Two

Dák Bungalow. Scardu.
Thursday, August 22nd 1895. Baltistan.
On Friday morning, 16th, 5 ponies were brought round, and together with Neve’s old white pony, which was coming with us, were loaded up, and started off early. We have about 12 Coolie-loads of stuff with us, including (1) a small double fly tent, and a smaller tent for our cook and general factotum, Gulám Mahomed by name, a down-country man, of very mild appearance, (2) a holdall containing my bedding and clothes (3) Neve’s ditto, (4 & 5) large baskets of medicines, one for a missionary at Shigar, where we are going (6) Kilter (leather covered basket with books etc) (7, 8, 9) Kilters and bags of food stores and cooking utensils (10, 11, 12) camp beds, camera, oil, servants’ bedding, ice axes, tent poles etc etc.


It was a wet morning, so we waited till 12.30, and then made a start on ponies provided by Mr Mitchell.
The first six miles were up the Gurais Valley, very fertile, about a mile wide between very steep mountain slopes of green grass and very red-coloured rock. At the end of the valley, the road turned sharp north, still following up the left bank of the Kishanganga stream.. The entrance to this section of the Kishanganga Mullah is very fine. Magnificent rocks rising precipitously on either side to the height of 5000 feet.
In the next 20 miles the valley is bounded on the west side by hills with steep grassy slopes. On the east they are covered with pine forest, with now and then a cliff face rising several 100 feet from the river bed.
The road crossed the river several times. Every few miles, where the valley widened out a little, were villages and cultivated fields. After riding about 9 miles, we found our pack ponies unloaded by the road side, waiting for a sheep which the headman at Gurais had promised to provide, but failed to do so. There we sent back our 2 ponies, had some tiffin and walked on. We met many camels, besides trains of ponies on their way back from Gilghit, also mules and bullocks.
That night we stopped at a small Dák Bungalow (note by Stephen T-B: dak bungalows provide simple way-side accommodation for travellers - some more primitive than others) called Pishwari, and were glad we hadn’t to camp that night in the rain.
This bungalow is the best on the road, substantially built and boasting glass windows. It contained, like most others, 2 rooms with walls whitewashed and mud floors, fire places, and little bathrooms behind. We had a fire lighted, but the smoke apparently objected to going up the chimney, so the atmosphere became rather thick.
Gulám Mahomed, who is a very slow person, didn’t get our dinner served till 10 o’clock, after we had already given up hope. He did the cooking in the next room, in a dense atmosphere of smoke, while the 3 pony men sat round watching the proceedings.
Next morning, Saturday, we got away about 9 o’clock and marched six miles to Mini Merg (now Minimarg), where the valley widens out to about a mile. Here was a telegraph office, at which we called, and found the 3 clerks just about to be relieved and go down country, after spending the winter here. They had had a pretty poor time of it. The snow for 4 months was lying 8 feet deep, during which time they had to keep the line open. The next office on one side is 24 and on the other 56 miles away, so they hardly saw a soul all winter and got no fresh food. They were delighted to be getting away. We stopped there an hour or so, and at their invitation partook of breakfast: tea, ship’s biscuits - the hardest things I have ever eaten - with fish paste. They also presented us with a leg of mutton, which, failing our sheep, we were grateful for, as we only had 3 small chickens to last us 4 days.
From Mini Merg, the road turned up a side valley enclosed by granite mountains on either side, the green slopes being strewn with debris of rock.
Sir Martin Conway, in his book, described the scenery here as resembling Scotch scenery on a large scale.
A great granite wall blocks the valley at the end where the next rest house is situated at the foot of a high pass, the Burzil leading up to Gilghit. It is 16 miles from the last one and stands at 11300 feet above the sea, so it was cold at night.
The next morning, Sunday, 18th August, the mountains were all covered with clouds, but as the sun got up, the clouds began to melt away, one granite peak after another looming into sight, the tops just covered with fresh fallen snow.
From this point we left the Gilghit road and took a path to the right which zig zagged up the rough hill side for 1500 feet, and brought us into a bare stony valley without a vestige of a tree of any description. Passing the head of it, we descended gradually into a broad green vale called the Chota Deosai. Enclosed on the further, North side, by a range of bare brown hills. Our way led up a spur of these hills to another pass a little over 1400 feet, from which there was a fine view of the Chota Deosai and long vistas of mountains.
A keen cold wind was blowing there, so we didn’t wait long. Just beyond the summit of the pass we came upon a lovely blue lake about half a mile long. It was rather rough going here as the pass was strewn with large pebbles and boulders..
Beyond this range we were crossing lie the Deosai Plains, a tract of land about 30 miles across in all directions, and from 12 to 13 thousand feet above sea level. Part of it rolling moorland, and in other parts hills, more or less rocky ( a sort of Dartmoor). It is well watered by streams which flow along strips of green grass land, but away from the steams the country is generally bare of any vegetation and just covered with loose stones. There are a good many hardy sort of flowers about, and it is the home of marmots. They are about as big as large hares, and have splendid brown fur coats. You see them sitting on their hind legs at the mouth of their burrows, with their fore legs hanging straight down in front, and making a loud whistling noise. I got quite close to several by stalking. They scuttle down their holes at one’s approach, but quickly come out again when one is passed.
Well, this is the sort of country we had to track over for 2 or 3 days, and I shouldn’t care to live there for long. On the pass we met a party of Baltis, small ugly looking men, with round cloth caps and garments and elfin locks standing out on each side of their heads, and carrying enormous baskets full of dried apricots which they were taking down to the plains. They all stopped as we passed, resting themselves on short crossed-topped sticks, and saluted us with “Ju”.
At 12.30 we halted for breakfast, having kept ourselves going since starting with 2 Kola biscuits each and some dried apricots which we got from the Baltis.
After refreshing the inner man, we joined in a short morning service, the day being Sunday. It was very cold and hailing and later on we came in for a sharp snow storm. We marched about 18 miles that day, and camped that evening by a stream at a place called Chanda Kut, where was a collection of about half a dozen stone shelters which the Baltis use when crossing the Deosai. They merely consist of a little semi-circular wall built of large rounded stones, about 2 feet high, and facing the windy quarter. In these the Baltis sleep, sitting with their faces behind their knees. It was very cold at night, and I found the stream frozen over when I went to have a wash in the early morning. It was a lovely morning: a perfectly clear blue sky, and everything that could, gleaming and sparkling.

