a slow conveyance even compared to ponies at the walk. Over the ground we were about to traverse they never made more than two miles an hour.

After another eleven miles, we came to the village of Sherwos, having about half-way noted the village of Upchi on the other side of the river, a spot worth knowing to sportsmen, for it lies at the mouth of the Gya nullah, so famous for its ovis ammon and burhel shooting. To-day we saw our first game in the shape of a few wild duck.

Anxious to push on from Sherwos, yet unable to get as far as Lickse that evening, for there were two little bridges that had to be crossed by daylight over the river, we determined to make neither of them our halting-place for the night, but to journey on and bivouac when darkness stopped us. It was a grand march, for the river here became very narrow, perhaps only ten yards broad, with a swift and busy torrent rushing through the gorge, while almost from the water's edge arose precipitous rocks some hundreds of feet, the grandeur being magnified by the uncertain light of the moon. At night-time we made our bivouac close by the waterside, and found this cleaner than some of the rest-houses we had of late frequented. From here we crossed two bridges and reached Lickse after two and a half miles, and once more re-crossing the river came to Herma, having come ten miles altogether. Here we changed our yak for new ones, ponies again being very scarce. These were the slowest going yak that ever did work for us. After six miles we passed through the village of Cunjian, as we were unable to change them there. We continued our slow march, a very trying one for these thickly-clad animals. The sun beat down with pitiless vigour upon the loaded brutes as they struggled up and down a narrow stony pathway, completely sheltered from any welcome breeze there might have been. So toilsome became the march that one poor yak carrying the instruments was actually slipping, and would have rolled down the rocky edge to destruction, had he not completely collapsed from exhaustion in a heap on the very brink. It was some time after dark before we could find a place called Gya to stop for the night, having only come eight and a half miles in six and a half hours. Here was a little cultivation, and just room to pitch tents, but no village close at hand wherefrom to get any supplies.

From here for seven miles the road is bad, stony, and hilly, and at this distance the village of Kera lies on the other bank of the river. One mile further on our yak were once more replaced by new ones at the village of Yakiki. On paying the drivers of the last lot of yak, we gave them eight annas each, that being their correct pay, yet to our surprise they showed much delight at receiving what was only due to them. This was probably owing to the fact that the few sportsmen who go up there for shooting allow their Kashmiri shikaris to pay these yakmen, and these latter being of timid and simple nature are afraid to complain, and are probably threatened with all sorts of punishment should they dare to tell the sahib that only half the money has been given them. After leaving this place the gorge becomes broader, and the road in consequence improves.

At six and nine miles we passed the villages of Ni and Keisir, and at the latter place were met by the Lama of Chumatang. Although this man was of portly mien, and mounted on a stout pony, he was kind enough to agree to an exchange of animals. Two miles further on we saw the village of Tiri on the other bank of the river, and a little later reached Chumatang. Supplies here were plentiful enough, and we took up six bags of bhoussa, a sheep, flour, and milk. The people were simple, kind, and ready to help us in every way. We had intended to change animals again, but, as sunset was close at hand, it was arranged that, to save time in changing the loads, we should drive on our own yak till darkness, and that the good people of Chumatang should bring on the animals we were to have the following morning, as well as some donkeys laden with wood, and a number of other articles in their own hands. We grew that evening into a large and mixed rabble; everybody was carrying or driving something for the two miles we marched, before halting for the night on a small patch of grass close to the river.

Thus far in our journey we had only seen a few gulls and some duck, so in hopes of seeing more I shouldered my gun the following morning. Plenty too, indeed, we saw, but all of them persisted in flying down the centre of the river or over the opposite bank, so that shooting them would have been a waste of birds and ammunition. This was aggravating, to speak lightly of it, when Malcolm agreed to fetch any I might shoot, should they fall on the other bank of the river. A few minutes later over came the duck again, and one falling midstream was soon carried away, but a second falling on the opposite bank awaited Malcolm. He, true to his word, was soon swimming in the icy water to the opposite shore, which he reached without mishap. He soon seized the duck with the intention of throwing it across to me, but falling short of his aim, the duck fell in the water, and was soon floating away after the first. To plunge a second time into the Indus and swim across it, at this time of year, and at this height, cannot easily be described, but Malcolm's frozen state on return gave me some idea of what he had undergone, all, too, to merely throw a dead duck into midstream. There was no compensation in the shape of a good supper for his swim, but we both agreed, at any rate, that shooting duck along the banks of the Indus was but a poor kind of amusement.

That morning we reached the little village of Maie, which did not seem to hold more than half a dozen men. Although no transport animals were procurable, yet supplies were plentiful. At this spot there are two roads that branch off to Shushal, the shorter or left hand one leading over the mountains. We fancied we could see the pass over which the road went, and there appeared to be but little snow there. Yet every one told us the pass was not open, and we had reluctantly to take the longer one. We came upon a herd of eight kyang, who are pretty sure heralds that there is good grass somewhere in the neighbourhood. They appeared unable to understand what we were, and allowed us to come within a hundred yards of them. After making an easy ascent, we saw a few miles off on our left hand the village of Numa, conspicuously seated on a rock, quite an important place with its numerous ponies and yak, and plentiful supplies. We loaded up the yak first, to send them on ahead of the ponies, for they won't travel as fast, especially in the middle of the day. It was a sharpish morning.

