CHAPTER I

PLEASURES OF ANTICIPATION

“Now the girths and ropes are tested, Now they pack their last supplies.” —RUDYARD KIPLING.

When I was defeated for Governor of New York I got an involuntary holiday, and fortunately my brother Kermit could adjust his affairs and free himself for the coming year. For years he and I had been planning to make an expedition together. Time and again we had to put it off, because when one could go, the other could not. This year conditions shaped themselves to make it possible.

There were many delightful short trips we could have taken with reasonable comfort. We decided, however, that these should be saved for a later day when we had qualified for the grandfather class. We felt we should take the hard trek now when we were still in good condition physically, before we “carried too much weight for age.”

Though I have done a certain amount of roughing it and hunting during my life, compared to Kermit I am a beginner. Every continent has seen the smoke of his camp-fires. He was on the expeditions made by my father to Africa and South America. His business is shipping, which takes him all over the world, and as a result he has been able in the course of his work to hunt in India, Manchuria, and various parts of the United States and Mexico.

Though hunting in itself is great sport, without the scientific aspect as well it loses much of its charm. Therefore, we decided that any expedition we made would be organized along scientific lines. Both Kermit and I are much interested in natural history and have been for years. Through my father, originally, we met naturalists the world over. When I was knee-high to the proverbial grasshopper I remember delightful days spent with John Burroughs and others, who saw in the woods ten times more than the ordinary individual sees.

Our thoughts turned to central Asia. As a matter of fact, this had always been the Mecca of our desires. Though one of the oldest countries in the world, it is one of the least known. In the northern part the Mongol tribes originated, who swept like flame over Asia and half of Europe. Through it the great caravan routes run, over which trade passed before Rome was founded, when Egypt was the world-power, and elephants were hunted on the Euphrates. These caravan routes are practically the same to-day as they were when a few adventurous Europeans pushed east over them in the late Middle Ages.

Roy Chapman Andrews and his expedition have covered the Gobi desert and the surrounding territory, and will reach the Altai mountains, and probably Dzungaria. It would have been duplication of effort for us to strike for the same country, so we decided we would make our general objective farther south and west.

Besides this we had in our minds Kipling’s verse from “The Feet of the Young Men”:

“Do you know the world’s white rooftree—do you know that windy rift Where the baffling mountain eddies chop and change? Do you know the long day’s patience, belly-down on frozen drift, While the head of heads is feeding out of range? It is there that I am going, where the boulders and snow lie, With a trusty, nimble tracker that I know. I have sworn an oath, to keep it, on the Horns of Ovis Poli, For the Red Gods call me out, and I must go.”

We therefore fixed on the Pamirs, Turkestan, and the Tian Shan mountains as our objectives. There in the Pamirs lives ovis poli, which is conceded by sportsmen the world over to be one of the finest of all game trophies. Ovis poli is the great wild sheep of Marco Polo, the “father and mother” of all the wild sheep. He represents the elder branch of the family of which our bighorn is a member, and makes our bighorn look, in comparison, a small animal. He lives in the barren, treeless Pamirs. He was originally discovered about 1256 by Marco Polo, hence the name. Marco Polo says:

There are great numbers of wild beasts, among others wild sheep of great size, whose horns are good six palms in length.... This plain is called Pamier, and you ride across it for twelve days together, finding nothing but desert without habitation or any green thing, so that travellers are obliged to carry with them whatsoever they have need of.

For a long time this was considered a romance, for any one was willing to prove that no such animal could exist. It was allotted a place with the unicorn and the phœnix. At last, some six hundred years later, Lieutenant John Wood, an English officer, made his way into the country, shot a sheep, and proved that Marco Milione—at least in this instance—was speaking the truth. Indeed, if anything, he was understating the case, for whereas he says that “these great sheep have horns six hands in length,” the record head, a pick-up, is seventy-five inches. This head belonged to Lord Roberts, the famous “Little Bobs of Kandahar,” and was given him by the Emir of Afghanistan. Not only is Marco Polo correct where he describes the wild sheep but also the customs of the natives which he mentions are practically unchanged from that day to this. Poor Polo, like many another who has told the unknown truth, was branded a colossal liar by his generation.

