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We left camp No. 9 (16,171 feet) with a feeling of satisfaction, for the country, as far as the eye could reach, was quite level; its elevation above the lake shore was so insignificant that it could not be detected without instruments. The atmosphere was hazy; the pure blue of the lake, a reflexion of the sky, had quite disappeared, and now the water looked dull and grey. One of the hired horses was left behind at the camp; its owner hoped to save it, but he was disappointed, and he also betrayed the horse, for he took another way home and mercilessly abandoned the poor animal to solitude and the wolves.

We rode a long distance on the old lake bottom and perfectly level stretches of clayey mud. Afterwards the soil was of fine gravel, and as hard as though it had been compressed by the weight of a steam-roller. Only in an isolated drainage basin can such level expanses occur among huge mountains. Weathering, precipitation, flowing water, storm and wind work together in levelling the land. All heights and ridges are thereby reduced, all hollows are filled up with mud, sand, and rubbish. Far in the east the country is quite open. Here giants riding on Indian elephants would have room enough to play a game of polo in grand style, and the swift-footed Jambas dromedaries might run till they were tired, for even the restless west wind finds no obstacle in its path. Antelopes and kulans appeared in timid herds. Of human beings not a sign. Yesterday some of the men saw three stones placed together to form a hearth; perhaps they had to do with Crosby’s expedition (1903), for he, too, passed eastwards from the Aksai-chin lake to Lake Lighten.

In the north, on the left side of our route, we could descry three stages or crests; nearest to us a row of small dark-green hills; farther off a continuous chain without snow on it, and quite in the background a main range with a number of snowy peaks. On the south our longitudinal valley was bordered by mountains gradually increasing in height towards the east. At camp No. 10 we found all we wanted, though the water was a little salt. Good luck followed us, and we had reached, quite fortuitously, a much more kindly country than we had ventured to expect.

Near the camp we crossed a stagnant creek and we passed several others on September 12. It soon turned out that a large river-bed, containing, however, little water, ran to the lake, and all day long we fell in with indications of its proximity. The landscape was monotonous, and showed little variety during the day’s march. But the ground was all that could be desired, and if it so continued, it would help us to make good progress into the heart of the forbidden land. Grass now cropped up in larger quantities than we had hitherto met with. It thrived best where the soil was sandy. It grew in small tufts, green and succulent only in the middle, for the rest was yellow and hard from the frosts at night. The west wind, which swept all day over Tibet, rustled pleasantly through the grass. Who would have looked for a true prairie up here in North Tibet? The ground was of a deep straw-yellow, but the vault of heaven above us was clear and blue in spite of the wind; it seemed to me as though an immense flag of the colours of my native country enveloped heaven and earth. North and south rose dark purple, greyish-yellow, red, and white-capped mountains.

The land was so level that the caravan, though it was an hour’s march ahead, was visible as a short, narrow black line against the horizon, not the slightest rise ever hiding it from sight. In consequence of the mirage it seemed to hover a little above the surface, and the animals looked like fantastic long-legged camels.

62. The Hired Ladakis and the Provision Sacks in North-West Chang-tang.

63. Namgyal with a Sack of Yak-Dung.

At a spot where the grass was unusually good the hired detachment had made a halt; it had lost another horse, and wished to try and save two other death candidates. The packs were strewed about the ground, the animals were grazing eagerly, and the men sat at the fire with their backs to the wind and smoked in turns from a common pipe.

Salt made the soil in some places white as chalk, in others a thin layer of coarse quartz sand occurred with a tendency to form dunes. The caravan had encamped, and small scattered black points showed us that the animals were grazing. A couple of spots, which were far removed from the others, were riders in search of water. It was not easy to pitch the tents; all the men must hold on with all their strength, lest the canvas should be blown away or torn into shreds, and at the same time coarse sand blew into their faces. We were glad to get under cover at last, but even then the wind roared and whistled through all the holes and chinks, and the puppies were very uneasy. But such a westerly storm has one advantage: it makes the march easier, pushing on behind. One needs only to turn and try riding against the storm to learn the difference.

The 13th began badly, for nine horses had made off in the night, and Muhamed Isa with some Ladakis had gone in search of them. Meanwhile we waited in a regular snowstorm. Manuel was engaged in a very lively dispute with Ganpat Sing; it was about a pair of stockings which the latter had bought from our cook in Leh. But now Manuel found that he could use them himself, and talked over Ganpat Sing to retract the bargain. Manuel often amused Robert and myself with his broken English. If it snowed, he said “The dew falls”; if it stormed, “There seems to be a breeze in the air to-day”; and when we left the lake he asked when we should come to the next “pond.” He thought the Aksai-chin lake a wretched puddle compared with the boundless ocean at Madras.

