Travelling Tibetans—Over a high pass—A friendly meeting—A proffered banquet—Ascent to 20,000 feet—Looking for the Gunkyo Lake—Surprised by a phantom army.
TOWARDS noon, when our things had got almost dry in the warm sun, the sky
became overclouded, and it again began to rain heavily. I was rather
doubtful as to whether I should go over a pass some miles off to 93°
(b.m.), or should follow the course of the river and skirt the foot of
the mountains. We saw a large number of Tibetans travelling in the
opposite direction to ours, and they all seemed much terrified when we
approached them. We obtained from them a few more pounds of food, but
they refused to sell us any sheep, of which they had thousands. I decided
to attempt the first-mentioned route and, making our way first over a
continuation of the flat plateau, then over undulating, ground, we came
to two lakelets, at the foot of the pass in question. The ascent was
comparatively gentle, over snow, and we followed the river descending
from the top. About half-way up, on looking back, we saw eight soldiers
galloping toward us. We waited for them; and as soon as they came up to
us, they went through the usual servile salutations, depositing their
arms on the ground to show that they had no intention of fighting. A long
friendly palaver followed, the Tibetans professing their friendship for
us and their willingness to help us to get on in any way in their power. This was rather too good to be true, and I suspected treachery, all the more so when they pressed and entreated us to go back to their tents, where they wished us to remain as their highly-honoured guests, and where we should have all the luxuries that human mind can conceive showered upon us. On further specification, these were found to consist of presents of chura, cheese, butter, yak milk, and tsamba, and they said they would sell us ponies if we required them. The description was too glowing; so, taking all things into consideration, and allowing for the inaccuracy of speech of my interlocutors as well as of Tibetans in general, I thanked them from the bottom of my heart and answered that I preferred to continue my way and bear my present sufferings.
They perceived that I was not easy to catch, and, if anything, they
respected me the more for it. In fact they could not disguise their
amazement at my having got so far with only two men. When I had given my
visitors some little present, we parted at last, in a very friendly
manner.
We climbed up to the pass (18,480 feet), and before us on the other side
found a large stretch of flat land, some two thousand feet lower. I could
see a lake, which I took to be the Gunkyo. Nevertheless, to make certain
of it, I left my men and yaks on the pass and went to reconnoitre from a
peak 19,000 feet high, N.E. of us. There was much snow and the ascent was
difficult and tedious. When I got to the top another higher peak barred
the view in front of me, so descending first and then ascending again, I
climbed this second summit, finally reaching an elevation of 20,000 feet, and obtaining a good bird's-eye view of the country all round. There was a long snowy range to the North, and, directly under it, what I imagined to be a stretch of water, judging from the mist and clouds forming above it, and from the grass on the lower portion of the mountains.
A hill range stood in my way, just high enough to conceal the lake behind
it. I rejoined my men and we continued our march down the other side of
the pass, sinking in deep, soft snow. We pitched our tent at a spot about
five hundred feet higher than the plain below us, in a gorge formed by
the two mountain sides coming close together. Notwithstanding that I was
now quite accustomed to great altitudes, the ascent to 20,000 feet had
caused a certain exhaustion, and I should have been glad of a good
night's rest.
Mansing and Chanden Sing, having eaten some food, slept soundly, but I
felt very depressed. I had a peculiar sense of unrest and of some evil
coming to us during the night.