Himalayan Journals, vol 2 by J. D. Hooker (android pdf ebook reader TXT) 📕

The jungle was spotted yellow with the withered birch, maple and

mountain-ash, and scarlet with berberry bushes; while above, the

pastures were yellow-brown with the dead grass, and streaked

with snow.

Amongst other luxuries, we procured the flesh of yak calves, which is excellent veal: we always returned the foot for the mother to lick

while being milked, without which she yields nothing. The yak goes

nine months with calf, and drops one every two years, bearing

altogetber ten or twelve: the common Sikkim cow of lower elevations, at Dorjiling invariably goes from nine and a half to ten months, and calves annually: ponies go eleven months, and foal nearly every year.

In Tibet the sheep are annually sheared; the ewes drop their young in spring and autumn, but the lambs born at the latter period often die of cold and starvation, and double lambing is unknown; whereas, in

the plains of Bengal (where, however, sheep cannot be said to thrive without pulse fodder) twins are constantly born. At Dorjiling the

sheep drop a lamb once in the season. The Tibetan mutton we generally found dry and stringy.

In these regions many of my goats and kids had died foaming at the

mouth and grinding their teeth; and I here discovered the cause to

arise from their eating the leaves of _Rhododendron cinnabarinum*

[The poisonous honey produced by other species is alluded to at

vol. i., chapter ix. An Andromeda and a Gualtheria, I have been assured are equally deleterious.] ("Kema Kechoong," Lepcha: Kema

signifying Rhododendron): this species alone is said to be poisonous; and when used as fuel, it causes the face to swell and the eyes to

inflame; of which I observed several instances. As the subject of

fire-wood is of every-day interest to the traveller in these regions, I may here mention that the rhododendron woods afford poor fires;

juniper burns the brightest, and with least smoke. Abies Webbiana,

though emitting much smoke, gives a cheerful fire, far superior to

larch,* [The larch of northern Asia (Larix Europoea) is said to

produce a pungent smoke, which I never observed to be the case with the Sikkim species.] spruce, or Abies Brunoniana. At Dorjiling, oak is the common fuel; alder is also good. Chestnut is invariably used for blacksmith's charcoal. Magnolia has a disagreeable odour, and

laurel burns very badly.

The phenomenon of phosphorescence is most conspicuous on stacks of

fire-wood. At Dorjiling, during the damp, warm, summer months (May to October), at elevations of 5000 to 8000 feet, it may be witnessed

every night by penetrating a few yards into the forest--at least it was so in 1848 and 1849; and during my stay there billets of decayed wood were repeatedly sent to me by residents, with inquiries as to

the cause of their luminosity. It is no exaggeration to say that one does not need to move from the fireside to see this phenomenon, for if there is a partially decayed log amongst the fire-wood, it is

almost sure to glow with a pale phosphoric light. A stack of

fire-wood, collected near my host's (Mr. Hodgson) cottage, presented a beautiful spectacle for two months (in July and August), and on

passing it at night, I had to quiet my pony, who was always alarmed by it. The phenomenon invariably accompanies decay, and is common on oak, laurel (Tetranthera), birch, and probably other timbers; it

equally appears on cut wood and on stumps, but is most frequent on

branches lying close to the ground in the wet forests. I have reason to believe that it spreads with great rapidity from old surfaces to freshly cut ones. That it is a vital phenomenon, and due to the

mycelium of a fungus, I do not in the least doubt, for I have

observed it occasionally circumscribed by those black lines which are often seen to bound mycelia on dead wood, and to precede a more rapid decay. I have often tried, but always in vain, to coax these mycelia into developing some fungus, by placing them in damp rooms, etc.

When camping in the mountains, I frequently caused the natives to

bring phosphorescent wood into my tent, for the pleasure of watching its soft undulating light, which appears to pale and glow with every motion of the atmosphere; but except in this difference of intensity, it presents no change in appearance night after night. Alcohol, heat, and dryness soon dissipate it; electricity I never tried. It has no odour, and my dog, who had a fine sense of smell, paid no heed when it was laid under his nose.* [As far as my observations go, this

phenomenon of light is confined to the lower orders of vegetable

life, to the fungi alone, and is not dependent on irritability.

I have never seen luminous flowers or roots, nor do I know of any

authenticated instance of such, which may not be explained by the

presence of mycelium or of animal life. In the animal kingdom,

luminosity is confined, I believe, to the Invertebrata, and is

especially common amongst the Radiata and Mollusca; it is also

frequent in the Entromostracous Crustacea, and in various genera of most orders of insects. In all these, even in the Sertulariae, I have invariably observed the light to be increased by irritation, in which respect the luminosity of animal life differs from that of

vegetable.]

The weather continuing bad, and snow falling, the country people

began to leave for their winter-quarters at Lamteng. In the evenings we enjoyed the company of the Phipun and Tchebu Lama, who relished a cup of sugarless tea more than any other refreshment we could offer.

From them we collected much Tibetan information:--the former was an inveterate smoker, using a pale, mild tobacco, mixed largely with

leaves of the small wild Tibetan Rhubarb, called "Chula." Snuff is

little used, and is principally procured from the plains of India.

