Читать книгу The Epic of Mount Everest - Francis Edward Younghusband - Страница 13

The holiday part of the Expedition was now over and business was to commence. But the members of the Expedition on their arrival in Tibet were in no fit state for the hard work before them. The great contrast of climate they had experienced since leaving England, the alternate heat and cold, dry heat and steaming heat, dry cold and wet cold, the changes of diet, and perhaps also bad and filthy cooking had knocked up nearly every one. Kellas was the worst, and as soon as he arrived in Phari he retired to bed.

The weather, now they had arrived in Tibet, was, however, at least healthy. The soaking mists, the drenching rains and the enervating heat were finally left behind. The billowy monsoon clouds did not reach Tibet. The sky was clear and the air was dry even if there were too much of it at times.

Phari was a filthy place, as every traveller, from the time of Manning in 1811 on, has irresistibly remarked. It is a fort surrounded by a little town set out in the plain. But the Dzongpen—the local official—was civil and helpful. Tibetans are by nature courteous. They may be obstinate and, if aroused by anything which touches their religion, they may vehemently hate. But their native disposition is polite. And in this case the Dzongpen had received orders from Lhasa to provide the required transport—on payment—and to be friendly with the British.

Transport therefore was forthcoming, though it took time to collect, and the Expedition spent several days at Phari.

From this dirty place they marched across the Tang La, 15,200 feet, to Tuna. The rise is scarcely perceptible and the pass itself is a plain two or three miles wide. For these reasons the pass has great importance. It forms the main approach to Tibet from India and is the way by which the Tibet Mission of 1904 proceeded to Lhasa. They were able to cross it even in the depth of winter—January the 9th—though the thermometer fell to 18° below zero at night, and during the day a violent bitter wind was blowing. On the far side there is scarcely any descent, and Tuna, where the Tibet Mission spent the months of January, February and March, is 15,000 feet above sea-level.

The high lands of Tibet had now been reached. For hundreds of miles, to the borders of China on the east and Chinese Turkestan on the north, they consist of wide open plains at an altitude of between 14,000 and 15,000 feet, bounded by bare rounded ranges of hills rising a few thousand feet above them and breaking into rugged crags near the summits and capped with snow and ice when an altitude of 20,000 or more is attained. This is the general character of Tibet. Under some aspects it is bare and desolate and repellent. And the incessant, tearing winds chill both the spirit and the body. But Tibet has at least one good trait: the early mornings are usually calm. The sky is then of transparent, purest azure. The sun is warm. The snowy summits of some distant peaks are tinged with delicate pinks and primrose. And the heart of man warms even to Tibet.

That Tibet is a high plateau of this description is due to lack of rain. Rain falls in a deluge on the Indian side of the Himalaya, but little passes over the range into Tibet. As a consequence, the plateau has not been scoured out into deep valleys such as are found on the Indian side. And this want of rain means also sparseness of plant life; and paucity of plants means that animals are few. Its want of vegetation means also that the barren rocks and soil heat up under the sun and chill rapidly at night and so we find Tibet a land of furious winds.

A blue sky, constant sunshine, fierce winds, extremes of temperature, severe cold, a barren landscape—these are the features of Tibet; and the altitude gives to the European a constant sense of being only half his real self.

Under these conditions it is not surprising that plant life is almost imperceptible. You look out over those open plains and all appears like a desert. You cannot imagine how living things could subsist there. And yet you do see flocks of sheep and herds of yak. And as you observe more closely you do see scrub of some kind—a blade of grass here and another there—and in the summer even flowers: a little trumpet-shaped purple incarvillea, and a dwarf blue iris are common. And in winter the animals shuffle the surface and get at the roots of plants to subsist on them. Sheep are worn down to the bare bone, and a leg of mutton in winter affords only one helping at meals. Yet somehow they survive, in spite of the cold, of the winds, and of the scarcity of food, till the quick short summer season arrives when grass rapidly springs up.

Besides the domestic animals there is more wild life than one would suppose. Among the most common animals are mouse-hares or pikas, delightful little creatures about the size of a guinea-pig, quick and lively in their movements and darting from hole to hole with extreme rapidity. They live in colonies on the less stony part of the plain, or on grassy patches, when they can find them, and form burrows in which they store up quantities of seed during the summer, and hibernate in the winter. The Tibetan hare lives among the heaps of debris which accumulate at the foot of the hills. On the hills themselves the wild sheep, burrhel and ovis hodgsoni are found. The graceful little gazelle is often seen on the open plateau, and occasionally, in small parties, the kiang or wild ass. Wolves also there are and foxes, though they are not often seen. And, whether it is as a protection against beasts and birds of prey, or from some other reason, these animals are as a rule of some shade of buff or brown which resembles the plateau soil.