After going some ten miles the Indus became broad, resembling a lake, and about here pigeons were fairly plentiful. We agreed that we could never afford to waste a single cartridge so early on our journey, and decided to economise by endeavouring to make every shot do double execution. A chance quickly presented itself. There were two pigeons close together on the ground. "Fire away," I cried, "now's our time." "I really couldn't," said Malcolm, "they will be blown to pieces." "Never mind that," was my encouraging reply, "we shall be able to collect the bits." Immediately afterwards, off went both the barrels, and terrible to state, off went both birds too, safe and sound, only a little bit startled.

Seven miles further on we bade farewell to the river, which flowed away to the right, while our road branched off to the left, taking us to the black tents of some nomads. Where there are nomads, good grass will also be found for the grazing of their large flocks of sheep. We spent the night close to one of their encampments, and found them pleasant and hospitable enough, receiving from them dried apricots, nuts, butter, and milk. These nomads, too, have a knack of always finding a sheltered nook with a flowing stream. Although we were on that night over 14,000 feet high, we did not feel the cold at all, doubtless because we were well protected on all sides from any wind.

After leaving these people on the 10th May, we crossed over an easy pass, and then descended to more black tents, always finding the nomads civil and friendly. A little before noon we reached Shushal, the final starting-point of our expedition. Shushal lies back against the hills, five miles or so from the Pangong Lake, which is not even in sight. In the serai we found Shahzad Mir, who thus far had brought our caravan without an accident. Some of the muleteers were there, too, while the remainder were watching over the mules and ponies out grazing in an adjacent and well-watered valley.

The first thing for us to find out was the shortest and best way over the frontier. We learnt that the ordinary route over the Marsemik La into Chang Chenmo was closed by snow, and would not be open for at least another month and a half. With the exception of this road and another one that went to Rudok, nobody knew of any other, or more correctly speaking, would own that there was another road. Rudok lies at the south-east corner of the Pangong Lake, and we knew that at Rudok a large Tibetan guard was maintained, who jealously guarded the main road to Lhassa, under the condition that should they allow any foreigners to pass that way, they would have to pay for the negligence with the loss of their heads. This year, too, they were more than ever prepared to oppose any attempt at crossing the frontier in that direction. This we considered due to the fact that only the previous year the Littledales, in their famous expedition, had camped for some days within fifty miles of the capital. To dream of taking an easier road to Rudok, and crossing the frontier at that point, was soon dismissed from our minds. Looking at a map of the country, the Pangong Lake appears to consist of two lakes joined together by a narrow strip of water, about half-way on the road to Rudok. We saw no reason why we should not be able to find a crossing over this stream, thence on to a village called Pal, and thus avoid all encounter with the Rudok men. All the headmen and any other men of Shushal who had travelled at any time in that direction were summoned to our presence and questioned about this road to Pal. For some time all vowed they had never heard of a place called Pal, but seeing that we were bent upon going there at all costs, they finally agreed that they had heard of the spot, but that it was impossible for us to get there, for the water that joined the two lakes was far too deep to ever think of crossing. Unwilling to believe any of their statements at all, we dismissed our servant Esau with a companion to ride out to this water, some twenty miles away, and find out whether it was fordable or not.

Whilst waiting for this information we laid in our stock of grain for the trip, buying it at thirty-two pounds for a rupee, and tied it up into coarse sacking, which we had made into suleetahs. We also packed our bhoussa into a smaller compass, and doctored up the few backs of the animals that had been touched up during the march from Leh; in fact, saw after every little detail we could think of.

That same night, and somewhat to our surprise, Esau returned with the news that he had been stopped some way before reaching the water by a body of twenty armed men, who sent their salaams, begging us not to try and come that way, for if we did, there would certainly be trouble. They had already heard of our departure from Leh, and knew that we were waiting in Shushal, and were prepared to oppose any attempt we might make to cross the frontier in that direction. Under these circumstances (there was no alternative left us), we should have to journey back in a north-west direction along the shore of the Pangong Lake to Ludhkong, situated on its north-west extremity, thence travel eastwards to Niagzu, and so on by hook or crook across the frontier. We had by this time arranged our loads, and had fitted and mended the saddles where required, and were ready in all other respects to leave Shushal.

We gave orders to start for Ludhkong at 7 o'clock on the morning of the 12th, and, in order to save our own transport as long as possible, we hired seventeen more yak and ponies, making a total, with our own, of fifty-five animals. On the morning above mentioned, the baggage lay outside the serai in heaps and anyhow. The serai itself was a small, square yard with rooms built around it. We had hoped, having placed everything outside where there was oceans of room, to have arranged the loads systematically. This, unfortunately, was not in accordance with the way of doing things amongst our muleteers; but as we felt there was still a discontented mood prevailing underneath a smiling surface, we, too, smiled outwardly in return, and allowed them for the present to do as they chose.

Each of the muleteers had under his own charge five ponies or four mules, and each of them, with the willing help from the people of Shushal, seized upon whatever baggage he fancied the most and loaded up his own animals. Although all this was badly done, it was certainly done quickly, and we had very soon made a start.