Himalayan Journals, vol 2 by J. D. Hooker (great reads TXT) 📖

mainly due to this, and to old moraines at the mouth of the valley

below. I have seen few finer sights than the fall of these stupendous blocks into the furious torrent, along which they are carried amid

feathery foam for many yards before settling to rest.

Across the Thlonok to the southwards, rose the magnificent mountain of Tukcham, but I only once caught a glimpse of its summit, which

even then clouded over before I could get my instruments adjusted for ascertaining its height. Its top is a sharp cone, surrounded by rocky shoulders, that rise from a mass of snow. Its eastern slope of 8000

feet is very rapid (about 38 degrees) from its base at the Zemu river to its summit.

Glaciers in the north-west Himalaya descend to 11,000 feet; but I

could not discover any in these valleys even so low as 14,000 feet, though at this season extensive snowbeds remain unmelted at but

little above 10,000 feet. The foot of the stupendous glacier filling the broad head of the Thlonok is certainly not below 14,000 feet;

though being continuous with the perpetual snow (or neve) of the

summit of Kinchinjunga, it must have 14,000 feet of ice, in

perpendicular height, to urge it forwards.

All my attempts to advance up the Zemu were fruitlesss and a snow

bridge by which I had hoped to cross to the opposite bank was carried away by the daily swelling river, while the continued bad weather

prevented any excursions for days together. Botany was my only

resource, and as vegetation was advancing rapidly under the influence of the southerly winds, I had a rich harvest: for though Compositae, Pedicularis, and a few more of the finer Himalayan plants flower

later, June is still the most glorious month for show.

Rhododendrons occupy the most prominent place, clothing the mountain slopes with a deep green mantle glowing with bells of brilliant

colours; of the eight or ten species growing here, every bush was

loaded with as great a profusion of blossoms as are their northern

congeners in our English gardens. Primroses are next, both in beauty and abundance; and they are accompanied by yellow cowslips, three

feet high, purple polyanthus, and pink large-flowered dwarf kinds

nestling in the rocks, and an exquisitely beautiful blue miniature

species, whose blossoms sparkle like sapphires on the turf. Gentians begin to unfold their deep azure bells, aconites to rear their tall blue spikes, and fritillaries and Meconopsis burst into flower.

On the black rocks the gigantic rhubarb forms pale pyramidal towers a yard high, of inflated reflexed bracts, that conceal the flowers, and over-lapping one another like tiles, protect them from the wind and rain: a whorl of broad green leaves edged with red spreads on the

ground at the base of the plant, contrasting in colour with the

transparent bracts, which are yellow, margined with pink. This is the handsomest herbaceous plant in Sikkim: it is called "Tchuka," and the acid stems are eaten both raw and boiled; they are hollow and full of pure water: the root resembles that of the medicinal rhubarb, but it is spongy and inert; it attains a length of four feet, and grows as thick as the arm. The dried leaves afford a substitute for tobacco; a smaller kind of rhubarb is however more commonly used in Tibet for

this purpose; it is called "Chula."

The elevation being 12,080 feet, I was above the limit of trees, and the ground was covered with many kinds of small-flowered

honeysuckles, berberry, and white rose.* [Besides these I found a

prickly Aralia, maple, two currants, eight or nine rhododendrons, many Sedums, Rhodiola, white Clematis, red-flowered cherry,

birch, willow, Viburnum, juniper, a few ferns, two _Andromedas,

Menziesia, and _Spircaea. And in addition to the herbs mentioned

above, may be enumerated Parnassia, many Saxifrages, Soldanella, Draba, and various other Cruciferae, Nardostachys, (spikenard),

Epilobium, Thalictrum, and very many other genera, almost all

typical of the Siberian, North European, and Arctic floras.]

I saw no birds, and of animals only an occasional muskdeer.

Insects were scarce, and quite different from what I had seen before; chiefly consisting of Phryganea (Mayfly) and some Carabidae (an order that is very scarce in the Himalaya); with various moths,

chiefly Geometrae.

The last days of June (as is often the case) were marked by violent storms, and for two days my tent proved no protection; similar

weather prevailed all over India, the barometer falling very low.

I took horary observations of the barometer in the height of the

storm on the 30th: the tide was very small indeed (.024 inch, between 9.50 a.m. and 4 p.m.), and the thermometer ranged between 47 degrees and 57. degrees, between 7 a.m. and midnight. Snow fell abundantly as low as 13,000 feet, and the rivers were much swollen, the size and

number of the stones they rolled along producing a deafening turmoil.

Only 3.7 inches of rain fell between the 23rd of June and the 2nd of July; whilst 21 inches fell at Dorjiling, and 6.7 inches at Calcutta.

During the same period the mean temperature was 48 degrees; extremes, 62 degrees/36.5 degrees. The humidity was nearly at saturation-point, the wind southerly, very raw and cold, and drizzling rain constantly fell. A comparison of thirty observations with Dorjiling gave a

difference of 14 degrees temperature, which is at the rate of

1 degree for every 347 feet of ascent.* [Forty-seven observations,

comparative with Calcutta, gave 34. degrees difference, and if 5.5

degrees of temperature be deducted for northing in latitude, the

result is 1 degree for every 412 feet of ascent. My observations at the junction of the rivers alt. 10,850 feet), during the early part of the mouth, gave 1 degree to 304 feet, as the result of twenty-four observations with Dorjiling, and 1 degree to 394 feet, from

seventy-four observations with Calcutta.]

