century. I failed to discover medallions with the image of Buddha on this occasion, because we came upon a tumulus, the rapacious excavation of which had been hastily carried out by the engineers, but we found hundreds of specimens of other articles, about which we had been told. Those were small objects, eight to ten centimetres tall, carefully modelled out of clay. In their appearance they bore a resemblance to the Monomakh cap, (ie, a crown) with relief decorations on their upper conical part, and with Tibetan inscriptions all round. Obviously they were some kind of Buddhist cult objects, produced by handicraft methods by monks living in the cells at Karatal. Since the cells were built of heavy stone slabs, supported by wooden pillars of a very flimsy wood (poplar), this wood had rotted, and all the cells had collapsed, and at the time of my visit they had already become more or less like shapeless heaps of stones, amongst which it was possible now and then to make out something like corridors. By sunset I had to finish my work, having presented gifts to all my fellow-workers. I spent the night in a cholokazak khutor, enjoying the most cordial hospitality from the ex-convicts, who long since had changed into the most peaceful and industrious settlers of newly acquired Russian land, to the consolidation of possession of which they devoted themselves very diligently and quite deliberately.

Next morning, after lively conversations, I parted with the ex-convicts (who at some time in their lives had committed very grave crimes), whom I met for the first time in my life, carrying away the warmest human feelings towards them.

On 26 August I continued my journey from Karabulak; the road still went along the Karatal for eight versts, but at the ninth versta turned to the south, began to climb the mountain, and after a stage of twenty-four versts from Karabutak it reached Dzhangyzagach picket. Having covered a further eighteen versts, at first past diorite mountains, and then past a mountain which consisted of porphyry, I crossed a pass into the valley of the river Koksu, the bright ribbon of which appeared before me, sparkling in the sunlight, and bordered by a row of fresh tall poplars. Here I left my carriage at a halt, and set out by myself on horseback seven versts downstream along the Koksu, where, as I had heard, there was a rock with some kind of figures or inscriptions. After about two versts the quite wide valley of the Koksu grew perceptibly narrower. The bottom of the valley resembled a marvellous park, consisting of poplars, birches, bird-cherry, sea buckthorn and willow, intertwined with Dzhungarian lomonos (Clematis songarica). The river, wide and rapid, now divided into several branches, now joined into one channel, adorning the park with its silvery aquamarine ribbons. On both sides there arose high mountains in the form of steep and bold rock cliffs, consisting of conglomerate.

P 53 (first sight of the mountains south of Lake Balkash) . . . I reached Lepsinsk picket and came out onto the river Lepsa. It was the first significant river of Semirech'e. By the time we arrived at the Lepsa the rain had already stopped and I was able to make a good collection of interesting plants of Semirech'e flora. The river was forty metres wide and fast flowing; we ferried it. Beyond the Lepsa stretched a vast sandy steppe, and along its banks there grew trees: willow and poplar.

The locality was enlivened by rich ornithological fauna. Here for the first time we saw steppe hens: that was what the Cossacks called the most typical Central Asian birds, peculiar, incidentally, to the wild life of Semirech'e; in taxonomy it is called Syrrhaptes paradoxus, while we call it sadzha or kopytka. Moreover, we saw many bustards, and shot partridges and steppe sandgrouse with success too.

That day (10 August, 1856) I crossed the Baskan, the second significant river of Semirech'e, at Baskan picket, and reached the third river, the Aksu, at Aksu picket, after two stages from the Lepsa (sixty-five versts), where I spent the night. What gave an incredible fascination to that part of Semirech'e which we traversed that day was that, on the side of the sources of the river Lepsa, in the south-east, before us there extended in all its grandeur the gigantic snowy ridge of the Semirechensk Alatau (now called Dzhungarian Alatau) which rises from the low-lying Pri-Balkhash steppe to far beyond the snow-line even more strikingly than the Alps from the Lombardy plain.

On 11 August, having spent the night at Aksu picket and having traversed one more stage (twenty-three versts) up to Karasu picket, I began to go up into the mountains on a high spur of the Semirechensk Alatau. This entire pass, at that time known by the name of Gasfortov (as it had been established by the Governor-general himself was situated between Karasu and Arasan stations, which were twenty-seven versts apart. For about five versts the road climbed the mountain through a narrow gorge, which consisted of wild precipices of argillaceous schist, rising very steeply. In about two hours of steep climbing we reached the top of the ridge, which, however, hardly exceeded 1,300 metres of absolute height, and in any case it did not yet have alpine vegetation.