Beyond the Pamirs, the “world’s white rooftree,” lies the plain of Turkestan. There the barren, sandy waste of the Takla Makan desert is broken only by the oases and jungles that fringe the streams. These rivers, turbulent, muddy torrents when they leave the mountains, gradually shrink as they wind their way through the plain until they finally disappear in brackish marshes in the desert. In the jungles are Yarkand stag and many small animals and birds. Still farther north, running across northern Turkestan, lie the Tian Shan mountains, where two other great sheep live—the ovis ammon karelini and the ovis ammon littledalei. There also lives the greatest of all the ibex, whose horns measure between fifty and sixty inches. Besides these, in this territory are snow-leopards, the great brown bear, the Siberian roe, the Asiatic wapiti, and many other forms of wild life.

On this trek we would strike all climates, from the bitter weather of snow-swept mountains to the blazing heat of sand-drifted deserts and jungle-covered river-bottoms. The country was exceedingly interesting from a scientific standpoint, because no comprehensive American expedition had ever covered it, and there were to all intents and purposes no collections of the wild life in our museums.

My brother Kermit and I were in no position to finance an undertaking of this sort ourselves. Fortunately for us, the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago was interested in our plans, and Mr. Stanley Field and Mr. Davies, director of the museum, went to Mr. James Simpson to see if the money could be raised for the undertaking. Mr. Simpson not only believes very strongly in out-of-door life but also is a great advocate and backer of scientific enterprise. Within an hour he had agreed to furnish the financial support, and the James Simpson-Roosevelts-Field Museum Expedition was born.

One of the real problems that confronted us on the trails of central Asia was the difficulty of transporting equipment and supplies. Every additional white man, of course, greatly increased the baggage that must be carried. For this reason we had to keep our white personnel to a minimum. We decided, therefore, that besides ourselves we would be able to take only two others. Our first choice was George K. Cherrie, a man of marked attainments as a scientist. Cherrie was with my father and Kermit on their South American expedition. We got in touch with him at once, and were delighted when he not only agreed to come but was as enthusiastic as either of us.

For the fourth member, we asked a lifelong friend, Suydam Cutting, who took photography for his particular work. Parenthetically, just before we left the United States, Cutting and his brother won the National Court Tennis Championship, and when he returned he won the singles.

[Illustration: SUYDAM CUTTING AND GEORGE CHERRIE IN THE HEART OF THE HIMALAYAS]

Perhaps one of the most interesting aspects of the expedition, from a scientific standpoint, was the fact that it formed a link in the great study that is now in progress to determine the course of migration of animal life to this continent. In prehistoric times Asia and North America were connected by a land bridge which stretched across the Bering Straits. The theory is that most of our mammal forms, including man, originated on the great central Asian plateau, worked north following the receding ice-cap, migrated across the land bridge, and then spread south over this continent. In other words, our wapiti is descended from the ancestor of the Asiatic wapiti, and our Indian from far-distant tribesmen of central Asia. What I say does not mean, of course, that our forms are descended from the forms now in existence in Asia, any more than man is descended from any existing species of anthropoid ape. It means that a common ancestor existed from which the present types evolved, and from which in many cases both have varied largely. Naturally, as environs tend to influence variation, those animals which remained in the place in which the original stock lived have, as a rule, varied least. In this country an extensive and comprehensive study of mammal, bird, and reptile life has been made. In Asia, the Roy Chapman Andrews expeditions have collected exhaustively the northern and central varieties. The Field Museum Expedition adds the final link to the chain by collecting the southwestern Asiatic specimens. Our scientists in this country will then have at their disposal for study a more or less complete series, stretching from the table-lands of southwestern Asia north, and then down through our continent. From this, in all probability, they will not only be able to prove their theory but also to work out many other interesting problems concerning variation.

