Chapter III: Up the River
The first day we had an easy time, following up the great flats by
the river side, which had already been twice burned, so that there
was no dense
undergrowth to check us, though the ground was often
rough, and we had to go a good deal upon the riverbed. Towards
nightfall we had made a matter of some five-and-twenty miles, and
camped at the point where the river entered upon the gorge.
The weather was delightfully warm, considering that the valley in
which we were encamped must have been at least two thousand feet
above the level of the sea. The river-bed was here about a mile
and a half broad and entirely covered with shingle over which the
river ran in many winding channels, looking, when seen from above,
like a tangled skein of ribbon, and glistening in the sun. We knew
that it was liable to very sudden and heavy freshets; but even had
we not known it, we could have seen it by the snags of trees, which
must have been carried long distances, and by the mass of vegetable
and mineral debris which was banked against their lower side,
showing that at times the whole river-bed must be covered with a
roaring torrent many feet in depth and of ungovernable fury. At
present the river was low, there being but five or six streams, too
deep and rapid for even a strong man to ford on foot, but to be
crossed safely on horseback. On either side of it there were still
a few acres of flat, which grew wider and wider down the river,
till they became the large plains on which we looked from my
master's hut. Behind us rose the lowest spurs of the second range,
leading abruptly to the range itself; and at a distance of half a
mile began the gorge, where the river narrowed and became
boisterous and terrible. The beauty of the scene cannot be
conveyed in language. The one side of the valley was blue with
evening shadow, through which loomed forest and precipice, hillside
and mountain top; and the other was still brilliant with the sunset
gold. The wide and wasteful river with its ceaseless rushing--the
beautiful water-birds too, which abounded upon the islets and were
so tame that we could come close up to them--the ineffable purity
of the air--the solemn peacefulness of the untrodden region--could
there be a more delightful and exhilarating combination?
We set about making our camp, close to some large bush which came
down from the mountains on to the flat, and tethered out our horses
upon ground as free as we could find it from anything round which
they might wind the rope and get themselves tied up. We dared not
let them run loose, lest they might stray down the river home
again. We then gathered wood and lit the fire. We filled a tin
pannikin with water and set it against the hot ashes to boil. When
the water boiled we threw in two or three large pinches of tea and
let them brew.
We had caught half a dozen young ducks in the course of the day--an
easy matter, for the old birds made such a fuss in attempting to
decoy us away from them--pretending to be badly hurt as they say
the plover does--that we could always find them by going about in
the opposite direction to the old bird till we heard the young ones
crying: then we ran them down, for they could not fly though they
were nearly full grown. Chowbok plucked them a little and singed
them a good deal. Then we cut them up and boiled them in another
pannikin, and this completed our preparations.
When we had done supper it was quite dark. The silence and
freshness of the night, the occasional sharp cry of the wood-hen,
the ruddy glow of the fire, the subdued rushing of the river, the
sombre forest, and the immediate foreground of our saddles packs
and blankets, made a picture worthy of a Salvator Rosa or a Nicolas
Poussin. I call it to mind and delight in it now, but I did not
notice it at the time. We next to never know when we are well off:
but this cuts two ways,--for if we did, we should perhaps know
better when we are ill off also; and I have sometimes thought that
there are as many ignorant of the one as of the other. He who
wrote, "O fortunatos nimium sua si bona norint agricolas," might
have written quite as truly, "O infortunatos nimium sua si mala
norint"; and there are few of us who are not protected from the
keenest pain by our inability to see what it is that we have done,
what we are suffering, and what we truly are. Let us be grateful
to the mirror for revealing to us our appearance only.
We found as soft a piece of ground as we could--though it was all
stony--and having collected grass and so disposed of ourselves that
we had a little hollow for our hip-bones, we strapped our blankets
around us and went to sleep. Waking in the night I saw the stars
overhead and the moonlight bright upon the mountains. The river
was ever rushing; I heard one of our horses neigh to its companion,
and was assured that they were still at hand; I had no care of mind
or body, save that I had doubtless many difficulties to overcome;
there came upon me a delicious sense of peace, a fulness of
contentment which I do not believe can be felt by any but those who
have spent days consecutively on horseback, or at any rate in the
open air.