After five of the lost horses had been caught I started on the track of the mules. The land rose as slowly as before, nothing was seen of the mountains through the drifting snow; we might as well have been on the plains of Mongolia or the Kirghiz steppe. The camp this day was pitched by a source at the foot of the mountains on the northern side of the valley, where there was good pasture. In the absence of a tent we were housed in Sonam Tsering’s round fortification of provision sacks, where a fire burned in the middle and we were sheltered from the wind. Towards evening Muhamed Isa sent word that another horse had been recovered, but that it was impossible to look for the others in the driving snow, and he asked for furs and provisions from the main camp. The man, however, whose unenviable duty it was to return with these things to camp No. 11 through the darkness and snow, could not find the caravan-bashi and his companions, who had therefore to spend the night in the open, exposed to the frost and without food and drink. They were much exhausted when they rejoined us next day with all the missing horses. I gave my night watchmen a scolding, and insisted strongly that this must not occur again, for the animals were tired by these wanderings and exposed to the attacks of wolves, and the march was delayed. It was, however, really wonderful that we had so far lost only a mule and two horses (Illustration 64).

And now we went on eastwards, still in the same great longitudinal valley. The river contained more water the higher we mounted, for below the water was lost by evaporation and percolation into the ground.

The red conglomerate continued on our right, on the left were green schists. In the midst of the sterile valley we passed a small round oasis of grass, like a coral island in the ocean. The day’s storm brought us rain and muggy weather; about mid-day it poured down and the thermometer marked 39°. All was uncomfortably wet and dirty when we formed our camp, and the damp fuel would not catch fire. Then it began to snow, and late in the evening the country was again clothed in wintry white. We had hoped in vain to reach the saddle whence Lake Lighten might be seen. According to Wellby’s map it might be still a couple of days’ march off, but under favourable circumstances it must be visible from a long distance.

64. Shelter of Provision Sacks.

65. Camp in a Narrow Valley (Camp 41).

66. Robert, Muhamed Isa, and Two Servants by a Fire.

Icy east wind blew next day. It was cold and raw as it passed over the snowfields, and the vile weather was not only uncomfortable physically, but it had a depressing effect on the spirits, so that we sat listlessly in the saddle, were sleepy and indifferent, and longed for the brazier in the evening. The antelopes were bolder than usual; at this season they are fat and strong. We rode past a horse which had fallen and died on the track; nothing could have been done for him. He lay with wide-opened eyes as though looking for a land in the east, and he was still quite warm. The pack-saddle had proved useful, for Muhamed Isa had thoughtfully had all the saddles stuffed with hay for future use. So the animals could little by little consume their own pack-saddles. In camp two sheep were slaughtered, for they showed signs that they would not hold out much longer.

In the morning a dying horse lay among the tents. A wolf crouched in a side valley, watching our departure and looking forward to a grand meal; but he would not have the pleasure of killing the horse, for we put an end to its life with a knife. We had now entered on a critical period, for scarcely a day passed without our losing one or more of our animals.

We still mounted slowly eastwards, and, trusting to Wellby’s map, I had promised my people that they should this day get sight of a lake. We ascended a rise in the ground, but from the summit only another was visible, which quite blocked up the view, and when we had surmounted this there was a third in front of us. Now, however, our expectations were no longer to be disappointed. Part of the blue lake appeared in the east-south-east, encased in hills. On its southern shore, where Wellby had travelled in 1896, rose singular irregular points and groups, the continuation of the red snowy range which we had seen for several days past, and now, in fine weather, stood out in all its wild beauty. We had mounted for six days towards the expected pass, and found it just above the lake. Its height was 17,300 feet.

Now the horses were so exhausted that we must find good pasture at any cost, and let the animals rest a few days. Camp No. 15 was pitched on the strand, and afforded a view over all the lake. To the south rose the singular range in shades of yellowish-red and scarlet, pink, and light brown, and fantastic precipitous rocks stood out between soft snowfields of a glistening bluish tinge.

Camp No. 15 was to be a notable station in our bold raid into the forbidden land (Illustration 57). We had scarcely got things in order when the last eight of the hired Tankse men, attended by Muhamed Isa, appeared before my tent, fell on their knees after the Ladak custom, touched the ground with their foreheads, and then sat motionless as images while their leader and foreman spoke as follows:

“Sahib, we have nineteen horses left; eight of them are still strong, but the rest will not last much longer. Oh, Sahib, let us return home before winter comes and our animals perish.”

“It was agreed that you should accompany us as far as the Yeshil-kul; do you mean to break your word?”

“Sahib, we know that we are in your hands, and are dependent on your favour; our provisions will not last more than ten days; if we go as far as Yeshil-kul we shall all die on the return journey. Oh, Sahib, have pity on us, and let us go home.”