The next problem confronting us was to determine our route and get our passports. Getting into this part of Asia is difficult at best. Three ways lie open. One is across China, one across Russia, and one over the Himalayan passes north of the Vale of Kashmir. To cross China we would have had to travel five months by caravan to reach our hunting-grounds. The transportation of supplies we thought would be chancy through the “Land of the Brown Bear.”

[Illustration: ROUTE MAP OF THE EXPEDITION]

We therefore decided to apply for permission to the British Government to cross the mountain wall that protects India on the north. Over these mountains, at one point or another, the majority of the invaders of India have poured since the Aryans who left us the Vedic hymns flooded down in prehistoric times to the Punjab. Here the distances are not so great but “every mile stands on end.” Again three choices offered themselves. We could go over the Hunza Pass, or through the Leh-Karakoram route, or endeavor to work our way up through Afghanistan. The first of these, the Hunza route, seemed to us the most desirable for it landed us directly in the poli country, the Tagdum-Bash Pamirs. This, however, proved impossible, for two Dutch mountain-climbers, the Vissers, had already organized an expedition to explore this region, and had obtained permits to use this pass. Because of the great difficulty in transporting supplies, only one expedition was permitted to go through there that year. We then had left open to us the Leh-Karakoram and the Afghanistan routes. The Afghanistan route was very difficult, and the natives uncertain, to put it mildly. We did not wish to be “collected” ourselves before we had a chance to collect any animals, so when we failed of permission to use the Hunza we applied for permits to go by the Leh-Karakoram route.

The Viceroy of India, Lord Reading, and the British Government most kindly gave us permission. This, of course, was only part of the permits we needed, for in the mid-Himalayas the sovereignty changes from British to Chinese, and Turkestan and the Tian Shan are part of the Chinese Republic. For poli-hunting, too, we might have to go to the Russian Pamirs, so Russian passports were necessary.

We went to the Chinese Legation. They immediately extended to us every courtesy. Not only did Minister Sze help us officially but also he put us in touch with personal friends of his who were acquainted with some parts of the country through which we intended to travel.

Mr. Sze told us frankly that he was not sure how much he could do, as Turkestan is a very long way from the seat of government in China, and the reins of authority are but lightly held. He said that he would cable to Pekin. Knowing the effect an impressive document has on people in the back-eddies of the world, we asked him also to draw up for us the most gorgeous “to whom it may concern” he could make. He entered into the plan, and found in the attic of the legation a form of credentials long abandoned but resplendent with gold lettering and seals. On it he wrote a long and flowery description of us. More than once this stood us in good stead, for even when the natives could not read they were awed by its splendor.

As there was no Russian representative in the United States, we had to wait for the Russian visas until we reached England.

Naturally, we were on tenter-hooks while getting our permits, for any slip-up would have driven the expedition on the rocks, and it was impossible for us to wait and undertake it “some other year.” As William the Silent observed when he decided to strike for the Crown of England, it was a case of “Aut nunc aut nuncquam.” There was general rejoicing in the Roosevelt family when word came that everything was arranged.

At about this time we made the announcement of our plans. There are those who say that Americans have lost the pioneer spirit. I doubt if they would maintain this had they seen the flood of letters that were received by the museum, Simpson, Kermit, Cherrie, and myself. Literally hundreds of people from all over the country wrote asking to go on the expedition. Nearly all of them either volunteered to go without pay or to pay their expenses. Jew and Gentile, lawyer and dock-hand, city-dweller from the East and rancher from Idaho, they “yearned beyond the sky-line where the strange roads go down.” Indeed, we even had applications from Canada, France, Russia, and Germany. Here in this country, a large group were young fellows just graduating from college. Next to them in point of numbers came ex-soldiers, excellent men, whom we would have been glad to have with us. Then there were hunting-men, and scientific and outdoor men of all types; one minister applied to go as a missionary. Nor was this entirely confined to the male sex, for a number of women, evidently inspired by the exploits of the women explorers of this century, wrote to us. One, I recall, wished to be a cook. Another felt that stenographic work would be valuable. Some men went so far as to come to New York to apply in person. Many of these people would have done well on the expedition but, in a country where every additional ounce of baggage counts against you, it is necessary to cut personnel to the bone, so we had to refuse all applications.