On a low place in the near hills there appeared what seemed to me at first to be an enormous lump of pure white marble. In reality it was the upper 10,000 feet of Mnt Nanga Parbat (26,000 feet) some 60 miles away.
This day we marched 17 miles over the plains, having to cross several streams. Two I crossed on Neve’s old pony, one on a pony man’s back and one I forded. As before, we had breakfast off to Kola biscuits about the size of a gingerbread nut, and halted for tiffin at 3 in the afternoon. Kola is wonderfully sustaining.

At one place there was a view of the whole plateau which seemed to be girt right round by rugged mountains, some of the peaks being covered with snow, but none, I think, more than 18,000 feet.
That night our camp was at another place of shelter, Ali Malek (“Ali Malek Mur” according to Neve’s account in his book) by name, where a good many Baltis were stopping for the night. Unlike the Kashmiri, though very poor, they are an honest and respectful lot.
Two official persons from Scardu were at this place, having come to meet a British officer who was behind us, and they had orders to assist us if they met us, so we got some milk and meat from them. (in Neve’s account, they were sent specifically to meet him and his party).
As there is no fuel of any kind on the Deosai, we had to bring all the fire wood we wanted with us from Burzil.

Three

Tuesday 28th. Another cold but beautifully fine morning, We started about 8.30, late as usual, partly because we waited to get the tent dry, and partly because the men take so long getting the loads onto the ponies. We followed up a stream for six miles, the hills getting more rocky and mountainous, often very black and volcanic looking.
The track now turned right up a slope which led us into a valley about three miles long and 1 wide, enclosed by a ridge of precipitous rock, a peak on our right being some 2000 feet high, with a small lake at the foot.. Keeping up the valley for a mile or so, we then began a zig zagging ascent up the slope to our left to a pass at the top, the Burzil La, 15700 feet above sea level. There was a keen wind blowing, and before we reached the top it began to snow. When we reached the top, a grand sight presented itself. From the heights on either side of us two great spurs descended, forming a magnificent gorge, the upper part full of snow. Down through the gorge we could see a bit of the Indus Valley, 15 miles away and 8000 feet below us from which rose up a great mass of snow mountains, the main range and off-shoots of the Karakoram Mountains, the nearer summits of 16 to 17 thousand feet, running up to peaks of 25 to 26 thousand feet and one, K2, of over 28,000 feet, the second highest mountain in the world. Except about Mnt Everest, there is no assemblage of such great peaks anywhere. The sun was striking full on them when we reached the top, and I had just time to get a photo when dark threatening clouds closed in, and a driving snow began sweeping the ridge. I was puffing like a Grampus when we were up there, though the height had little effect on Neve. It was a heavy pull up for the laden ponies, but the descent on the other side was worse. The Deosai route to Scardu is only open from mid-July to mid-September as the road hasn’t time to get any good order.
The two officials who we met at the camping place said that the path was being seen to on account of the officer who was coming through, but that it didn’t really need anything doing because one could easily ride up and down. As a matter of fact it was about as bad as it could be, first dropping steeply down the right side of the gorge, then crossing the stream to the other side, and for most of the rest of the way, that is about 8 miles, it was simply a faltering track along the steep slope of loose debris, over moraine, and sometimes crossing the stream on bridges consisting of two or three poles laid across, with flat stones laid on them.
We descended about 2000 feet and then stopped for our proper breakfast - or tiffin - at 3.45, and then dropped another 2500 feet, or 5 miles from the top of the pass, and camped on some grassy mounds.
