Page 281 - The Tigris Expedition
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.                                       The Tigris Expedition
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                      brought the madly flapping topsail down. A full moon peeped at us
                      in fleeting gaps between rapidly accumulating clouds, then it
                      disappeared as the rattling, rumbling blitz came over us and over
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                      the unseen coast of Makran. We had sailed into really bad weather.
                        I fell asleep before my midnight watch; then, as I grabbed my
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                      flashlight and lifeline to climb up on the steering-bridge with Toru,
                      we found the masts naked: no sails. As Norris and Asbjorn huddled
                      away and left further problems to us, they reported that the wind
                      had swung about in all directions each time an extra black thunder
                      cloud had passed overhead. It had been impossible to undo and
                      refasten sheets and braces fast enough every time they had to trim
                      the sail, and the rolling had been so bad that they had feared the
                       dancing yard-arm would break and the mainsail be torn to shreds.
                       Norman had been out to help them save the sail, and we were now
                       adrift with only the sea-anchor to help keep our stern to the wind.
                       The coast was near and there was an island somewhere, so we had to
                       be alert. The West Coast of India Pilot left no doubt that it was risky to
                       be adrift completely without steering control in such treacherous
                       waters. A faint wind began to blow in our favour from the direction
                       of the Hormuz Strait, and after half an hour I woke up enough men
                       to hoist the mainsail in a heavy rolling sea. Three whales came up
                       around us, breathing deeply in the dark, and by our sparse light we
                       noted two big white birds riding high at either end of our vessel.
      I i              The sail came up, but no sooner was it filled before the wind
                       changed to ne, the proper direction of the monsoon. If it really was
                       the monsoon that had now come to stay, then we would run the risk
                       of never seeing land in Pakistan. Never had our desire to get on to
                        the Makran coast been stronger.
                          We studied the chart again. The dead reckoning would place us
                        off the Ashing village of Pasni. Land was just below the horizon.
                        This was still Makran and not yet the Indus Valley. But the Indus
                        Valley civilisation had dominated this coast. Archaeologists had
                        found ruins of prehistoric forts built by the founders of the Indus
                        Valley civilisation; they blocked access to the only two valleys
                        leading inland from this coast. One was at Sutkagen Dor, which we
                        already had behind us, very near the borders of Iran. The other was
                        at Sotka-Koh, the passage that opens at Pasni, which we now had
                        right inside us. In a report on recent surveys of these prehistoric
                        coastal forts, the archaeologist G. F. Dales had shown that they
                        contained numerous Indus Valley potsherds, and that these were
                        attributable to the earliest period of Indus Valley civilisation.
        I               According to Dales, this special type of ceramic ware had been
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