Besides these came offers and suggestions of every kind and description. They ranged from advice as to books that we should take on the trip to special remedies for problematical ailments. Naturally, a large part of them were taken up with suggestions for rifles and equipment. Perhaps there is no more persistent crank than the rifle crank. He has more theories to the square inch than there are hairs on a dog’s back. One of these wrote to say that he had arranged a rifle-trap by which the game could be made to shoot itself.

In addition to those who wished to give us things, there were the usual host who wished us to give them things. Countless letters came in asking us to bring the writer some “souvenir” when we returned. One man wanted a dog, another wanted postage-stamps of the locality. There are dogs in the Pamirs, but I am afraid that the man who was in search of postage-stamps will have to wait many a long year before his ambition is realized.

In selecting our outfit, we took as our first principle that we must keep the bulk and weight down to the lowest extent consistent with attaining the results we desired, and we decided to take from this country only those articles which we felt we might not be able to get in India.

First of all, of course, the question of rifles came up. Originally we intended to take .405 Winchesters, but though the smashing power of this arm is very great, the trajectory is hardly flat enough for long-range shooting. For this reason we left these rifles in Kashmir for use on our return to India. For central Asia we decided upon two .375 Hoffman arms and two sporting model Springfields. Cherrie took also a combination shotgun and rifle—valuable as a collector’s gun—and an extra 16-gauge shotgun. For all the various arms we carried a total of some 3,000 rounds of ammunition.

Our bedding-rolls were water-proof envelopes with eider-down between the blankets. They were excellent, and kept us warm even in the bitterest weather. We took telescopes, Zeiss binoculars, three little still cameras, an Akeley movie camera, the regulation army emergency ration, saddles, compasses, and a number of other small articles.

In the high altitudes where air is scant it is very difficult to cook. An onion can be boiled literally for hours and still remains hard as a rock. To cure this we bought a patent pressure cooker. It was excellent. Not only did it give us hot food but it was so simple and strong that even a native could understand it and could not break it.

The scientific equipment consisted mainly of skinning-tools, preservatives for the various specimens, and traps for the smaller animals. For bait for the traps Cherrie took peanut butter and raisins.

For literature we took the proverbial standbys: the Bible, Shakespeare, and “Pilgrim’s Progress,” flanked by an odd assortment of works: “The Ingoldsby Legends,” “Plutarch’s Lives,” “Mr. Midshipman Easy,” “The Cloister and the Hearth,” Robinson’s poetry, Kipling’s poetry, some of Molière’s comedies, and a number of others selected equally at random. They were cloth-covered editions, easy to carry, and valuable only for the contents.

An interesting feature of our equipment were four cougar hounds. Kermit had suggested that it might be a good plan to take hounds, and try to hunt the varmints of central Asia with them. There is in central Asia a very rare tiger which no white man has ever shot. Travellers have occasionally seen its tracks. We thought if we were fortunate enough to come on signs of this animal, we might get it with hounds when we would stand no chance with other methods.

We bought, therefore, two hounds from an old hunter in Montana, Bob Bakker. Two more dogs were given us by Tom McHenry, of Mississippi. The latter were descendants of the famous Rainey pack that was used in Africa.