It had got warmer and warmer as we descended, and I was glad to get a wash in the cold stream. We had now got down to the level of shrubs and flowers, wild gooseberries, juniper, pencil cedar etc.
...
As our final march into Scardu would be a hot one, we turned out at 5 o’clock and got the ponies off by 6.30. The gorge got very narrow in places, at one spot only about 20 yards wide between the side cliffs, where at one time there was a wall across to defend the pass when the country was divided up into little independent and often warring states.
The rocks on one side, though still in shadow, reflected the light from the other side, making a beautiful effect. At half past nine we came quite suddenly out of the mouth of the gorge into the plain of Scardu, into a sort of country I have never before imagined.
You take an arid and stony plain - 8000 feet above the sea - about 10 miles long and 5 miles wide, and enclose it with mountains 8 or 9 thousand feet high, of absolutely bare rock, leaving a narrow gorge at each end through which a river may enter and leave the plain. You put a great rock, like Gibraltar, in the middle of the plain, and many great mounds of broken rock and sand. Given a few streams coming down gorges in the mountain, and use the water to irrigate a few isolated oases, on which you grow various crops and great numbers of apricot, mulberry, apple and pear trees and vines, and you plant avenues of poplar and willow trees along the paths leading from one oasis to another. You build flat-roofed houses of large sun-dried bricks and wattle here and there about the fields, and settle a very ugly, small and dirty species of humans in them. Over the top you spread a cloudless blue sky and blazing hot sun, and you have Scardu in outline.
But I must proceed in order with my account of the last two days, which have been the most odd I have ever spent.
On emerging from the gorge, we came at once to the village of Kurpita - situated on its oasis - and halted at the unusual early hour of 10 for our breakfast. An exceedingly dirty man came and presented us with a basket of apples - the shadow of what was to come. As we were eating our mutton cutlets, we heard the ominous sound of the crackling of pots, and looking up saw Neve’s old pony trying to roll with two sackfulls of tinned stores on his back, including my scant supply of photo plates, which we rescued with all speed and found undamaged.

After breakfast we marched along a poplar avenue, and passing a field of beans called the owner and asked him to sell us some, but he said “what do I want with your money?” and went and picked a lot at once and gave us them - very unlike a Kashmiri. So we proceeded and came to a stream crossing the road. Neve jumped on behind one of the ponies and crossed in safety. I assayed to follow his example and jumped on behind another, but there wasn’t much room and the pony’s legs gave way and the basket in front was not firm for holding on to, so I dropped off gracefully into the water.
Further on we came to more cultivated land; a large oasis with many houses dotted about, in fact Scardu itself. The first thing I saw was a number of oxen tied together by the neck and to a pole round which they walked round and round, treading out the corn, while men threw the untrodden straw about to get out the dust. We passed on by houses and down lanes, nearly under the shadow

of the great rock, on a spur of which stands an old native fort, past the long native polo ground and the old Sikh fort to the bagh or garden where stands the Dak Bungalow, a flat roofed place, having 4 large rooms with a spacious veranda in front, with little square openings for windows.
We were very glad to get under shelter from the sun, and took up our quarters in one of the rooms, in which I am now writing, with all our goods around us on a terribly dusty floor.
We had not long arrived when the Tehsildar of Baltistan - the Governor under the maharaja of Kashmir - was announced to be approaching. He is a Kashmiri Pundit and probably a rascal at that. I hadn’t time to change my wet socks, but we both sallied out to meet him.