After a few versts of travelling across the plateau and seven versts of a gently sloping descent, I saw before me, at last, the winding ribbon of the river Bien

and beyond it the interesting Arasan (ie, hot spring) settlement. The Bien is a fast and foamy mountain river, rushing over stones and rocks. Washed by it and sticking out from it, they consist of granite. Many of these rocks were piled up beyond the river too, and apparently had been carried there by it, but in any case not from a distance, as these same granites appeared at the surface half a versta from the settlement. The settlement consisted of twenty houses, one of which, built right above a spring, was very neat and even handsome. The Arasan basin was divided into four pools, each about six metres long and four metres wide. Water in them came out from a clean bottom from under cleared stones. In it bubbles of gas escaped with force in three places. I found the temperature of Arasan to be 26.5 degrees C. A smell of hydrogen sulphide could be very faintly sensed. There is no doubt that, after dispersing, the temperature of the source decreased somewhat, and the gases which escaped from its base began to linger less. In front of the house was laid out a garden in which, however, the trees had not yet had time to grow up. But what already lent charm to the whole area were the arable lands of the Kopal inhabitants, which were unusually rich in their crops of wheat and oats and in their soil fertility. These lands stretched from the town of Kopal itself across the entire Dzhunke plateau up to the river Bien, which supplied irrigation to them. If one takes into consideration the fact that at that time many of Kopal's inhabitants cultivated up to twenty desiatiny per taxed household, it is possible to imagine what a flourishing Russian colony Kopal already was in Semirech'e. It had been founded fifteen years earlier in a locality, whose fertility and convenience for the foundation of a settled Russian agricultural colony were appreciated for the first time by G. S. Karelin, the famous Russian traveller, who in 1840 became the first to penetrate the northern part of Semirech'e.

P 57 (trouble with Cossacks) . . . which had obtained their scientific name in honour of Alexander Schrenk, a traveller contemporary with Karelin, who also reached the Semirechensk Alatau and Lake Balkhash in 1840. Similar spruces protrude from the cliffs and slopes of the majestic Kora valley. Beyond the river, mountains rose abruptly, at first covered with Siberian silver firs, further along with bushes, then bare and overgrown with alpine grasses, finally disappearing under the snow mantle. Here and there on the snow there were visible what seemed to be horizontal and vertical paths. On examination through a telescope the horizontal paths turned out to be deep clefts, and the vertical ones tracks of fallen avalanches.

No matter how much I was attracted by this fascinating valley, it was out of the question even to think of going down, and I decided to follow the crest, getting across from one elevation to another and trying to reach the boundary of the perpetual snow. We travelled on horseback until the granite rocks, piled wildly on top of each other, blocked our way. Here we had to leave our horses, and I set out now on foot with three Cossacks on a track, along which a herd of wild goats scudded with fright before us; with extraordinary lightness they jumped from one rock to another. We also had to jump across the deep transverse clefts or go around them, going down slightly to the Kora valley, where the boulders were not so huge and the fissures were easier for crossing, which was facilitated by the sturdy trunks and branches of Cossack juniper growing in them. Thus I reached the ultimate point of my ascent: one of the peaks of the crest, in a hollow on which there was an exposed area of perpetual snow. Here I decided to halt in order to measure the height at which we were, and which could hardly be less than 3,000 metres. I carried out my measurements by means of an apparatus for boiling water, since my barometer had not stood up to the travelling and had broken while still in Siberia. I set to work on my apparatus, but however hard I tried to light the spirit, poured from a bottle which the Cossacks had in their hands, it would not burn, because, as it turned out, half of it had been drunk by one of the Cossacks accompanying me, and had been diluted with water. Afterwards I learnt from Abakumov that in the Cossacks' presence Karelin used to poison all his supply of spirits necessary for scientific purposes, with the strongest poison, and in the Cossacks' presence would offer this spirit to a dog, which died immediately, and that only in this way was he able to break the Cossacks of their plundering of spirits.

P 59 (exploration around Arasan and the river Bien). . . At last we came out to a wood-cutters' path, which passed through the gorge in which the first Russian team which came here had wintered in 1841, during the occupation of the Kopat area for the first Russian settlement in Semirech'e district. It was very late in the evening when the lights and the barking of dogs heralded our safe return to Kopal.

