Seven

The same business is being repeated again today, and at this moment, dispensing is going on through the window.
A fair sized stream comes down through the village from a valley above, and comes out through a very fine rocky gorge.
On one side to the entrance to the gorge is a great rock, about 300 feet high, which is fortified by rough stone sangas (defensive walls) built in inaccessible positions, and this morning I had a walk round with my camera.
There is an old fort near by, and also a very fine timber-built mosque, with very beautifully carved doors and beams.
The woodwork in many of the houses is carved. The houses are built of large pebbles below, and large sandy bricks above, the windows being closed by wattle. The flat roofs are used a good deal for sitting out on, and for drying apricots
We are beginning to think that the natives know more about the Nushik La (pass) to Hunza than they say.
The Wazir, who, as I said, was at first much against going that way, but has now decided to come with us (Neve says he was “appointed to accompany me”) said yesterday: “If we have a fine day like this we shall not want ropes” (Why?), which seems to indicate that he knew something about it.
We are starting the day after tomorrow (Wednesday) and hope, all going well, to get across the Nushik La and down to Hunza next week.

Tuesday 27 Aug. Today Neve has had more work than ever, and had had to send people away (a fact not mentioned by the good doctor in his book). 120 new cases and 60 old have been treated today, and he performed 7 operations for cataracts before breakfast.
The whole crowd of patients and others coming to see the show has thronged the door of the bungalow all day. Neve and Gustaveson preaches to them from the little grandstand of the polo ground, where Neve also did his operations.
Before tiffin, I climbed to the top of the rock at the entrance to the gorge. It makes a very strong defensive position. I also climbed some way up a hillside to get a photo of Shigar and the whole Shigar valley to the north. The view was very fine, and very beautiful.

For several miles below, along the foot of the mountains on the east side of the valley stretched what looked like a forest of fruit trees, broken here and there to make room for the bright green fields, whilst a dozen or more clusters of flat-roofed houses nestle here and there among the trees, the flat tops of the houses shining gold with the apricots laid out to dry. Beyond, lay a network of green, yellow and purple fields down to the edge of the sandy plain, with its many winding channels of the Shigar River, and flanked on either side into the far distance by mountains, many from 9 to 12 thousand feet above the river plain. A white rushing stream cut straight across the green country from beneath me, besides many smaller streams, flowing about in every direction.
When I got back, I found the polo ground surrounded by a crowd of natives watching a game, which had been announced by the beating of drums all the morning. As usual, the band sat at the end of the ground and played a sort of running commentary to the game, playing a loud and triumphant air when a goal was hit, or when the Rajah had a run down with the ball.
One wouldn’t think these fellows have much play in them when one sees them mooching about in their long sort of swaddling clothes.
At the end of the game, the winning side 9 in number, went and stood in front of the band and cheered, holding their sticks aloft, and then came a little way down the ground and sat in a row, and the other side retired to the further end of the ground and walked slowly up towards the winners, salaaming very low, and throwing a little earth over their shoulders. Then the winners rose and went forward to meet them. Then all salaamed down to the ground and embraced.
The ground was then invaded by 60 or 70 little boys with hockey sticks.
These customs at polo are observed, I believe, in all these mountain districts.
We are starting at 8 o’clock tomorrow (Wednesday) morning. We are rather sorry to leave as this must be one of the prettiest places in Kashmir, though Neve hasn’t had much time to enjoy the scenery. I wonder we are not ill considering the amount of fruit of all kinds we have been eating at every meal, and between meals as well.
We shall probably send letters back by Gustaveson from Arandu (“Arundo” writes Neve) on Saturday.