Four

Much salaaming took place between ourselves, the Tehsildar and his retinue who walked hand in hand behind him. Three rickety chairs were brought and placed on the veranda on which, not without some little ceremony Neve, the Tehisldar and I sat, while the members of the retinue sat on the ground and stared.
The general appearance of the Governor was as follows. At the bottom, a pair of feet shod in a pair of shoes of shabby green and gold.
(photos: “The Scardu Plain and Indus at Scardu.” and “The rest house at Scardu.”)
Above that, a pair of linen pyjamas, tight at the bottom and much too long, and fastened round the waist with a girdle of red and yellow. Above he wore a white cotton shirt with the tails outside the pyjamas, over which was a shorter shirt with designs in fancy colours, over that a brown cloth waistcoat, and top of all, a blue-grey frock coat. Round his neck was a sort of white scarf. Above was a head with a black beard and a white turban on top, and on his forehead and ears, the red and yellow marks of his caste. He is now, he says, a great friend of mine.

After some polite talk, a camp table was brought, on which were placed dishes of currants, and baskets of apricots, and melons - presents to us, Tea was brought in silver goblets, which we drank in round silver cups without milk, but spiced and very good.
We sat for about an hour while Neve and the Tehsildar talked. Amongst other things, our journey was discussed and both the Tehsildar and the Wasir of Shigar, who was called for advice, were much against our attempting to reach Hanza Nagar by the Nushik Pass. They said it hadn’t been used for 30 years and that if practical, the natives would use it. Neve impressed upon him that we would do nothing to endanger the lives of ourselves and coolies, so they promised to provide 25 coolies and 25 more if necessary to assist over the pass, and since we have shewn them our ice axes, climbing claws and ropes, the Wazir of Shiga has expressed his intention of coming to Nagar with us..
There is another pass to Nagar which Sir Martin Conway’s Expedition traversed in 1892, but that is more difficult than the Nushik and takes a week longer. Otherwise we cannot get to Hunza Nagar at all. The Tehsildar at last rose to leave, and after more salaaming, departed, not before he had presented us with a sheep.. I then changed my socks, put on clean underwear and we sat down to tiffin.
By this time, our door had begun to be besieged by the lame, the halt and the blind and otherwise deceased persons, seeking relief from the doctor.
Today many more have come, and tomorrow, as the news has spread that a Doctor Sahib - the famous Neil Sahib as he is called - is in the locality, Dr Neve expects to have a busy time.
The rest of that afternoon (Wed 25th) we spent in sewing on buttons, writing up diaries and so on, and Neve went out to return the Tehsildar’s call.
The same evening, the Tehsildar invited us to dinner, so about 7 o’clock we went across to his house.
Our host was sitting in his garden in front of a tent, various officials and servants standing and sitting around. Close by, a small camp table was spread with a white table cloth, but with nothing thereon.
Neve and I were motioned into camp chairs placed at opposite sides of the table, while the Tehsildar sat at a little distance and talked. Of course, being a Hindu he would not eat with us.
Presently a number of our own knives and forks and spoons were produced and thrown in a heap on the table. These were followed with two large soup plates heaped up with boiled rice. Another man then brought 2 small copper bowls, then 2 more were brought, and then a tray containing 6 such bowls which were all placed on the table, and contained various hashed meats, and vegetables, and a kind of sweet chutney, and one plate of flat, brown cakes, rather like shortbread. Finally 2 silver cups arrived containing what our host called juice - in the vulgar tongue, gravy. The delicacies we commenced eating, taking out of the various little dishes such things as we could face, depositing them on our heaps of rice, and went straight on eating till we felt we had had enough, when water was brought us in our own enamel tin tea cups, and having drunk, we rose from the table.
(Neve refers to “...a large variety of courses - curries, pillaos, stews, and so on - some 14 or 15 dishes served up more or less simultaneously.”)
Neve suggested our host must be ready for his dinner, which he said he was, so we took our leave.