The fact that I had got out of the habit of riding and excessive fatigue from too difficult an ascent took their toll of me. I somehow managed to get through 14 August putting in order my rich collections from the previous day, but the next day I took to my bed. The following three days I could not move and only on the morning of the 18th I got into my tarantas with difficulty in order to travel at walking pace to Arasan. Warm baths had the most beneficial effect upon me: the unbearable pains ceased, and on 19 August I was delighted to be able to make my first excursion five versts away from Arasan. During 20-23 August, I made excursions daily from fifteen to twenty versts in all directions from Arasan, downstream along the river Bien and up the mountains, to the Keisykauz gorge, to the Kopal arable lands, and so on.

During these excursions I familiarized myself with a fantastic-looking conglomeration of rocks along the river Bien, as it were heaped up one upon another so that they could afford refuge to many people in the spaces between them; with the river, so abundant in water that it was easy to disperse into aryki (irrigation ditches) for watering the extensive arable lands; and also with the interesting fauna of the stony banks of the Bien, which included by a great many tortoises and birds, especially rock partridges and steppe grouse.

Observation of cereal crops here convinced me that this remarkably fertile locality, if it made room for a fairly strong Russian colonization, would immediately become one of the stable strong points of our dominion in Middle Asia. Cereal crops here consisted of wheat, oats, rye, iaritsa, and some maize and sorghum, but millet did not thrive satisfactorily. Sowing took place around 20 May, the first watering of the fields was at the beginning of June, and the second around 20 June, and harvest began at the beginning of August and was finished during my stay in Arasan. This year yielded on average twelve chetverti of wheat from each desiatina, and twenty chetverti of oats. Horticulture was also developing successfully here. Peach-trees and vines planted in orchards were growing very quickly, not to mention apple-trees, which had already borne fruit.

On 24 August I felt well enough to make up my mind to continue my journey in the direction of Fort Vernoe. Leaving Arasan early in the morning, I accomplished my trip to Kopal without tiredness at about three o'clock, and just before reaching Kopal I saw a sand-storm. In Kopal I had nothing else to do but to say goodbye to Colonel Abakumov, who had been so attentive and courteous towards me.

P 68 (to Ili and Almaty outposts; then to Vernoe; then to Issyk-kul'). . . lights and heard dogs barking and the sound of voices of the Kirgiz, who had come to meet us and were bustling near a large iurta, which seemed as it were to be emerging from the row of other iurty and moving towards us.

When we went into the iurta, which occupied a position on a meadow, we found there rich Tashkent carpets already spread out, prepared for our stay overnight. Soon a friendly fire began to burn in the middle of the iurta, which, as I discovered, did not belong to the Sultan, whose residence was still much further away, but to the wealthiest of the inhabitants of this aul. Besides those who had come with me, the company around the fire consisted of the owner of the iurta, the two most eminent Kirgiz of the aul and two cholokazaki. To begin with, there appeared kumys, then we drank tea, and then mutton, the usual expression of hospitality, was served. The Sultan said his prayers, then we were given beautiful Bukharan copper kumgany (wash-hand-basins), and all of us washed our hands and set about our supper, after which the owners of the iurta and inhabitants of the aul withdrew, and the Sultan and I lay down on the silk pillows which had been prepared for us. The fire went out. Through the aperture at the top of the iurta we saw the stars begin to glisten. To the accompaniment of the melancholy and monotonous singing of the Kirgiz guarding the herds which surrounded us, we were soon fast asleep. Only after midnight was I awakened by a dreadful alarm: there could be heard screams of people, a desperate barking of all the dogs of the aul, and finally the frightened voices of all the domestic animals of the aul: neighing of horses, bellowing of oxen and camels, bleating of sheep, in short, such a wild vocal concert as I have chanced to hear only once in my life. All those who were staying in the iurta ran outside, except for me and the Sultan, who was sleeping soundly on his silk pillows and barely roused even after I had woken. A few minutes after that, right by the iurta, a loud shot rang out, and I was able to identify the reason for the alarm, since all the Kirgiz, recognizing the night guest, were shouting: Aiu, aiu'; it was a bear, which had got into the herd, grazing a few paces away from our iurta, which had been moved forward far out from the aul. Startled by my Cossack escort's shot, the bear beat a hasty retreat, carrying off only one ram. From the Kirgiz I learnt that the day before at the same hour the aul had experienced an attack by a different bear, which, however, had not managed to get off so lightly from the chase. The Kirgiz had surrounded him on all sides and killed him. The trophy of yesterday's victory, a beautiful bear's skin, was brought and spread in front of me and Sultan Adamsart.