Eight

Arundu
Baltistan
Sunday, September 1, 1895
My Dear Stafford,
The day being Sunday, the birds, I suppose, are having an extra day of peace.....
We made a good start from Shigar on Wednesday 28th. Turned out at 6, and all the coolies were off by 7 o’clock..
We were accompanied by Gustaveson and by our good friend the Wazir of Shigar.
Our way was north up the Shigar Valley. It is 3 or 4 miles between the foot of the enclosing mountains, which are bare rock.
At the mouth of each side valley - generally a mere gorge - on both sides of the main valley, a great moraine, formed by the debris brought down by the torrents, spreads out in the form of a fan. Some of the larger fans have a radius of 1 to 2 miles. The space between these successive fan moraines is flat sand.
The river winds its way through the sandy plain in a maze of channels. Most of the fans have been terraced for cultivation, and on them are the villages with their little fields and fruit trees. They are irrigated by the water coming down from the nullahs behind.
For the first few miles we walked along a path brought enough for a stage coach, shaded by willow trees passing through various villages, which made up the district of Shigar. Then along a poplar avenue, across the sands to the village on the next moraine, Alchori by name, where we were as ever presented with apricots. Then a few on we halted in an orchard for breakfast, about 2 o’clock. We always call our first substantial meal breakfast, at whatever time it might happen to come.
When all the coolies had come up, we proceeded some miles over sand and moraine, and arriving at the village of Kashomál, pitched our tents in an apricot orchard where was also a flower garden, such as the Baltis are fond of.
As soon as we arrived, the sick and diseased of the place began to assemble.
Gustaveson preached to them while Neve got his things ready. I went off to get a wash in the river and on getting back found Neve operating, surrounded by a wondering and admiring crowd.
Gustaveson only brought one collie-load of stuff with him, which did not include a tent, so that at night he bivouacked.
On Thursday we crossed the Kashomál moraine, and further on, an uncultivated one, all covered with loose stones, which made it rather hard going.
On the further side, we hit the Shigar River, which had to be crossed.
Two rafts had been prepared for our crossing. They were made with 25 or 30 goatskins filled with air and lashed together. On the top, willow branches were tied together and to the skins with withies. As soon as it was ready, all the skins blown up, it was carried by 4 men and put in the river. Six or eight coolies then took their place on board with their loads: the four raft men with long sticks shoved off, and away they went down river at a great pace and ran ashore ¼ of a mile down stream.

The raft was taken out of the water and carried a few hundred yards up stream, brought to our side and then cross again, and carried to our starting point. Meantime, another party had gone off on the other raft.
Six journeys had to be taken to get the whole party across, and the operation took 2 hours.
There was some rough water in mid-stream, and some raft loads, being heavy, a good deal of water was shipped..
The raft men propelled the rafts with their long sticks, used as paddled..
The river we had crossed was really one branch of the Braldo, which is a tributary of the Shigar, and is fed 2 of the great Karakorum glaciers, the Bialfo and the Baltoro.
We now had an unpleasant march of 5 miles across the sandy and stony plain, and then reached other branch of the Braldo.
It happened to be a cloudy day, or we should have had a good toasting. The flies gave some annoyance
The plain was more or less covered with a low shrub with bright orange berries.
We reached this other part of the Braldo just below its junction with the Basha stream, the other tributary of the Shigar.
The rafts were carried with us, and we crossed as before, only this trip was made more exhilarating by the raft spinning round and round in the mid-stream eddies..
On landing, we were met by the Lumbadar of the village of Tiser (Neve’s “Tissar”) who brought 5 ponies on which we rode to a jolly little camping ground shaded by willows, where a halt was made for breakfast of splendid red apples.
In the villages about here there are fine walnut trees, and very old mulberry trees.
The view from here was very fine. We were just at the mouth of the Basha mullah, and opposite us was the mouth of the Braldo mullah, the mountains to either side rising precipitously to 10000 ft.
The spur between the two mullahs runs back to a peak, rising to 21500 ft above sea level, 13000 above us, and which we had had a good view of as we came along.
Southward, we looked down the broad Shigar valley, flanked by fine mountain, one peak (Hoser Gunga) of pure white snow rising just above our last night’s camping place.
Over the houses and fruit trees of the village on our side of the valley rose many pinacled rocks, the higher points of which were powdered with fresh snow, with masses of snow and small glaciers lying between them.
These peaks looked very impressive seen through a thin veil of cloud.
After breakfast, we marched on, and from here to the next village were preceded by a band of 3, one drum and two side drums, but we dispensed with their music.
As we were going along a shady lane through this village, the lumbadar came up and asked us to stop and see his child, se we sat down in a row on a bank by the side of the road.. and directly after a man came carrying a little girl in a blanket, and plumped her down in front of Neve.
They were soon followed by the mother and grandmother of the child. They sat down by the side of the child to hold her while Neve made an examination, the father holding the child’s hand, and several villagers standing very sympathisingly around. It was rather a striking scene.
After crossing this moraine with its village and cultivation, we crossed a mile or two of sandy plain again, and then up and along a steep slope to reach the village of Chu Trun, famous for its hot sulphur springs.
Over the place where the spring issues is the grave of a Mahomedan saint.
It is in an enclosure, and round it are small bathing pools enclosed by stone walls and wooden palings. Outside are other pools through which the water flows, and so to the river.
The water is greenish but very clear and about 112° Fahrenheit.
Close by was a long but dilapidated rest house surrounded by a courtyard with a verandah on one side, on which we took up our quarters for the night.
The usual crowd came along, and the preaching and doctoring followed.
Before dinner, when I went down, I found the bath occupied by an old Mohammedan priest, so I went to another pool, probably the one used by the women when on 2 occasions in the year crowds gather to worship the saint and to bathe in the sacred water.
While I was undressing, the old priest came to say his prayers to the saint.
It took some time getting into the water, being so hot.