During the meal we had been lighted by a torch of cloth, which a man held in one hand, while hr dropped oil onto the cloth from an oil can in the other.
On Thursday morning, we went out to try and get a bathe in the Indus. The river is about a mile broad, with a wide stretch of sand and pebbles.
As I walked along without looking up, I could fancy I was walking along the beach at Hayling at low tide, there being the rippling sound of waves made by the river rushing by rocks on the further side.
The sand was so soft, we could not bathe very well, so we didn’t do more than have a splash over, standing on the water’s edge. We walked back along a shady willow-and-poplar avenue.
As we were sitting at breakfast on the sides of our beds, Neve in his shirt sleeves, I with coat and waistcoat off, braces down and sleeves turned up, digging my knife into a cigarette box of butter, the Governor was announced again, dressed as yesterday, but with no frock coat on. He brought us some more apricots, and sat and talked a long time, looked at our things and asked me to take his photograph, which I promised to do..
About 12 o’clock, the Rajah (titular) of Scardu was announced to be approaching, so Neve and I went to meet him. I put on my waistcoat and coat and followed, and found Neve being introduced to the Rajah and his four sons, who were followed by a large retinue of people, Kashmiris and Baltis.
A charpoy was spread with Neve’s red rezai (sic) in the veranda, and chairs were brought on which we, the Tehsildar, the Rajah and his sons sat, the seat of honour on the bed being unoccupied, while all the rest of the company squatted down in and outside the veranda.
One awful looking ruffian with long black dishevelled hair sat with arms folded in a corner. He was exactly what one has seen in pictures of Ancient Britons.
There was a great contrast between the various members of the retinue. There were some 40 altogether, some being in spotless white turbans and clothes, and some no better than dirty-looking coolies.
After a little conversation, during which there were some awkward pauses, a move was made as the Rajah wanted to see Neve privately, so went inside, and then for almost 20 minutes the chief persons kept coming mysteriously in and out of the room and whispered, while I sat tight in much dignity, being well stared at by the crowd.
I think the whole business was to enable the Rajah to inform Neve privately what an excellent fellow the Tehsildar was.
When they had all gone, Neve set to work to attend to the sick assembled in the garden outside.
All the “big boys” here play polo twice a week, on Mondays and Wednesdays, but the Tehsildar got the Rajah to get up a game yesterday (Thursday) especially, as he said, for my edification.
So early in the morning, drums were beaten to announced to all and sundry that there would be polo that day.
At 4 o’clock in the afternoon we went to the polo ground, but found nobody there, so I took my camera to get a photo of the fort, and was just getting it up when all the ponies were led by, with saddles covered with red and yellow cloths.
They were followed by the band, one man blowing a huge brass trumpet, about 6 feet long, which he waved about, another with sort of bagpipes, and 3 with drums. Behind came the Tehsildar with all his people. Directly he caught sight of me, he called out to me to come along, and that he had been waiting for us, so I walked by his side, carrying my camera, with the band in front, and the crowd behind, to the grandstand.
As soon as Neve came up, he was put in the seat of honour, the Tehsildar on one side and me on the other, with officers of the Kashmir troops here occupying the other places, with the wazirs, soldiers and other such people standing behind, while the walls all round the ground were crowded with natives, many of them wearing yellow marigolds at the side of their caps.
The band seated itself in front of the stand facing us, and the Rajah’s sons and others who were going to play sat in rows on the ground while a man with a long and very smart hookah handed it around to each man according to his rank for a whiff, salaaming to each as he gave it.
A man with a brown flowing coat, much too long for him, stepped out in front of the band and began hopping on one foot and then the other, twisting his arms about, and making extraordinary gesticulations to the bandsmen, who played all the time as hard as they could.
Having finished his dance, the man sat down.
The players then mounted their ponies, and I went across to the other side to take a photo of the show.