On 28 August in the morning, I quickly galloped on a Kirgiz horse to Tersakan picket, which was fifteen versts away from the aul, got into my carriage, which had been brought from Koksu picket, where it had stayed for the duration of our excursion to Alaman, and continued my journey along the picket road to Vernoe. After a single stage of thirty-eight versts I reached Altyn-emel' picket. This picket is remarkable in as much as it lies at the foot of the lower part of

Semirechensk Alatau, right opposite the Altyn-emel' mountain pass, across which the caravan road to Kul'dzha leads. The second stage of that day from Altyn-emel' to Kuiankuz was another twenty-seven versts. The road went across the steppe like an arc, avoiding the extension of Altyn-emel' ridge, and led me after sunset already to Kuiankuz picket, where I stayed overnight.

On the morning of 29 August I quickly covered the stage of twenty-seven versts from Kuiankuz picket to Karachek picket. For the first nineteen versts the road went towards the south-west, crossing a small porphyry ridge, from the top of which in the misty distance I was delighted to catch sight for the first time of the Zailiiskii Alatau (l) a gigantic mountain range which glittered with its perpetual snow. Karachek picket was located in a hollow, watered by a stream amidst a low group of hills. The stage from Karachek picket to Chingil'dy picket was about thirty versts. For half of the way the road still went over the undulating steppe, across porphyry hills overgrown with bushes of dzhuzguna (Calligonum leucocladum), which was still covered with its pink flowers at this time of year, but thereafter the steppe became more even and sandy, and acquired a totally grey colouring, as its vegetation cover consisted partly of various wormwoods (Artemisia martima, A. olivieriana, A. annua), but especially of a small, greycoloured grass, the favourite with cattle, usteli-pole, called by the Kirgiz people ebelek (Ceratocarpus arenatius), which covered the sandy expanses like a thick and continuous carpet; in places on this carpet there stuck out huge leaves of half-dry thorny grass, which still retained its blue heads and was the favourite food of camels. By the evening the colossal Zailiiskii Alatau, which closed off our horizon in the south, became shrouded with the translucent mist of the clouds, the sun sank on the low-lying and level western horizon of the Pri-Balkhash plain, and I stayed overnight at Chingil'dy picket.

On 30 August early in the morning I left this picket, which was only eight versts away from the river Ili, but since the place convenient for crossing this largest river of Semirech'e was situated much further downstream, the stage from the Ili picket became twenty-five versts.

Here amidst the Ili lowlands I felt that I was in an entirely different, peculiar climatic zone of vegetation, used by Kirgiz nomads for their winter camps. The flora and fauna had a character entirely unfamiliar to me.

Before me there appeared a multitude of low and tall bushes and types of grass characteristic of this zone, among which I was struck most by a remarkably beautiful type of barberry, covered at this time of year with clusters of big round berries and surpassing the height of a man by two or even three times. This beautiful tall shrub was discovered by the scientist-traveller Leman' during his journey to Bukhara and described for the first time under the name of Berberis integerrima by the botanist Professor Bunge.

There were an extraordinary number of small bushes. They were: silvery 'acacia' (Hali'modendron argenteum), two types of licii (Lycium turcomanicum and L. ruthenicum), kurchavkl' (Atraphaxis spinosa and A. lanceolata), grebenschiki (Tamarix elongate, T hispida), heliotrope (Heliotropium europaeum), Stellera stachyoides and so on.

The fauna also presented striking peculiarities. Not to mention wild boar, tigers, snow leopard and porcupine, hiding in the plentiful rushy undergrowth of this zone, one was struck by tortoises in abundance and various lizards and snakes, as well as insects and arachnids, of which I saw here for the first time phalangida (daddy-long-legs), scorpions and karakurt, whose bites, however, were not as dangerous in the autumn as in June. Also particularly numerous were beetles of the family Tenebrionidae. Nearer the river there also appeared trees: heterophyllous poplars, and also silver dzhida (Elaeagnus angustifolia).