We visited Palung twice, chiefly in hopes that Dr. Campbell might see the magnificent prospect of Kinchinjhow from its plains: the first

time we gained little beyond a ducking, but on the second (October

the 15th) the view was superb; and I likewise caught a glimpse of

Kinchinjunga from the neighbouring heights, bearing south 60 degrees west and distant forty miles. I also measured barometrically the

elevation at the great chait on the plains, and found it 15,620 feet, and by carefully boiled thermometers, 15,283, on the 13th October,

and 15,566 on the 15th: the difference being due to the higher

temperature on the latter day, and to a rise of 0.3 degree on both

boiling-point thermometers above what the same instruments stood at on the 13th. The elevation of Tungu from the October barometrical

observations was only seven feet higher than that given by those of July; the respective heights being 12,766 feet in July, and 12,773 in October.* [The elevation of Tungu by boiling-point was 12,650 feet by a set of July observations, 12,818 by a set taken on the 11th of

October, and 12,544 by a set on the 14th of October: the

discrepancies were partly due to the temperature corrections, but

mainly to the readings of the thermometers, which were--

July 28, sunset 189.5, air 47.3 degrees, elev. 12,650

Oct. 11, noon 189.5, air 37.6 degrees, elev. 12,818

Oct. 14, sunset 190.1, air 45.3 degrees, elev. 12,544]

The mean temperature had fallen from 50 degrees in July to 41

degrees, and that of the sunk thermometer from 57 degrees to 51.4

degrees. The mean range in July was 23.3 degrees, and in October 13.8

degrees; the weather during the latter period being, however,

uniformly cold and misty, this was much below the mean monthly range, which probably exceeds 30 degrees. Much more rain fell in October at Tungu than at Dorjiling, which is the opposite to what occurs during the rainy season.

October 15th. Having sent the coolies forward, with instructions to halt and camp on this side of the Kongra Lama pass, we followed them, taking the route by Palung, and thence over the hills to the Lachen, to the east of which we descended, and further up its valley joined the advanced party in a rocky glen, called Sitong, an advantageous

camping ground, from being sheltered by rocks which ward off the keen blasts: its elevation is 15,370 feet above the sea, and the

magnificent west cliff of Kinchinjhow towers over it not a mile

distant, bearing due east, and subtending an angle of 24.3 degrees.

The afternoon was misty, but at 7 p.m. the south-east wind fell, and was immediately succeeded by the biting north return current, which dispelled the fog: hoar-frost sparkled on the ground, and the moon

shone full on the snowy head of Kinchinjhow, over which the milky-way and the broad flashing orbs of the stars formed a jewelled diadem.

The night was very windy and cold, though the thermometer fell no

lower than 22 degrees, that placed in a polished parabolic reflector to 20 degrees, and another laid on herbage to 17.5 degrees.

On the 16th we were up early. I felt very anxious about the prospect of our getting round by Donkia pass and Cholamoo, which would enable me to complete the few remaining miles of my long survey of the

Teesta river, and which promised immense results in the views I

should obtain of the country, and of the geology and botany of these lofty snowless regions. Campbell, though extremely solicitous to

obtain permission from the Tibetan guard, (who were waiting for us on the frontier), was nevertheless bound by his own official position to yield at once to their wishes, should they refuse us a passage.

The sun rose on our camp at 7.30 a.m., when the north wind fell; and within an hour afterwards the temperature had risen to 45 degrees.

Having had our sticks* [It was an invariable custom of our Lepcba and Tibetan attendants, to warm the handles of our sticks in cold

weather, before starting on our daily marches. This is one of many

little instances I could adduce, of their thoughtfulness and

attention to the smallest comforts of the stranger and wanderer in

their lands.] warmed and handed to us, we started on ponies,

accompanied by the Lama only, to hold a parley with the Tibetans;

ordering the rest of the party to follow at their leisure. We had not proceeded far when we were joined by two Tibetan Sepoys, who, on our reaching the pass, bellowed lustily for their companions; when

Campbell and the Lama drew up at the chait of Kongra Lama, and

announced his wish to confer with their commandant.

My anxiety was now wound up to a pitch; I saw men with matchlocks

emerging from amongst the rocks under Chomiomo, and despairing of

permission being obtained, I goaded my pony with heels and stick, and dashed on up the Lachen valley, resolved to make the best of a

splendid day, and not turn back till I had followed the river to the Cholamoo lakes: The Sepoys followed me a few paces, but running being difficult at 16,000 feet, they soon gave up the chase.

A few miles ride in a north-east direction over an open, undulating country, brought me to the Lachen, flowing westwards in a broad,

open, stony valley, bounded by Kinchinjhow on the south, (its face

being as precipitous as that on the opposite side), and on the north by the Peukathlo, a low range of rocky, sloping mountains, of which the summits were 18,000 to 19,000 feet above the sea. Enormous

erratic blocks of gneiss strewed the ground, which was sandy or

gravelly, and cut into terraces along the shallow, winding river, the green and sparkling waters of which rippled over pebbles, or expanded into lagoons. The already scanty vegetation diminished rapidly: it

consisted chiefly of