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12 ADVENTURES IN TIBET.
and that the recollection of them should awaken such
bright and happy associations in my memory. But it
is 20 years since I heard them for the first time, and since
then they have echoed like an undertone through my
life. It was to the sound of bells that I rode away from
Bagdad up through the mountains of Kurdistan, when
the march of the Arabs was too slow for my impatience,
and I ran away from them, but was received with hospitality
by Aga Muhamed Hassan, and was given unlimited credit
on the strength of my being a countryman of Charles XII.
The sound of bells was in my ears when I travelled through
Khorasan and Turkestan, and again when I made my
dash across the Desert of Takla-makan ; though on this
last occasion their echoes were funereal, for the whole of
the caravan perished of thirst except myself and two
of my men. I have also travelled through the land of
the Mongols, and through Northern China, always with
the cling-clang of the camels’ bells in my ears. The various
vicissitudes of joy and sorrow which inevitably attend
a long journey have always in my case been accompanied
by the same penetrating music. No wonder, then, that
these bells of the desert have such a weird fascination for
me.
At length we reached the bank of the river Kizil-su, or
the Red Water, and down its bed immense volumes of
water were pouring as red and thick as tomato soup.
After several of the other men had in vain attempted
to find a ford, it was Kader’s turn to try his luck.
Resolutely digging his spurs into the flanks of his shaggy
little Kirghiz horse, he rode straight down into the suUen
stream. Down, down, sank the horse ; the water came
up to the pommel of the saddle ; in a moment horse and
rider disappeared in the muddy waters, their heads alone
being visible. Kader flung his arms around the horse’s
neck, and away they both went swirling down stream,
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