Their game is the original polo, and different from the modern English variety. They play 8 or 9 a side, and all stand facing one way at one end of the ground. Then one man holding his stick and ball in one hand, gallops down one side of the ground, and as he passes the centre, throws up the ball and hits it forward.
The players generally keep all facing one way, one side hitting on, and the other using back handers.
The ground is about 300 yards by 70 and is bordered all down the sides by walls, which the players are very clever at keeping clear of. They play, without changing ponies, till one side makes nine goals.
They played two games yesterday, each lasting about ½ an hour, and between which they sat, and then the hookah was handed round.
The band played all the time and made a furore when a goal was hit, but otherwise there was no sound among the spectators.
Some of the men, especially the young rajahs, played and rode splendidly.
As soon as the game was over, Neve and I went to return the Rajah’s call, and were accompanied to his house by many persons.
The Rajah, who is a nice looking old man, met us in his courtyard.
He is a man who has come down in the world - like most of the old-time Rajahs of these parts.
His grandfather conquered Gilghit and Aston, and entered Chitral with his Balti army.
The Rajah now has no official position.
We were led up some narrow dark stairs to a long, low room lighted by windows without glass - at the further end, with fine views overlooking the plain..
There was a table in the window with a chair behind it, spread with a piece of white calicoe. Neve was handed into the chair, not before he had pressed the Rajah to take it.
The Rajah then sat in a chair on one side, and I on the other., the young rajahs next to us along the side of the room on benches, and beyond them, sitting on benches or on the floor along the walls were all the retainers who seemed to be more dirty and disreputable looking the further they were away.
An old man, who seemed to act as a sort of adviser to the Rajah as well as the Tehsildar attended as interpreter, and did the honours.
First 2 large plates of grapes were placed on the table, and a large roll of pultro cloth and a number of melons on the floor. These were presents to us, and now all are in our room with heaps of other fruit, apples, and apricots etc. making the place smell like a greengrocer’s shop.
These Neve removed, and tea cups were brought, 2 with handles, the others plain round, light blue china cups.
A dirty man then brought us a big Kashmir Samovar of tea and filled the cups, which remained untasted until Neve made a move and gave the Rajah a cup.
No one attempted to speak except Neve who made a remark now and then, at which everyone smiled nervously,.
There were some plates of bread on the table,, but they remained untouched.
Neve asked the Rajah to accept a New Testament, to which he assented. He also told Neve that if a teacher was sent to Scardu, a good school might be formed.
At present there is no missionary in Baltistan except a Swede, who is working at Shigar.
When we had finished the tea, which was very good, cocoa was brought, which was also very good.
When doing nothing else, the dirty man fanned us with the end of a dirty cloth he had round his neck.
Another man, still in his polo toggery, carried in a tray full of bottles containing medicines, which had been given to the Rajah by some Sahibs, but of which he did not know the use.
There were handed to Neve, who removed the corks, smelt the contents and explained the nature of each to the old wazir, who explained the same to the Rajah.
After further sitting in more or less silence, we rose to go, and the wazir showed us down stairs, walking in front of us, sideways like an old crab.
The young rajahs accompanied us part of the way back to the rest house, and then left us with more salaaming.
The next business was that the Rajah had offered us dinner, which was to be sent down to the Dak Bungalow.
Soon after we got in, the old wazir arrived with several servants bearing the repast.
First came 2 great bowls of rice, on which were arranged portions of chickens, long sausages and green food, enough for about 20 people. Then about 8 dishes were brought containing 2 whole chickens, cold, one being placed beside each of us, hashed mutton, varieties of vegetables, and little rissole sorts of things, a large plate of native bread, and salt, everything being carefully covered with chapattis. One man held the lantern tern for us to see by while we ate.
At the end we were fed with grapes.
After dinner, we retired to bed, but I did not sleep very well partly due, I think, to the strain it had been to keep from laughing during the various experiences.

Five

This (Friday) morning, we went up the rock to the old fort, which is a very large place, very strong, and in good preservation.
At 10 o’clock, according to arrangement, we went to photo the Jehsildar, and found him in his garden surrounded by a crowd of Kashmiri officers in full uniform, wazirs, clerks and assistants.
A table had been placed under a tree with a red cloth upon it, a large lodging-house sort of cloth, an American clock and 2 vases of flowers.

In front, a carpet was spread on the ground with two lines of chairs facing each other on either side - choir wise.
This arrangement wasn’t quite suitable for a photograph of the party, so I had the chairs moved and placed in a row, with the table in front. Then the Jehsildar put on a gorgeous coat, and he and Neve sat on two chairs behind the table, the officers sitting in a row on one side, and the crowd of others standing, sitting and squatting in a row at right angles to them..
With Neve’s help, I got them into line with the other lot, and took a photo of as many as I conveniently could.
The Jehsildar immediately ordered 15 copies. He then asked us to breakfast, which meal proved to be the same as the dinner on Wednesday, only there were 16 little bowls of curries besides condiments - nasty looking stuff. We drank water.
After breakfast, he presented us with several dishes of dried apricots and plates of bread, and rolls of posh mina cloth. So we were pretty well set up.
Nerve had previously given him his old white pony.
From there I went on to the Rajah’s house to take a family group there, as requested. A babu came with me to interpret, and we got them into good order with very little trouble.
Since then I have been writing this letter.
From early morning, our abode has been besieged by the sick, and Neve has been at it steadily. Today he had had 40 patients. When he gives a man his medication and instructions, all the people gathered round shout out the instructions after him, and explain them more at length to the patient.
We start tomorrow across the Indus and the sandy plain beyond to Shigar, where Neve is going to work for several days - to help the Swedish missionary there.



