Much may have been said, but little has been written, of the yet but very partially explored part of the world between China and the Himayla chain. Moorcroft and Gerard, some thirty years ago, visited some parts bordering on the extreme north-west of the British possessions in India. Fraser, a few years later, penetrated probably those parts of it adjoining the central hill sanatoriums of Simla and Almorah, and he, like his predecessors, was stopped by the jealous government and its inhabitants. Previous to entering Chinese Tartary from British India, the traveller has to cross certain of the passes in the great snowy range, some of them varying in height from sixteen to eighteen thousand feet above the level of the sea.
The Barinda, one of the most frequented and best known of these passes, is variously estimated at from seventeen to eighteen thousand feet. The months of June, July, and August are generally considered the best months for crossing.
The scenery in and around these passes is of the most sublime description. As I should assuredly fail, however, in describing it, I must content myself with a narration of some personal adventures which befel me in an attempt to carry into effect a long cherished determination to make the acquaintance of the seeta bhaloo (white bear) and the burul, (white sheep,) found only in these regions. By the route I took, seventeen marches brought me to the snow. Here our "roughing" commenced, the Peharrees, or hill men, of our side of the snow, having a most religious horror of the great snowy range. The air there they declare is charged with "bis" (poison,) and this is the only way they can in their original way account for the painful and distressing effects which the rarefied air in those elevations produces on the human frame. The first intimation we have that we are far above the altitude of comfort, is a dull, heavy pain on the shoulders, as if you were carrying a load above your capacity; then a very painful sensation on the forehead, as if it had been bandaged unpleasantly tight, accompanied by a burning sensation of the eyes and nose, followed by an involuntary bleeding of the latter.
This last symptom of the effects of high rarefaction, is, to an Englishman, at least it was to us, always a great relief. It operates differently upon the natives; they become only more alarmed and helpless, and, unless hurried through the passes very expeditiously, invariably perish. On my first trip, I left two unfortunate hill men in the Sogla Pass. Two more would have perished, had not I taken one wheelbarrow fashion, by the legs, and dragged him after me, although very much distressed myself, until we had descended sufficiently to rest with safety. My head man, Jye Sing, by my direction, took the other man, and both were saved.
After getting through the pass, we came upon the inhabited tracks, and made the acquaintance of the Bhootias. I found them very original, very dirty, and very honest with regard to every thing except tobacco. This, neither father nor mother, husband or wife, could help stealing, whenever they had the opportunity; and the most amusing part of it was, they never attempted to deny the theft, but stoutly maintained their right to the article! Numerous were the thrashings inflicted by Buctoo on them for tobacco thieving, but the thefts did not diminish.
As my object in coming into these dreary fastnesses was to get on terms of familiarity with the quadrupedal rather than the bipedal inhabitants, I will leave the Bhootias, and proceed to describe my rencontres with the equally civilized four-footed denizens. I had in my employ Shikarees (gameseekers) of no ordinary class, who, having been many years with me, were well tutored; although, when first caught, they were ignorance personified as far as sporting matters went. Their original incapacity will be easily credited, when I inform them that my second best man, Buctoo, had followed the sporting occupation of a village fiddler, before he entered my service, and knew as much of the capabilities of an English rifle as he did of the "Pleiades." Jye Sing was a little better informed, for he told me confidentially, one day, he had seen a gentleman at Subathoo actually kill quail flying with small shot. His occupation had been that of findal, or porter, to some families at Simla. Two months' training turned him out, not only one of the most intelligent, but pluckiest Shikaree I ever had.
Having, in my numerous excursions into the hills, obtained some very vague information from the many villagers I came in contact with, that they had often heard from parties residing near the snow that there was an animal to be found there strongly resembling the famous sheep, (Ovid Burul,) I determined upon despatching Jye Sing and Buctoo to those regions, to obtain all the precise information that might be available, cautioning them not to return without either having seen the animal, or bringing me some proof of its existence, and further promising them a handsome present, if they brought me satisfactory information. They were absent two months, and returned with some most marvellous stories about what they had seen and heard, and, as a proof of the existence of the animal, brought me the horn of a wild sheep they had picked up in one of the valleys in the snow, after an avalanche had melted. This physical fragment at once removed all my doubts, the horn being different from that of any tame sheep. I was now wound up to the highest pitch of excitement; my marching establishment was soon put in order, and we started on the following day. Fifteen forced marches brought me to the foot of the snow, and also to the last village, called "Ufsul." I found the inhabitants of this village a most rude and demi-barbarous race, knowing little, and wishing to know less, of Englishmen, of whom they seemed to have the greatest dread. However, two days' soft sawdering with a plentiful supply of hill "buckshee," (spirits,) made them more communicative; and they at last informed me, if I would promise only to remain a week, they would show me the wild sheep. This promise, of course, I gave; and on the following morning at daybreak, (shivering cold it was,) we started to ascend the snow-capped mountains and glaciers, which the animal patronized. On the road up I was sorely tempted to draw my ball and ram down shot, in order to bring down some of the many woodcocks we were constantly flushing, and which were so unaccustomed to be disturbed, that they only flew a few yards away; but I resisted the temptation.