And this protective coloration is the more noticeable in bird life. Larks, wheatears and mountain finches are the commonest birds. The Tibetan skylark is almost identical with our own and its song may be heard over every patch of native cultivation. Five kinds of mountain-finch were seen by Hingston, the naturalist of the third Expedition. They were all fairly well protected by the colour of their plumage, which was of some shade of brown or fulvous, dull and inconspicuous. Sand-grouse of a pale fawn plumage which blends with the open ground live on the open stony plain and congregate in considerable flocks. On the slopes of the hills partridges are found, and in the ravines Alpine choughs, rock-doves and crag-martins. In and around the villages are sparrows and robins. Wollaston also saw a cuckoo on a telegraph wire.

The “enemy” in this bird and animal life is represented by wolves and foxes on the ground, and by eagles, buzzards and kestrels in the air. It is against these that birds and animals have to protect themselves by coloration. And the great lammergeier vultures are ever circling overhead on the look-out for any kill.

But among the “enemy” man is not to be reckoned. The Tibetans cannot be said never to take life, for meat is to be had in Tibet. But, in principle, they are against taking life and the wild animals are not hunted. Indeed, around some of the monasteries they are actually fed and have become so tame that wild sheep would come close up to the camp of the Expedition. This respect for animal life is inculcated by the Buddhist religion which the Tibetans profess. But other professors of Buddhism are not so particular as the Tibetans are. And perhaps a reason for the greater strictness of the Tibetans may be found in the fellow-feeling they must have with the animals in their hard struggle against the adverse elements. When all are struggling together against the cruel cold and desolating winds a man must have some compunction at taking the life of an animal.

The Tibetan climate has been described as nearly rainless and the plateau barren and arid. Yet Tibet is also remarkable for its lakes; and these are often of great beauty. Blueness is their chief characteristic—perhaps a reflection of the brilliant azure of the Tibetan sky. Where Howard Bury’s Expedition left the Lhasa road to strike off westwards towards Everest is one of the most lovely of these lakes, the Bam Tso, and of peculiar beauty because it reflects in its surface the snowy range of which the famous Chomolhari is the most prominent peak.

And these lakes and meres are the haunt in summer of innumerable wild-fowl. Bar-headed geese and redshanks nest here. And families of ruddy shelducks (the Brahminy duck of India, and to be seen by all who pass by the lake in St. James’s Park), and gargeney teal are seen swimming in the pools. Overhead fly sand-martins, brown-headed gulls, and common terns.

Such was the country which the Expedition had now to march through on its way, first to Khamba Dzong, and then Shekar and Tingri, passing occasionally through villages, for even at 15,000 feet barley and, sometimes, even wheat is grown, so warm is the sun in the short summer, but travelling for the most part through arid plains, divided from one another by ranges of hills, the outlying ridges running down from the Himalaya which was always in sight on their left.

It was while crossing one of these elevated ridges, at a height of 17,000 feet, that the first calamity to the Expedition occurred. Both Kellas and Raeburn had been ill at Phari. Kellas, indeed, had been too ill to ride, and it had been necessary to carry him in a litter. But he remained cheery and no one considered that there was anything critically serious with him. It came, therefore, as a dreadful shock to the party when a man came running up excitedly to Howard Bury and Wollaston, just as they had arrived at Khamba Dzong, and announced that Kellas had died suddenly on the way: his heart had given out through weakness while being carried over the pass.

This Scottish mountaineer had, in fact, with the pertinacity of his race, pursued his heart’s love till he had driven his poor body to death. He could not restrain himself. A peak was an irresistible lure. And he had worn himself out before he had even started on this Expedition. He was buried on the slopes of the hill to the south of Khamba Dzong within sight of Mount Everest. And we like to know that his eyes had last rested on the scenes of his triumphs. The mighty Pauhunri, Kanchenjhow and Chomiomo, all three of which he—and he only—had climbed, rose before them on his last day’s journey. So here, in the midst of the greatest mountains in the world, remains the body of this great lover of great mountains, while his ardent spirit works on, an inspiration to every other Himalayan climber.

Raeburn also was now seriously ill, and had to be sent back into Sikkim, and Wollaston had to accompany him. The climbing party was, therefore, reduced by half. Mallory and Bullock, neither of whom had been in the Himalaya before, alone remained. And Kcllas’s loss was the more serious because for some years he had been making a special study of the use of oxygen at high altitudes. And, at that time, many believed that it would only be by using oxygen that the summit of Mount Everest would ever be attained.

But Everest was now in sight at last, and the climbers pressed on to their goal. Across the great plain from Khamba Dzong, 100 miles away, Everest could be seen the last of a series of peaks which included such giants as Kangchenjunga, 28,150 feet, and Makalu, 27,790 feet. There, spread out in glorious array and culminating in the highest mountain in the world, were the finest peaks in the Himalaya, only to be approached in grandeur by that other constellation of mighty peaks which cluster round K₂, 28,278 feet in height, at the other end of the Range.