Dak Bungalow
Shigar
Baltistan.
Monday, August 26, 1895

Dear Fanny,
Thanks very much to Cecil, Blanche, and yourself (note by Stephen T-B: Grandad’s brothers and sister)for your several contributions to the budget which arrived here today,having taken only 7 days to reach here from Srinegar, 250 miles by the Dras Road.(Scardu is a most advanced place, having a telegraph office and parcels and V.P. post).
On Saturday morning up (at the Dak Bangalow, Scardu) at 4 am, and found Neve already half dressed by the light of a candle. We were making a very early start as it would be a very hot march here.
We were having our Choti Hazir when the Jehsildar came in, with a blanket over his head, to see the last of us.
We got everything packed by the time it was light, and started the last of the 13 coolies off by 5.45 when we, our cook and the Wazir of Shigar, who was escorting us, mounted our respective ponies and followed.
We went along the willow avenue about 1½ miles, which then descended a sandstone cliff to the river plains level, then some way along a poplar avenue to the next village, and a little further along turned off to the left across the sands to where our ship was waiting to take us across the Indus.
There we had to wait for the coolies to arrive, and while we waited, the sun which had for some time lighted up the mountains to the North West, rose over the mountains behind us.
The atmospheric effects are lovely at Scardu, the colouring of the mountains at sunset, and pink and yellow reflections from the river being exquisite.
The boat we crossed in was a great heavy sort of punt, but very wide for the length. We were a good boatload altogether, ourselves, servants, and 13 coolies with their loads, the Wazir and his attendants and the boatmen, making 34 men, besides 4 ponies and a foal.
The boat, worked by large rowing paddles, was moved out into the stream and caught in the rapid current on the further side, was carried down towards Scardu at a great rate.
As one oar touched the shore, two men jumped out with a big rope fastened to the boat, and pulled the boat up, which was swung round sideways to the shore. The river here was about 200 yards wide.
When we landed at 6.50, we mounted our ponies and rode along the river to a point where a rocky ridge came down to the river side. Here the track is carried along the slope at the foot of the cliffs.
About a mile further along, the river made a bend to the right, and from there we kept straight on across about 2 miles of undulating sand into which the ponies’ hooves dank 2 or 3 inches at every step.
By this time the sun was well up, and we began to get well baked..
At 5 miles the road divided, one road keeping straight east, on to where the river emerges from the mountains, while the other way led up a steep rocky gorge, to pass over a mountain spur into the Shigar Valley.
After climbing - and for the ponies it was little less than climbing - about 500 feet, we reached the flat summit of the ridge, and then zig-zagged down a steep slope into the Shigar Valley.
This joins the Scardu Plain a few miles to the west.. A strip ½ a mile wide on one side of the river consisted of sandy meadows where cattle and goats were feeding, while the road up the valley bottom was a flat sandy plain, through which the Shigar River runs in many winding channels.
On the far side, a very rocky mountain rising 900 feet precipitously from the plain formed a corner from which the valley bends from the north.
A mile or so up the valley to our right we could see cultivated land beginning, which appeared to extend, as a connected a strip a mile or so wide, along the foot of the mountain as far as the eye could reach. In the other direction, it continued 30 or 40 miles, where the end is blocked by a high snow mountain, being flanked on either side by spur after spur of precipitous bare brown slopes, some ending in snowy peaks 10,000 feet above the river level.
A welcome avenue of poplars now led us along to where the Shigar “oasis” begins, with its square, white, flat-roofed houses scattered about well-irrigated fields, and shaded by innumerable apricot, mulberry and apple trees.
A little distance on, the local band met us, consisting of 3 flageolets, 4 drums and 2 great brass trumpets. (According to Neve, they were met by the Raja and a few notables on horseback, and a band “consisting of a drum, two clarionets and a huge trumpet.”) They struck up, and marched in front of us.
Shortly after, the Rajah of Shigar’s brother and the Thanadar (head official) came to welcome the Doctor Sahib, and then fell in with their ponies behind us.
So we proceeded, the band in front, then a smartly-dressed Sepoy, followed by Neve and me, and behind us the 2 persons aforesaid, riding with their retainers, while as we went along, children came out and ran along the fields on either side of the path, which here was shaded by willows, here and there festooned with vines, and crossed by many little irrigation channels.
A small colt, which kept cantering backwards and forwards along the line of march, rather disturbed the dignity of the procession.
At half past ten we reached the polo ground where Gustaveson, the Swedish missionary, met us and took us to the Dak Bangalow, or rest house, where he lives at the further corner of the ground.