Next morning we found our last night's tea-leaves frozen at the
bottom of the pannikins, though it was not nearly the beginning of
autumn; we breakfasted as we had supped, and were on our way by six
o'clock. In half an hour we had entered the gorge, and turning
round a corner we bade farewell to the last sight of my master's
country.
The gorge was narrow and precipitous; the river was now only a few
yards wide, and roared and thundered against rocks of many tons in
weight; the sound was deafening, for there was a great volume of
water. We were two hours in making less than a mile, and that with
danger, sometimes in the river and sometimes on the rock. There
was that damp black smell of rocks covered with slimy vegetation,
as near some huge waterfall where spray is ever rising. The air
was clammy and cold. I cannot conceive how our horses managed to
keep their footing, especially the one with the pack, and I dreaded
the having to return almost as much as going forward. I suppose
this lasted three miles, but it was well midday when the gorge got
a little wider, and a small stream came into it from a tributary
valley. Farther progress up the main river was impossible, for the
cliffs descended like walls; so we went up the side stream, Chowbok
seeming to think that here must be the pass of which reports
existed among his people. We now incurred less of actual danger
but more fatigue, and it was only after infinite trouble, owing to
the rocks and tangled vegetation, that we got ourselves and our
horses upon the saddle from which this small stream descended; by
that time clouds had descended upon us, and it was raining heavily.
Moreover, it was six o'clock and we were tired out, having made
perhaps six miles in twelve hours.
On the saddle there was some coarse grass which was in full seed,
and therefore very nourishing for the horses; also abundance of
anise and sow-thistle, of which they are extravagantly fond, so we
turned them loose and prepared to camp. Everything was soaking wet
and we were half-perished with cold; indeed we were very
uncomfortable. There was brushwood about, but we could get no fire
till we had shaved off the wet outside of some dead branches and
filled our pockets with the dry inside chips. Having done this we
managed to start a fire, nor did we allow it to go out when we had
once started it; we pitched the tent and by nine o'clock were
comparatively warm and dry. Next morning it was fine; we broke
camp, and after advancing a short distance we found that, by
descending over ground less difficult than yesterday's, we should
come again upon the river-bed, which had opened out above the
gorge; but it was plain at a glance that there was no available
sheep country, nothing but a few flats covered with scrub on either
side the river, and mountains which were perfectly worthless. But
we could see the main range. There was no mistake about this. The
glaciers were tumbling down the mountain sides like cataracts, and
seemed actually to descend upon the river-bed; there could be no
serious difficulty in reaching them by following up the river,
which was wide and open; but it seemed rather an objectless thing
to do, for the main range looked hopeless, and my curiosity about
the nature of the country above the gorge was now quite satisfied;
there was no money in it whatever, unless there should be minerals,
of which I saw no more signs than lower down.
However, I resolved that I would follow the river up, and not
return until I was compelled to do so. I would go up every branch
as far as I could, and wash well for gold. Chowbok liked seeing me
do this, but it never came to anything, for we did not even find
the colour. His dislike of the main range appeared to have worn
off, and he made no objections to approaching it. I think he
thought there was no danger of my trying to cross it, and he was
not afraid of anything on this side; besides, we might find gold.
But the fact was that he had made up his mind what to do if he saw
me getting too near it.
We passed three weeks in exploring, and never did I find time go
more quickly. The weather was fine, though the nights got very
cold. We followed every stream but one, and always found it lead
us to a glacier which was plainly impassable, at any rate without a
larger party and ropes. One stream remained, which I should have
followed up already, had not Chowbok said that he had risen early
one morning while I was yet asleep, and after going up it for three
or four miles, had seen that it was impossible to go farther. I
had long ago discovered that he was a great liar, so I was bent on
going up myself: in brief, I did so: so far from being
impossible, it was quite easy travelling; and after five or six
miles I saw a saddle at the end of it, which, though covered deep
in snow, was not glaciered, and which did verily appear to be part
of the main range itself. No words can express the intensity of my
delight. My blood was all on fire with hope and elation; but on
looking round for Chowbok, who was behind me, I saw to my surprise
and anger that he had turned back, and was going down the valley as
hard as he could. He had left me.
Erewhon : Chapter IV - The Saddle
Erewhon