Two Days Of Very Severe Marching And Long And
Steep Ascents Brought Us To The Wretched Hamlet Of Kharzong Lar-
Sa,
in a snowstorm, at an altitude higher than the summit of Mont Blanc.
The servants were all ill of
'pass-poison,' and crept into a cave
along with a number of big Tibetan mastiffs, where they enjoyed the
comfort of semi-suffocation till the next morning, Mr. R. and I, with
some willing Tibetan helpers, pitching our own tents. The wind was
strong and keen, and with the mercury down at 15 degrees Fahrenheit
it was impossible to do anything but to go to bed in the early
afternoon, and stay there till the next day. Mr. Redslob took a
severe chill, which produced an alarming attack of pleurisy, from the
effects of which he never fully recovered.
We started on a grim snowy morning, with six yaks carrying our
baggage or ridden by ourselves, four led horses, and a number of
Tibetans, several more having been sent on in advance to cut steps in
the glacier and roughen them with gravel. Within certain limits the
ground grows greener as one ascends, and we passed upwards among
primulas, asters, a large blue myosotis, gentians, potentillas, and
great sheets of edelweiss. At the glacier foot we skirted a deep
green lake on snow with a glorious view of the Kharzong glacier and
the pass, a nearly perpendicular wall of rock, bearing up a steep
glacier and a snowfield of great width and depth, above which tower
pinnacles of naked rock. It presented to all appearance an
impassable barrier rising 2,500 feet above the lake, grand and awful
in the dazzling whiteness of the new-fallen snow. Thanks to the ice
steps our yaks took us over in four hours without a false step, and
from the summit, a sharp ridge 17,500 feet in altitude, we looked our
last on grimness, blackness, and snow, and southward for many a weary
mile to the Indus valley lying in sunshine and summer. Fully two
dozen caresses of horses newly dead lay in cavities of the glacier.
Our animals were ill of 'pass-poison,' and nearly blind, and I was
obliged to ride my yak into Leh, a severe march of thirteen hours,
down miles of crumbling zigzags, and then among villages of irrigated
terraces, till the grand view of the Gyalpo's palace, with its air-
hung gonpo and clustering chod-tens, and of the desert city itself,
burst suddenly upon us, and our benumbed and stiffened limbs thawed
in the hot sunshine. I pitched my tent in a poplar grove for a
fortnight, near the Moravian compounds and close to the travellers'
bungalow, in which is a British Postal Agency, with a Tibetan
postmaster who speaks English, a Christian, much trusted and
respected, named Joldan, in whose intelligence, kindness, and
friendship I found both interest and pleasure.
CHAPTER IV - MANNERS AND CUSTOMS
Joldan, the Tibetan British postmaster in Leh, is a Christian of
spotless reputation. Every one places unlimited confidence in his
integrity and truthfulness, and his religious sincerity has been
attested by many sacrifices. He is a Ladaki, and the family property
was at Stok, a few miles from Leh. He was baptized in Lahul at
twenty-three, his father having been a Christian. He learned Urdu,
and was for ten years mission schoolmaster in Kylang, but returned to
Leh a few years ago as postmaster. His 'ancestral dwelling' at Stok
was destroyed by order of the wazir, and his property confiscated,
after many unsuccessful efforts had been made to win him back to
Buddhism. Afterwards he was detained by the wazir, and compelled to
serve as a sepoy, till Mr. Heyde went to the council and obtained his
release. His house in Leh has been more than once burned by
incendiaries. But he pursues a quiet, even course, brings up his
family after the best Christian traditions, refuses Buddhist suitors
for his daughters, unobtrusively but capably helps the Moravian
missionaries, supports his family by steady industry, although of
noble birth, and asks nothing of any one. His 'good morning' and
'good night,' as he daily passed my tent with clockwork regularity,
were full of cheery friendliness; he gave much useful information
about Tibetan customs, and his ready helpfulness greatly facilitated
the difficult arrangements for my farther journey.
The Leh, which I had left so dull and quiet, was full of strangers,
traffic, and noise. The neat little Moravian church was filled by a
motley crowd each Sunday, in which the few Christians were
distinguishable by their clean faces and clothes and their devout
air; and the Medical Mission Hospital and Dispensary, which in winter
have an average attendance of only a hundred patients a month, were
daily thronged with natives of India and Kashmir, Baltis, Yarkandis,
Dards, and Tibetans. In my visits with Dr. Marx I observed, what was
confirmed by four months' experience of the Tibetan villagers, that
rheumatism, inflamed eyes and eyelids, and old age are the chief
Tibetan maladies. Some of the Dards and Baltis were lepers, and the
natives of India brought malarial fever, dysentery, and other serious
diseases. The hospital, which is supported by the Indian Government,
is most comfortable, a haven of rest for those who fall sick by the
way. The hospital assistants are intelligent, thoroughly kind-
hearted young Tibetans, who, by dint of careful drilling and an
affectionate desire to please 'the teacher with the medicine box,'
have become fairly trustworthy. They are not Christians.
In the neat dispensary at 9 a.m. a gong summons the patients to the
operating room for a short religious service. Usually about fifty
were present, and a number more, who had some curiosity about 'the
way,' but did not care to be seen at Christian worship, hung about
the doorways. Dr. Marx read a few verses from the Gospels,
explaining them in a homely manner, and concluded with the Lord's
Prayer.
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