The temperature of these rivers varies extremely at different parts of their course, depending on that of their affluents. The Teesta is always cool in summer (where its bed is below 2000 feet), its

temperature being 20 degrees below that of the air; whereas in

mid-winter, when there is less cloud, and the snows are not melting, it is only a few degrees colder than the air.* [During my sojourn at Bhomsong in mid-winter of 1848 (see v. i. chapter xiii), the mean

temperature of the Teesta was 51 degrees, and of the air 52.3

degrees; at that elevation the river water rarely exceeds 60 degrees at midsummer. Between 4000 feet and 300 (the plains) its mean

temperature varies about 10 degrees between January and July; at 6000

feet it varies from 55 degrees to 43 degrees during the same period; and at 10,000 feet it freezes at the edges in winter and rises to 50

degrees in July.] At this season, in descending from 12,000 feet to 1000 feet, its temperature does not rise 10 degrees, though that of the air rises 30 degrees or 40 degrees. It is a curious fact, that

the temperature of the northern feeders of the Teesta, in some parts of their course, rises with the increasing elevation! Of this the

Zemu afforded a curious example: during my stay at its junction with the Thlonok it was 46 degrees, or 6 degrees warmer than that river; at 1100 feet higher it was 48 degrees, and at 1100 feet higher still it was 49 degrees! These observations were repeated in different

weeks, and several times on the same day, both in ascending and

descending, and always with the same result: they told, as certainly as if I had followed the river to its source, that it rose in a drier and comparatively sunny climate, and flowed amongst little

snowed mountains.

Meanwhile, the Lachen Phipun continued to threaten us, and I had to send back some of the more timorous of my party. On the 28th of June fifty men arrived at the Thlonok, and turned my people out of the

shed at the junction of the rivers, together with the plants they

were preserving, my boards, papers, and utensils. The boys came to me breathless, saying that there were Tibetan soldiers amongst them, who declared that I was in Cheen, and that they were coming on the

following morning to make a clean sweep of my goods, and drive me

back to Dorjiling. I had little fear for myself, but was anxious with respect to my collections: it was getting late in the day, and

raining, and I had no mind to go down and expose myself to the first brunt of their insolence, which I felt sure a night of such weather would materially wash away. Meepo was too frightened, but Nimbo, my Bhotan coolie Sirdar, volunteered to go, with two stout fellows; and he accordingly brought away my plants and papers, having held a

parley with the enemy, who, as I suspected, were not Tibetans.

The best news he brought was, that they were half clad and without

food; the worst, that they swaggered and bullied: he added, with some pride, that he gave them as good as he got, which I could readily

believe, Nimbo being really a resolute fellow,* [In East Nepal he

drew his knife on a Ghorka sepoy; and in the following winter was

bold enough to make his escape in chains from Tumloong.] and

accomplished in Tibet slang.

On the following morning it rained harder than ever, and the wind was piercingly cold. My timid Lepchas huddled behind my tent, which, from its position, was only to be stormed in front. I dismantled my little observatory, and packed up the instruments, tied my dog, Kinchin, to one of the tent-pegs, placed a line of stones opposite the door, and seated myself on my bed on the ground, with my gun beside me.

The dog gave tongue as twenty or thirty people defiled up the glen, and gathered in front of my tent; they were ragged Bhoteeas, with

bare heads and legs, in scanty woollen garments sodden with rain,

which streamed off their shaggy hair, and furrowed their sooty faces: their whole appearance recalled to my mind Dugald Dalgetty's friends, the children of the mist.

They appeared nonplussed at seeing no one with me, and at my paying no attention to them, whilst the valiant Kinchin effectually scared them from the tent-door. When they requested a parley, I sent the

interpreter to say that I would receive three men, and that only

provided all the rest were sent down immediately; this, as I

anticipated, was acceded to at once, and there remained only the

Lachen Phipun and his brother. Without waiting to let him speak, I

rated him soundly, saying, that I was ready to leave the spot when he could produce any proof of my being in Bhote (or Cheen), which he

knew well I was not; that, since my arrival at Lachen, he had told me nothing but lies, and had contravened every order, both of the Rajah and of Tchebu Lama. I added, that I had given him and his people

kindness and medicine, their return was bad, and he must go about his business at once, having, as I knew, no food, and I having none for him. He behaved very humbly throughout, and finally took himself off much discomfited, and two days afterwards sent men to offer to assist me in moving my things.

The first of July was such a day as I had long waited for to obtain a view, and I ascended the mountain west of my camp, to a point where water boiling at 185.7 degrees (air 42 degrees), gave an elevation of 14,914 feet. On the top of the range, about 1000 feet above this,

there was no snow on the eastern exposures, except in hollows, but on the west slopes