We had many amusing times with the dogs. To begin with, my brother lives in New York City and I live in the country. Therefore, it was foreordained through the ages that when they came East they should stay with me until the time came for them to go. My wife runs the place in the country. On it she has, besides four children, two dogs of which she is very fond. Early in the proceedings, she advised us that the hounds were not to be kept at Oyster Bay. We felt that it was wiser not to debate the matter, so we said nothing. Fortunately, they arrived the day I was going to Chicago, so I merely let her know the dogs had come and then left town. I think the best account of what happened then is given in the following letter from my wife to my sister, Mrs. Longworth:

DEAR SISTER,

So far, I haven’t had much to do helping in the arrangements for the trip, but what a change to-day! When they first planned to hunt the long-haired tiger with cougar hounds, I said it was a grand idea, provided I did not have to take care of any stray hounds out here. Ted and Kermit didn’t say much in direct reply, but talked a great deal about the rarity and phenomenal value of the Montana hounds—equalled only by those of Mississippi.

Time went on. Day before yesterday, Ted said: “Oh, by the way, the hounds are coming to-morrow. You can arrange about them all right, of course!” I said feebly: “How many?” Ted said: “Maybe a couple from Montana, maybe a couple from Mississippi. Four perhaps—yes, that’s it, four—nice dogs, very.” Then he took the train for Chicago.

Well, the hounds spent the night in Kermit’s laundry in town, and Dick [Doctor Derby] was persuaded to take them out to me in his car with Summers [Kermit’s chauffeur].

When they got here, I heard a racket such as never was, and went out to find our entire household gathered to admire two of the most delightful bloodhoundish animals I ever saw. My two puppies were watching most disapprovingly from the top of a hill, and later they retired discreetly to their kennels.

Summers said to me: “The other two dogs will be here to-morrow, madam. Of course you won’t want to change their diet. They are accustomed to seven pounds of meat apiece daily. Horse-flesh. If you try to have it cooked in the house you won’t be able to remain indoors. It is rather strong, but excellent for the hounds. They should be taken for a run every day for exercise, but you mustn’t do it, madam—you couldn’t hold them.”

I spent that afternoon motoring all around in a vain search for the huntsman of the —— Kennels, whom I hoped to be able to persuade to help me out with the food. Finally, I got him on the telephone, and sounded exactly like Aunt —— buying tickets for Cuba.

“My husband is going hunting in central Asia ... a most interesting experiment ... cougar hounds, after long-haired tiger.... The hounds are here now.... My husband has gone to Chicago.... I know nothing.... Of course _you_ know more about hounds than any one.... Oh! if you only _would_....”

He was coming around next morning at eight-thirty to see those hounds. I had had two strenuous days in town, and had been looking forward to oversleeping next morning, but, needless to say, I was down-stairs waiting, hoping that I could arrange to get, for this week and next, twenty-eight pounds a day of cooked horse.

The telephone rang. He was detained, but would be over in the afternoon. I had been going out that afternoon, but what did that matter? I stayed in, and he never came at all. Those dogs ate beef and dog-biscuit, and were glad to get it. They didn’t get seven pounds apiece a day either!

In addition to all this, and more besides, the children are having their Easter vacation.

One reason I want to come to see you is the idea of the long peaceful train journey between New York and Washington! E.

My wife put these dogs in the barn. She put the two strongest in the strongest shed she had. The next morning they had broken down most of the shed, and were almost loose. She then had them chained with heavy iron chains. One of them broke his chain. She then had them chained together, on the theory that if they got away, they would not run so far. This was almost disastrous, because they thereupon proceeded to try to eat each other up!

The cheapest way to get our equipment, including the hounds, to India was to send it direct over one of my brother’s lines to Karachi. Cherrie agreed to go with it. The last two days before Cherrie’s departure we spent in feverish packing. We checked everything once, then checked it back again. We kept lists of every box. Eventually, Cutting was detailed to paint numbers on our boxes. He did it thoroughly—so thoroughly, in fact, that he partially painted one child and a library chair as well.

On the morning of the day that Cherrie’s boat went, we all gathered at Kermit’s house, where the equipment had been assembled. We shoved the last things into a trunk and then, in three automobiles, went down to see Cherrie off. We divided the cougar hounds between the automobiles. One sat on my lap in the front seat of our car. When we got to the pier we found that there was only an iron gangway, which the dogs could not climb, so we struggled on board, each with a cougar hound over his shoulder. We took them forward and left them tied to stanchions.