Crops in the field here were white with blossom.
On Friday, the march was a short one, and cool, as the day was cloudy.
We were now entering the deep and narrow valley of the Basha stream.
For most of the way, the path was cut along steep slopes of rock or debris, very rough in some places, and keeping 2 or 3 hundred feet above the river.
The last mile we came to and passed through villages and fields of flowering crops, hay fields and orchards.
The hay was being cut, a long curved knife being used for cutting.
Fields are watered by little channels led from mountain torrents. Very little water is wasted in Baltistan.
Eight miles brought us to the village of Doka, where we camped on a grassy spot amongst great rocks fallen from the heights above.
Here a Capt. O’Brien of the Border Regt. who was shooting about here, turned up with his shikaris and coolies, and joined us for breakfast.

Nine

After breakfast, Neve and Gustaveson got to work. The people always attend to the preaching, and don’t make any objections, sometimes making remarks of assent. This is the first time any missionary has been up in these parts.
It came on to rain here at night, so Gustaveson took shelter under the outer fly of our tent, and when the water began to come through, came inside and took possession of the very narrow space between Neve’s bed and mine..
Yesterday ( (Saturday 31st) was another shortish march of 11 miles to this place, Arendu, the last village up this valley, but a toughish one over debris slopes, moraine and sandy flats.
Arundu is situated on a moraine, terraced and cultivated, but no trees. It is a compact village, houses all together.
We entered a street, or alley rather, about 4 feet wide, walls of large pebbles on each side.
After going a few yards, we were taken up a ladder to the flat roof, a roof which extended over the whole village - except for the alleyways. On the roof was a sort of second storey