Everest was still too distant for Mallory to make much of it from the climbing point of view. But that North-East Ridge, sloping easily downward from the summit and known to us from photographs taken near Darjiling, could be fully seen. It seemed a very feasible way up for the last fifteen hundred or two thousand feet. The question was what Everest was like below that. Was there any means of reaching that Ridge? And that question could not be answered yet, for an intervening range shut out the view of the lower portion.

But, after the Expedition had crossed this range and reached the basin of the Arun River which drains the Everest glaciers and then cuts clean through the Himalaya in the most daring fashion by a series of stupendous gorges, there might be a chance of getting a satisfying view of the mountain. Starting early in the morning of June 11th Mallory and Bullock reached the banks of the river and made their way, therefore, up a rocky crest from which they fully expected to get the view they wanted.

Alas! all in the direction of Everest was cloudy vapour. Rifts, however, appeared from time to time revealing mountain shapes behind, so they waited patiently on. And at length fleeting glimpses of a mountain which could be none other than Everest were obtained,—first one fragment, then another, and then the summit itself—the great mountain face and the glacier and the ridges. And that evening from an eminence above the camp they saw the mountain again calm and clear in the closing light.

Everest was even now 57 miles away and there were still intervening ridges hiding the base, but Mallory could see that the North-East Ridge was not impossibly steep, and he could see too that a valley came down from the eastern face, and evidently drained into the Arun, and might afford a means of approach. It was a valley which he was afterwards to discover and which proved to be one of the most beautiful in the whole Himalaya.

But they were not yet to prospect the mountain from this eastern side. They were to proceed further west to Tingri, rather west of north of the mountain, and bear down on it from there. Tingri was the small town visited by Rawling and Ryder in 1904. And it promised to be a convenient base of operations for the whole reconnaissance. Towards it, therefore, they continued their march.

On the way they passed Shekar Dzong which had never before been visited by a European and which is so characteristically Tibetan that it is worth while pausing, even on the verge of Everest, to hear about it. Howard Bury has given an interesting description of it, and the numerous photographs which members of all three Expeditions were impelled to take bear out his description. It is finely situated on a rocky and sharp-pointed hill, like an enlarged St. Michael’s Mount. The actual town stands at the foot of the hill, but a large monastery, holding over four hundred monks, and consisting of innumerable buildings, is literally “perched” half-way up the cliff. The buildings are connected by walls and towers with the fort which rises above them all. The fort again is connected by turreted walls with a curious Gothic-like structure on the summit of the hill where incense is offered up daily.

While they were resting here on June 17th Howard Bury and some of his companions visited the big monastery of Shekar Chö-te. It consisted of a great number of buildings terraced one above the other on a very steep rocky slope. A path along the face of the rock led under several archways. Then the party had to go up and down some picturesque, but very steep and narrow, streets until they came to a large courtyard on one side of which was the main temple, and in it several gilt statues of Buddha decorated all over with turquoises and other precious stones. And behind these was a huge figure of Buddha quite 50 feet high, the face of which was re-gilded every year. Around this were eight curious figures about 10 feet high, dressed in quaint flounces. They were said to be guardians of the shrine.

Ascending steep and slippery ladders, in almost pitch darkness, the party came out on a platform opposite the face of the great Buddha. Here they saw some beautifully chased silver teapots and other interesting pieces of silver richly decorated in relief. Inside the shrine it was very dark and the smell of rancid butter used in the lamps was almost overpowering.

Howard Bury and his companions were received and shown round by the official head of the monastery. And before leaving they went to see the head Lama who had lived in the monastery for sixty-six years. He was looked upon as being extremely holy and as the re-incarnation of a former abbot and was practically worshipped by the people. He had only one tooth left, but for all that had a very pleasant smile. All round his room were silver-gilt chortens inlaid with turquoises and precious stones. And incense was being burnt everywhere.

This most interesting character Howard Bury was able to photograph. After much persuasion from the monks he was induced to come out dressed up in robes of beautiful golden brocades, with priceless silk Chinese hangings arranged behind him, while he sat on a raised dais with his dorje and his bell set on a finely carved Chinese table in front of him. This photograph Howard Bury afterwards distributed. And no more welcome present could he give; the recipients, regarding the old abbot as a saint, would put them in shrines and burn incense in front of them.

THE ABBOT OF SHEKAR CHÖ-TE

This and other similar experiences by travellers shows that religion is a very real and live and potent factor in Tibet. The chief lamas in the monasteries are often truly venerable men. The lama at Rongbuk, whom the Expedition met later on, is a special instance. They have devoted their whole lives to the service of religion—and be it noted to religiously inspired art as well. On the intellectual side they are not highly developed: they have not that taste for religious philosophy that Hindus have. But they have a delicate spiritual sense. They are kindly and courteous, and are deeply venerated. And these objects of veneration satisfy a great need in the Tibetan people and perhaps account for their being so generally contented as they are. Man needs some one to worship. And here right in among the Tibetans are living beings upon which they can pour forth their adoration.