Next Saturday, April 11, Kermit, Suydam Cutting, and I sailed on the _Leviathan_.

When we reached England, the first and most important thing we had to do was to get our passports to the Russian Pamirs, where we believed the largest ovis poli would be found. We went at once to the headquarters of the Russian Trade Delegation, where Mr. Rakovsky, the envoy, was very cordial. We presented our letters, and he told us that he would be glad to give us the permit. We stayed to tea with him. Before the revolution he had been head of a big mill in Russia, and he discussed economic conditions the world over with wide knowledge. What struck me most about the offices of the delegation was the number of portraits, busts, and photographs of Lenin that were everywhere. As far as this delegation is concerned, Lenin stands first, and there are no seconds.

We then called on various hunters, travellers, and naturalists. It was delightful meeting them, and they were invariably kind and helpful. They put themselves out to aid us in every way. They recommended for our party natives whom they knew, advised on the best passes and trails, and suggested equipment. As they talked you could see they imagined themselves back, pushing through snow-covered mountain passes, and tramping in dust clouds over sere, sun-dried plains.

[Illustration: A LADAKHI DANCE IN LEH]

[Illustration: JEMAL SHAH, THE COOK, BESIDE A WALL OF PRAYER-STONES]

We stopped in Paris just long enough to buy a few odds and ends. These consisted mainly of presents for the natives. Some of the country where we intended to hunt is so far from civilization that money means little to the tribes who live there. We purchased an assortment of knives, cheap watches, and similar articles. The best of these were the most gorgeous buttons that ever graced a gown. They were every color of the rainbow. There was not a subdued note amongst the lot. The colors were chosen not to blend but to clash.

From Paris we went to Marseilles, where we took ship for the last leg of the trip to India. Travel was light and we had the ship nearly to ourselves. This gave us a splendid chance to study Hindustanee. We had it for breakfast, we had it for lunch, and we had it for dinner. I am not particularly good at languages, and I soon felt as if my mind were like one of those kaleidoscopes in which colored glass is continually shifting into patterns of meaningless design.

The weather was clear, the Mediterranean was sapphire blue. We passed Stromboli at night. It was “acting up,” and every few seconds a tongue of red flames stabbed the black of the sky. The birds were migrating north from their winter in Africa, and, though we were out of sight of land, many flew by the ship. One in particular, a dove, came in under the awning and lit on a stanchion. Early one morning I looked out of the port-hole and there, lying to the north, was a rugged coast-line capped with a snow-crowned mountain. It was Crete, the home of the sea-kings, and of one of the oldest civilizations of which we have record.

We passed Port Said, where the real East begins, and where an ethnologist would tear his hair in despair, for every race has blended there for years, with a strange and weird result. Down the Red Sea we cruised, with barren, sun-scorched desert shivering in the heat haze on either hand.

One evening we reached Aden, built in the crater of an extinct volcano. I can imagine no hotter place, for the sun beats down on it and the rock walls guard it from every breeze. In fact, I should think the inhabitants would be inclined to disagree with Kipling when he says:

“Old Aden, like a barrack stove That no one’s lit for years and years.”

The origin of the town is lost in the shadows of time. It has always been a point of contact between Africa and Asia. People have lived there so long that the valley is one great graveyard, and one cannot dig anywhere without turning up bones. We saw the water-tanks that supplied the old town. They are built of cement, the process for making which is lost, and which is better than any we make to-day. Their origin, like that of the town, is unknown. Behind Aden, up the peninsula, lies Arabia Felix where the Queen of Sheba is supposed to have had her capital.

From Aden we cruised over a changeless sea, until early one morning Bombay with its clustered shipping loomed up out of the haze.

The first stage of our Odyssey was finished.

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