Six

He presented a rather odd appearance. A gentleman without a shade of colour or even sunburn on his face, with long red beard and moustache, blue serge trousers, black tail coat, and no collar, and an odd-shaped brown topi on his head.
The bungalow is rather an ancient structure, with 4 large rooms side by side, no glass in the windows, and thick with dust.
We first entered a wide passage containing a large mud oven. On the left was a large room which Gustaveson uses as a kitchen, beyond another in which he lives.
We took possession of the two others on the other side of the passage.
We had no sooner arrived than the Thanadar called, bringing a plate of melons, one of apples and two of blackcurrants.
Directly after, the Rajah’s brother came with 6 large dishes of very light-coloured apricots - which are about the most refreshing fruit I have ever tasted - a dish of plums, one of melons and two of large white grapes. With all this fruit, and what we had brought from Scardu, we were well set up.
There being only one chair, it was placed at the disposal of the Rajah’s brother, while we 3 sahibs and the Thanadar, who seems a very decent sort, sat in a row on the bed, and a crowd of 10 or 12 attendants stood around.
Fortunately the visit didn’t last long, as Neve and I were in much need of our breakfast and had headaches from our 4 hours’ ride in the hot sun.
After breakfast and a rest, at 2.30 we went out to call on the Rajah, being conducted by our friend the wazir.
The house is a very picturesque place, of 2 stories, and with a good deal of carving on the beams and window frames under a large chenar (plane tree) in the garden.
By the side of an artificial water course 2 camp chairs were placed, with pieces of white calico on their backs. In front of them a little table with a white cloth, and carpets laid down in front.
On these chairs we sat, while the Rajah and his brother sat on a charpoy (bedstead) at one side, and some 50 attendants sat around in a square.
Two servants held umbrellas over our heads, and as usual, plates of fruit were presented, and then a plate of sweets, tea and cakes were served, which we solemnly partook off, and then departed.
At 4.30 a polo match was arranged for our amusement, and while we were at tiffin, the Rajah and people marched down to the ground, headed by the band.
An English officer appeared, Burnett by name, (“Birney of the Hussars” according to Neve) who was camped near by, and he and Neve and I were accommodated with chairs in the “grand stand”, while everyone else at on the floor.
Some hundreds of natives came to watch the game, and lined the low walls along the asides and ends of the ground.
Most of the boys wear a little bouquet of flowers in their hair, and some of the players had flowers in their turbans.
As at Scardu, we were entertained first by two three grotesque dances, and then 2 games were played.
Burnett played in the 2nd game.
In the evening we dined with him at his camp. He is shooting in the Nullahs about here.

On Sunday morning I had a stroll around before breakfast before the sun came over the hills.
The people were busy harvesting, the women reaping, children gleaning, and the men, and the men carrying the sheaves to the threshing floors, where it is stacked.
After breakfast, we had a short service, and by this time a good many people were hanging about waiting to see the doctor, so they were all collected into our kitchen next door, 50 or 60 of them, and were all seated round on the floor. Neve then sat down and gave them a little address in Hindustani, which was translated into Balti by Gustaveson’s servant, a very smart lad who declaimed with great spirit. Gustaveson then preached to them and sang a hymn, after which Neve began examining the patients, giving each man a written prescription. When all had been seen, the pills and medicine bottles were put out on a table in the window of this room, where Neve sat and gave out the medicines through the window as fast as the people presented their chits. Gustaveson stood by and poured out the mixture of Epson Salts and Senna, which was the favourite concoction, and his boy held a saucer of lotion, where with he rubbed the legs, arms and backs of those who required to be rubbed.
The 60 patients were thus speedily disposed of, and then Neve started the more important job of operations.
The whole business last till 6 o’clock, including half an hour for tiffin.
I took a photo of the crowd outside the bungalow, but most of them had their backs turned, being interested in an operation which Neve was at that moment performing.

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.