As we progressed in the region of eternal snow, we began to find pedestrianism a difficult task. Some parts of the path were very slippery and hard; others, soft and knee-deep in snow. An idea may be formed of the height we had to ascend, and the nature of the ground which we traversed, when I mention that we left our tents at seven o'clock in the morning, and had not arrived at the "sheep-walk" before one.
Now commenced the difficulty. The burrul, from its well-known and secluded habits, is a most difficult animal to approach. I was at last, however, rewarded for my labor. About two o'clock we came upon the fresh marks of the flock; we followed them for some distance, but coming near a hot spring where they had evidently been grazing, lost of course all farther track. For the next hour I worked on one glacier, around another, used my telescope, but could not discern any object. Suddenly one of the villagers called my attention to something above me. I looked up and beheld a pair of enormous horns bending over. None of the body of the animal was then visible. I now cautiously moved a short distance to the right, when I had the satisfaction of seeing not only his horns, but a full broadside view of the first wild sheep I ever saw. He was about one hundred and fifty yards off. Having elevated the proper sight, I brought my rifle to bear on the shoulder, took a steady and gradual draw of the trigger, the rifle cracked, and dead came down the burrul of Thibet.
Perhaps, up to this time, the burrul had known no other mortal foe than the white, or whitey-brown bear of the hills—the seeta bhaloo, as he is called. And this brings me to another part of my sporting excursion.
Whether from the scarcity of food, or the amiability of their dispositions, the seeta bhaloo are to be met with constantly in small bodies of from five to ten, differing in this respect from their sable brethren, who are generally found alone, unless a matrimonial alliance has been formed, when the intrusion of a third party, whether male or female, ensures a fight.
The white bear is only carnivorous when pressed by hunger, and in that state is very destructive to the numerous Tartar flocks of sheep, for Bruin, with an empty larder is not to be deterred from his ravenous attacks by men or dogs—a haunch of mutton he will have. His mode of devouring it differs greatly from that of the tiger or leopard. He tears the fleece off with his paws, and instead of gnawing and tearing the flesh, as most carnivorous animals do, he commences sucking it, and in this way draws off the flesh in shreds, thus occupying four or five hours in doing what a tiger or leopard would effectually achieve in half an hour. It is well known among the Tartars, (and I know it also from experience,) that a bear, after feasting off flesh, is a very dangerous customer, and will always show fight. If near the carcass he has captured, he will give very little trouble in looking for him, indeed, he will almost invariably attack the intruder.
One day while following up some wild sheep, I came upon two bears very busily engaged in digging up the snow where an avalanche had fallen. Being hid from their sight, I determined to wait some little time to ascertain why they were digging. I accordingly placed myself behind a rock, and allowed them to work away. In about an hour they had made a very good opening; and on using my glass I found they had got hold of something. I now pushed up to them. One immediately showed fight, and came out to meet me. He made one charge at me, which I received with a rifle ball, killing him the very first shot. The other bear got away. On going up to the spot where they had been at work, I found the exhumed bodies of three wild sheep. They had been carried away and buried underneath the avalanche, probably as far back as the previous year, considering the very compact and frozen state the snow was in. The sheep were in excellent order. We skinned them, and took them to our tents, and excellent mutton we all had for several days.
On the melting of the snows, the golden eagle of the Himalaya—a magnificent bird, often measuring thirteen feet from the tip of one wing to the other—is one of the best of pointers a sportsman can follow, to ascertain where any animal has been carried away in an avalanche. He hovers over the spot, constantly alighting, and then taking wing again; but if once you observe him pecking with his beak you may proceed to the spot, and be certain of finding, a very short distance below the snow, the carcass of a wild sheep, as fresh as it was on the day on which it was carried away. Many a haunch of good mutton have I obtained in this way.
The Himalayan golden eagle is a very carrion crow, never destroying its own game, and feeding on any dead carcass it may find.
Many an eagle have I shot feeding on the carcass of an unfortunate hill bullock, which, either through stupidity or fright, had tumbled over a precipice; and never, during the many years I shot over all parts of these hills, do I remember seeing a golden eagle pounce on or carry away a living prey.
The Tartar shepherds near the snow informed me that during the lambing season the eagles were very troublesome. If a ewe dropped a sickly lamb, a............