the walls of which were simply made of woven willow branches and withers, and with the exception of one or two separate rooms, the roof of these rooms also stretched over a whole block.
We climbed a ladder to the roof of this wicker-work storey, and walked straight off it on to the ground which, at the back of the village, rises to that level.
Close by was a building called a fort, but I should not have guessed it.
Our camp is in a little field a little above the village.
Just above us, in the mouth of a nullah, down which flows a glacier which ends within half a mile of our tents. It is about 4 miles long, and descends from a 20,000 ft peak. Our height here is about 9700 feet.
A straight spur of this peak crosses the nullah at the top, and is covered by the purest white domes, folds, wrinkled, slopes and precipices of glistening, frozen snow - a lovely sight.
Half a mile up the main valley is the snout of the great the Chogo Longma glacier about 30miles long and ¾ mile wide.. The terminal ice cliff, from 50 to 100 feet high, stands right across the valley. The river rushes out from beneath it. The natives say that the glacier is advancing very rapidly.
Just opposite to us on the further side of the glacier is the entrance to a very narrow gorge, up which we have to go the Nushik Pass.
An old man here is coming up to act as guide - so far as he can.. He was one of the party that 30 years ago crossed the pass to go to Nagar to take a ransom for some Kashmiri soldiers who had been captured by the natives there.
We are taking 30 coolies with us from here, having brought 2 or 3 good men along from villages further back. They are carrying food for 8 days.
Our friend the Wazir produced today some very fine grapes and melons which he had brought from Shigar for us. He has also brought some goats along so we shall have milk. Some men have also been sent on ahead to repair the road a bit.In the villages about here there are fine walnut trees, and very old mulberry trees.
The view from here was very fine. We were just at the mouth of the Basha mullah, and opposite us was the mouth of the Braldo mullah, the mountains to either side rising precipitously to 10000 ft.
The spur between the two mullahs runs back to a peak, rising to 21500 ft above sea level, 13000 above us, and which we had had a good view of as we came along.
Southward, we looked down the broad Shigar valley, flanked by fine mountain, one peak (Hoser Gunga) of pure white snow rising just above our last night’s camping place.
Over the houses and fruit trees of the village on our side of the valley rose many pinacled rocks, the higher points of which were powdered with fresh snow, with masses of snow and small glaciers lying between them.
These peaks looked very impressive seen through a thin veil of cloud.
After breakfast, we marched on, and from here to the next village were preceded by a band of 3, one drum and two side drums, but we dispensed with their music.
As we were going along a shady lane through this village, the lumbadar came up and asked us to stop and see his child, so we sat down in a row on a bank by the side of the road.. and directly after a man came carrying a little girl in a blanket, and plumped her down in front of Neve.
They were soon followed by the mother and grandmother of the child. They sat down by the side of the child to hold her while Neve made an examination, the father holding the child’s hand, and several villagers standing very sympathisingly around. It was rather a striking scene.
After crossing this moraine with its village and cultivation, we crossed a mile or two of sandy plain again, and then up and along a steep slope to reach the village of Chu Trun, famous for its hot sulphur springs.
Over the place where the spring issues is the grave of a Mahomedan saint.
It is in an enclosure, and round it are small bathing pools enclosed by stone walls and wooden palings. Outside are other pools through which the water flows, and so to the river.
The water is greenish but very clear and about 112° Fahrenheit.
Close by was a long but dilapidated rest house surrounded by a courtyard with a verandah on one side, on which we took up our quarters for the night.
The usual crowd came along, and the preaching and doctoring followed.
Before dinner, when I went down, I found the bath occupied by an old Mohammedan priest, so I went to another pool, probably the one used by the women when on 2 occasions in the year crowds gather to worship the saint and to bathe in the sacred water.
While I was undressing, the old priest came to say his prayers to the saint.
It took some time getting into the water, being so hot.
Crops in the field here were white with blossom.
On Friday, the march was a short one, and cool, as the day was cloudy.
We were now entering the deep and narrow valley of the Basha stream.
For most of the way, the path was cut along steep slopes of rock or debris, very rough in some places, and keeping 2 or 3 hundred feet above the river.
The last mile we came to and passed through villages and fields of flowering crops, hay fields and orchards.
The hay was being cut, a long curved knife being used for cutting.
Fields are watered by little channels led from mountain torrents. Very little water is wasted in Baltistan.
Eight miles brought us to the village of Doka, where we camped on a grassy spot amongst great rocks fallen from the heights above.
Here a Capt. O’Brien of the Border Regt. who was shooting about here, turned up with his shikaris and coolies, and joined us for breakfast.
After breakfast, Neve and Gustaveson got to work. The people always attend to the preaching, and don’t make any objections, sometimes making remarks of assent. This is the first time any missionary has been up in these parts.
It came on to rain here at night, so Gustaveson took shelter under the outer fly of our tent, and when the water began to come through, came inside and took possession of the very narrow space between Neve’s bed and mine.