A Trying Drive. 



spanning the numerous streams are constructed of rough logs, 

 the bumping experienced is sufficient to last a lifetime A 

 " mapa " being short, it is impossible to he in it at full length, 

 hence the traveller has to be content with a cramped position, 

 which, coupled with the jolting and its general unsteadiness, 

 gives him an idea of the days of the Inquisition. Its average 

 rate of progress is about live miles an hour ; any increase on 

 this speed would simply mean shaking the very soul out of one. 



I reached Kok Robat, twenty-five miles from Yarkand, at two 

 o'clock in the morning, where I discharged my cavalry escort, 

 much to their dehght, for riding along in the wake of a " mapa " 

 at midnight was not at all to their liking. Here I found Piro 

 and Nadir with the baggage, they having arrived the previous 

 evening ; Piro with his usual energy providing me a substantial 

 supper on the verandah of a house. Later I received a visit 

 from the local representative of Chinese might and power, who 

 enquired my pleasure, and was highly gratified when I dis- 

 missed him to return to his pipe and couch. 



I found the arrangements made by the Chinese authorities 

 excellent, and had no trouble in securing fresh carts, so loading 

 up sent them off at 4 o'clock, starting myself at six, en route 

 for Ak Robat, fifteen miles ahead, where I arrived shortly 

 before noon. 



From Kok Robat the route lies over a desert of sand and 

 gravel, dreary looking country, and a good sample of what 

 Chinese Turkistan really is. Throughout the journey from 

 Yarkand to Kashgar there is very little oasis, the country being 

 a stony waste except where villages are situated, and even here 

 there is little beyond a few trees and sparse cultivation. 



At Ak Robat is a posthouse, and a small serai for the use of 

 travellers, but I remained only long enough to give the ponies a 

 rest and have some tiffin in the courtyard of the former. A 

 further fifteen miles brought me to Kizil, where I halted till seven 

 in the evening. It was still a desperately uninteresting land, 

 nothing but a sandy waste as flat as a billiard table. Fifty-five 



141 



