Page 104 - Gertrude Bell (H.V.F.Winstone)
P. 104

88                    GERTRUDE BELL
                    Gilbert Russell relayed a story he had been told of that dangerous
                   and lawless region. A British regiment was being harassed by an
                   Afridi sniper who made them the targets of his rifle practice every
                   night, and eventually they asked a member of the Khyber rifles
                    to investigate and sec if he could rid them of the nuisance. The
                    native soldier returned shortly after, bearing a human head, and
                   he was complimented on his promptness in dealing with the
                   matter. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, T know all about his ways. He was my
                    father.’
                      They looked into the forbidden land of Afghanistan and saw
                    the Kabuli caravan emerge from the gorge. ‘The wild, desolate
                   valley was full of camels, and men, and ponies, tramping, tramp­
                   ing up to Kabul, and down to Peshwar. It was a wonderful thing
                   to stand at the gates of Central Asia, and see the merchant trains
                   passing up and down on a road older than all history.’ As they
                    took a last look at that infamous pass she wrote: ‘Think of
                   conqueror after conqueror standing there and looking down on
                    the richest land of Asia! Aryans and Greeks, Mongols and
                   Pathans —they have all looked down that valley, and smelt the
                   hot breath of India, and the plunder to come, Alexander, and
                   Timur, and Muhammad of Ghazni, and Barbar —who comes
                    next over the Pass?’ Before leaving the Frontier she washed her
                    hair for the first time since Bombay. ‘Pfui!’
                      By the end of January they reached Calcutta and then went on
                    to Darjeeling and the Plimalayas, balm to Gertrude’s poetic soul.
                    ‘At 4.30 Hugo came into my room and said, “Get up, get up!
                    the moon’s shining on all the snows!” and I jumped out of bed and
                    into a fur coat.’ In her excitement Gertrude ate a hurriedly prepared
                    egg with sugar instead of salt, and they rushed off on their horses,
                    Nepalese guides panting behind, Kinchinjunga before them.
                      That was a ride! We dashed on to the Tiger Hill, which is
                      about 900 feet high. As we got to the top I saw the first sunbeam
                      strike the very highest point of Kinchinjunga—Nunc Dimittis
                      there can be no such sight in the world—Away to the west, and
                      120  miles from us, Everest put his white head over the folded
                      lines of mountains.
                    She vowed that she would return to climb Kinchinjunga, that
                    ‘white dream suspended between earth and heaven’.
                      The rest of the journey was a saga of tourism intermingled
                   with dispute which became more affected and inconclusive as
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