Read Online Treachery in Tibet by John Wilcox - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Wilcox
Ads: Link
gracious, no. Name’s Jones.’ They shook hands.
Simon looked ahead up the stony valley, speckled by patches of snow, through which the now well-trodden trail led. ‘How far up to the pass?’
‘Not so much a question of how far, as how high.’ The young man smiled. ‘Gnatong is some 12,000 feet or so above sea level. ‘Jelep La is about another 2,000 or so and,’ he gestured ahead, ‘it gets steeper as we go. I’ve done this trip about three times now and,’ he gestured behind him, where laden coolies walked, heads down, in single file and a sprinkling of Indian troops led equally laden mules, ‘I gain more respect for these chaps every time I go. It’s damned hard work for animals and men. Mind you, I have to keep my eye on the coolies. We’ve lost a lot to desertion when the wind blows up there. They just disappear.’
Simon nodded and fell back to ride alongside Alice. ‘All right, darling?’
‘Yes, thanks. But I’m glad I am riding and not walking. I’m getting short of puff, I think.’
‘Well, take your time because later on I think we shall have to lead the ponies.’
Soon the trail began to climb quite steeply upwards and the ground underfoot had had its covering of snow trampled down firmly so that it had turned to ice. The animals started to slip and slide and the order to dismount was given. As the pack train climbed upwards, some of the load-bearing animals, fresh from the hot Tista Valley and unaccustomed to the cold, began to buck in an attempt to shed their loads and their tenders began shouting and beating the beasts.
‘I don’t much like this postin’, bach sir.’ The plaintive cry camefrom Jenkins, whose moustache had now begun to wear a light dusting of ice. His face was drawn and waxen.
Simon remembered that his old comrade, the bravest of men in battle, had always had a fear of heights to add to his dread of water – he couldn’t swim – and loathing of crocodiles. ‘Sunil,’ he called back, ‘slow down so that Jenkins can hold on to your pony’s tail. Keep an eye on him. He hates heights.’
‘Yes, sahib.’
So the little column wound its way, slithering and sliding, shouting and cursing, up the mountain towards the pass. Simon, Alice and Jenkins began to find it difficult to catch their breath at the high altitude and walking became increasingly difficult for them. Sunil, however, seemed to revel in the conditions and constantly called encouragement to Jenkins, panting behind him.
It took six long hours climbing up the southern face of Jelep La, without respite, to reach the pass, merely a thin knife-edge in a narrow cleft. Here they were met with an icy blast that took their breath away. The descent to what was said to be the pleasant Chumbi Valley, some 5,000 feet below, promised to be as bad, if not worse than the ascent, so camp was set up just below the summit, where the wind blew less strongly.
Somehow, Jenkins – back to his resourceful, scavenging self now that there was no precipitous drop immediately near – managed to ‘find’ kindling wood and he was able to light a fire shielded between the two tents and the four of them huddled around it, cupping mugs of tea in gloved hands.
‘How long was Nandi ill, 352?’ asked Alice.
The Welshman’s eyes immediately saddened. ‘Oh, not long, was it.Not much more than a week, I think.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘You see, when her husband, the Boer feller, you know, kicked the bucket durin’ the war, she ’ad no one to look after ’er, see, an’ she was ’ard done by to look after the girls an’ ’erself. There was no food to be ’ad, though the Dutch commandos,’ he grinned sheepishly, ‘you know, bach sir, the very blokes we was chasin’ all over the bloody veldt …’
Simon nodded.
‘Well they dropped ’er off whatever they could spare – but it wasn’t much because they ’adn’t got much themselves, see. We saw to that.’
‘Oh dear,’ Alice bit her lip. ‘It must have
Simon looked ahead up the stony valley, speckled by patches of snow, through which the now well-trodden trail led. ‘How far up to the pass?’
‘Not so much a question of how far, as how high.’ The young man smiled. ‘Gnatong is some 12,000 feet or so above sea level. ‘Jelep La is about another 2,000 or so and,’ he gestured ahead, ‘it gets steeper as we go. I’ve done this trip about three times now and,’ he gestured behind him, where laden coolies walked, heads down, in single file and a sprinkling of Indian troops led equally laden mules, ‘I gain more respect for these chaps every time I go. It’s damned hard work for animals and men. Mind you, I have to keep my eye on the coolies. We’ve lost a lot to desertion when the wind blows up there. They just disappear.’
Simon nodded and fell back to ride alongside Alice. ‘All right, darling?’
‘Yes, thanks. But I’m glad I am riding and not walking. I’m getting short of puff, I think.’
‘Well, take your time because later on I think we shall have to lead the ponies.’
Soon the trail began to climb quite steeply upwards and the ground underfoot had had its covering of snow trampled down firmly so that it had turned to ice. The animals started to slip and slide and the order to dismount was given. As the pack train climbed upwards, some of the load-bearing animals, fresh from the hot Tista Valley and unaccustomed to the cold, began to buck in an attempt to shed their loads and their tenders began shouting and beating the beasts.
‘I don’t much like this postin’, bach sir.’ The plaintive cry camefrom Jenkins, whose moustache had now begun to wear a light dusting of ice. His face was drawn and waxen.
Simon remembered that his old comrade, the bravest of men in battle, had always had a fear of heights to add to his dread of water – he couldn’t swim – and loathing of crocodiles. ‘Sunil,’ he called back, ‘slow down so that Jenkins can hold on to your pony’s tail. Keep an eye on him. He hates heights.’
‘Yes, sahib.’
So the little column wound its way, slithering and sliding, shouting and cursing, up the mountain towards the pass. Simon, Alice and Jenkins began to find it difficult to catch their breath at the high altitude and walking became increasingly difficult for them. Sunil, however, seemed to revel in the conditions and constantly called encouragement to Jenkins, panting behind him.
It took six long hours climbing up the southern face of Jelep La, without respite, to reach the pass, merely a thin knife-edge in a narrow cleft. Here they were met with an icy blast that took their breath away. The descent to what was said to be the pleasant Chumbi Valley, some 5,000 feet below, promised to be as bad, if not worse than the ascent, so camp was set up just below the summit, where the wind blew less strongly.
Somehow, Jenkins – back to his resourceful, scavenging self now that there was no precipitous drop immediately near – managed to ‘find’ kindling wood and he was able to light a fire shielded between the two tents and the four of them huddled around it, cupping mugs of tea in gloved hands.
‘How long was Nandi ill, 352?’ asked Alice.
The Welshman’s eyes immediately saddened. ‘Oh, not long, was it.Not much more than a week, I think.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘You see, when her husband, the Boer feller, you know, kicked the bucket durin’ the war, she ’ad no one to look after ’er, see, an’ she was ’ard done by to look after the girls an’ ’erself. There was no food to be ’ad, though the Dutch commandos,’ he grinned sheepishly, ‘you know, bach sir, the very blokes we was chasin’ all over the bloody veldt …’
Simon nodded.
‘Well they dropped ’er off whatever they could spare – but it wasn’t much because they ’adn’t got much themselves, see. We saw to that.’
‘Oh dear,’ Alice bit her lip. ‘It must have
Similar Books