“Very well. If I let you go, which road will you take?”

“Sahib, we will travel over the mountains here in the south, and pass by Arport-tso to the Lanak-la, which one can reach in ten days.”

“Can you find your way, and are you sure that your supplies will last out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then make ready to start.” Turning to Muhamed Isa I continued: “Manuel and the two Rajputs cannot bear this climate, and it is best to let them go also before the cold winter comes.”

Muhamed Isa was a diplomatist, and tried to conceal his satisfaction as he answered: “Yes, if we take them with us farther into the country in winter they will freeze to death. Already they crawl together like marmots to the fire, and yet their teeth chatter and they tremble from cold in their furs.”

“We can easily do without them.”

“Hitherto they have done no more work than the puppies, or, rather, less, for they are either too lazy or too grand to collect fuel for their own fire; two of our Ladakis have to attend on them and their horses. It would be a great gain if we were quit of them.”

“Let them go, and then we shall have the use of their horses, for I can hire some of the Tankse horses to be at their disposal on the journey to Ladak.”

“Yes, sir, they have three saddle-horses, besides two others for their baggage. We are now losing the Tankse horses, some of which, indeed, have only carried fuel, but, by their departure, the baggage to be carried by our own horses will be increased by fifteen other packages. Therefore the black men’s horses are a very necessary reinforcement.”

Next day the plates and rock specimens, to be forwarded to Srinagar, were packed up, and I wrote letters home and to friends in India. I begged Colonel Dunlop Smith to send after me, in October, to the neighbourhood of Dangra-yum-tso, with the permission of the Viceroy, all letters that had come for me up to that time. They must be sent through Gyangtse and Shigatse, and the Tashi Lama, who had recently been so well received in India, would certainly be very pleased to see that the post-bag was transmitted to me. I thought that, even if I were forbidden to travel further in the interior of Tibet, my letters would not be held back—at the worst I could make the forwarding of the mail a condition of the acceptance of the demands of the Tibetans. I accordingly requested that a post-runner should receive orders to reach Dangra-yum-tso at the end of November, there to await my arrival.

On the morning of September 17 three of our own horses lay dead among the tents. The following night the great spotted Yarkand horse, which had carried our boat, died (Illustration 67). When the sun rose on the 19th two more victims had followed the others, and lay, with neck and legs outstretched, frozen hard after a night frost of a degree below zero. I summoned Muhamed Isa.

“How many more animals have we?”

“We have 83: 48 horses and 35 mules; 10 horses and a mule have died.”

“It will be bad if this dying goes on at the same rate as in the last three days.”

“I do not think it will, Sahib; the weakest have succumbed, the strongest remain.”

“But six horses are gone, and that means six more loads for the survivors, besides the fifteen of the Tankse horses.”

“The six fallen horses have carried nothing during the last few days.”

“But at any rate the loads will now be heavier.”

“Since we have been camping here I have given the animals double measures of maize and barley, partly to strengthen them, partly to lighten the loads. On the first days, when we start from here, we must make short marches, and rather let the horses eat their fill than throw away a single sack of barley.”

“Good. We have 510 English miles before us to the Dangra-yum-tso, and that makes 51 days’ marches at the rate of 10 miles a day. If 15 days of rest be added, we should arrive at the lake on November 25, that is, in two months and six days. The mules seem hardier than the horses; we must try to keep a stock of strong mules; later on we shall contrive something when we have met the first nomads.”

“Oh, yes, if it comes to the worst the Ladakis can carry what is absolutely necessary, and we can all go on foot.”

“Yes, Muhamed, remember that I shall certainly not turn back unless I am compelled by superior force.”

“No, I know that; all will be well.”

67. The Large Piebald Yarkand Horse.

68, 69. The Slain Yaks: Tundup Sonam, the Hunter, on the Left in 68.

Four horse-loads of maize and barley were consumed in this camp; and henceforth a horse-load would be used daily, not including the men’s rations. But probably we should also lose a horse a day, often, perhaps, two or more. Still, there always remained a chance of finding better pasturage, where the horses might recover their strength, when we turned off to the south-east. We had at present no ground for complaint. The hired horses had done us very great service. We were able to leave the western shore of Lake Lighten with 83 laden animals. Two horses were required for our boat and all its appurtenances, but I intended to spare them a couple of days, and let the boat be taken over the lake.

So far we had succeeded in keeping our stages well in advance, and that was good. Wellby, Deasy, Rawling, and Zugmayer, who were all in this region, and brought back such excellent, meritorious results, had here and at Yeshil-kul caravans in a far less efficient condition than mine. Leh and Tankse were my starting-points. But the last connections with them were severed at Lake Lighten, and here commenced a bold march towards an unknown destiny.