The nearer we approached towards the Ili picket, the more lively the surroundings became. Incessantly we encountered either long caravans of camels, or lines of carts and carriages transporting soldiers and the first migrants to the Trans-Ili territory. At the picket itself there were no houses built yet: all of it consisted of iurty. A little above the picket a large clumsy barge sat in the river. It had been built on the western shore of Lake Balkhash, and I saw its builders who had brought it only a month ago to the Ili picket. Delayed by head-winds they taken two weeks to cross the lake. According to their story, the lake in general was eight metres deep, but in places this depth decreased to four metres. In the middle of

the lake they came across quite a high island, visible from a distance. Along the river Ili they were towed upstream to the Ili picket, taking two months to cover a distance of 300 versts.

The width of the river Ili at the picket was from 300 to 400 metres. Our crossing of the Ili turned out to be rather difficult and took quite a long time. Although the current opposite the Ili picket is not particularly fast, there are quite a lot of dangerous whirlpools. My tarantas was transported in rough and ready fashion on a caique, but I had to go across with the Cossacks, swimming on horseback. Moreover, the horse of one of them began to sink-, the Cossack was rescued only because we were swimming in a crowd, side by side, and he cleverly managed to transfer to the horse of his neighbour, while his own horse disappeared under the water and emerged only much further downstream.

Having crossed the river, I got into my tarantas again, and only had two more stages left to Vernoe (seventy versts). The first stage to the Almaty picket at first continued across the characteristic Pri-Ili zone, in which at that time there were a multitude of Kirgiz auly, which had descended from the alpine zone with their herds of horses and cattle.

The full tributaries of the Ili, which originate in the perpetual snows of the Zailiiskii Alatau, are still impetuous torrents as they break away from the mountain gorges onto the broad steppe foothills; but they are narrow, very small streams when they reach the river, having lost the bulk of their waters, which are diverted into aryki in order to irrigate the fields in the hot Pri-Ili zone (which has an absolute altitude of no more than 300 metres). We forded one such small stream about eight versts away from the picket, and hardly recognized it as that wonderful river Talgar, from which the peak of Zailiiskii Alatau (Talgarnyn-talchoku), which feeds it with its perpetual snows, got its name. We crossed another river, which was no more than an insignificant small stream, within a distance of eight versts of the Almaty picket. That was the river (Almaty), which breaks away from the mountain gorges near Vernoe itself.

For the duration of our entire stage from the Ili picket to the Almaty picket we saw before us the colossal Zailiiskii Alatau. This mountain range extends from east to west for more than 200 versts, rising at its centre point to a gigantic height. In the very middle of it there rises a three-headed mountain which is more than 4,500 metres above sea level. At the very top of this mountain snow does not stay on the dark, steep cliffs, but on the neighbouring summits there is a lot of snow, at least so that for a hundred-versts stretch the middle of the high crest seemed to be covered completely with eternal snow, and only sixty versts away to the east and the west of the main peak (Talgarnyn-tal-choku) does the crest of Zailiiskii Alatau fall below the snow line.

As we approached the Almaty picket, evening was drawing on, and all the foothills of Zailiiskii Alatau disappeared in a shroud of dry haze, behind which all the outlines of the range seemed to be a monotonous dark gigantic wall up to

3,000 metres high; but the whole of its snowy crest from 3,000 to 5,000 metres, where there was no longer any mist, and where the atmosphere was completely cloudless and transparent, was illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, which gave a fascinating pink hue to the snow, and was unusually distinctly visible in all its smallest outlines. Nowhere in Europe or Asia have I been able to see so near mountains which were higher, since in the Swiss Alps, in the Caucasus, in Turkestan and even in the higher Tian'-Shan' the gigantic snow crests are visible only from other great altitudes and nowhere reach a height of 4,000-4,500 metres above the viewer, as does the crest of Zailiiskii Alatau where it rises directly above the Ili lowlands.

During our last stage from the Almaty picket to Vernoe (thirty-five versts) it had already become totally dark, and when we began to approach Vernoe, a dark night had set in. It was so much the more effective that, quite unexpectedly, there arose before me the cheery multi-coloured lights of the illumination, which had been lit up that day, across the whole wide expanse of the recently founded fortification, which presented an utterly fairy-like view of Vernoe. I knew that, apart from the small house of the police-officer of the Great Horde, houses did not yet exist in Vernoe, but meanwhile the glittering multi-coloured lanterns designated the beautiful facades of many of these nonexistent houses.

However, when I awoke the next day in the spacious iurta prepared for me, and emerged from it, there appeared to be no houses and no house facades. It turned out that the evening before, due to the artfully devised illumination, a complete illusion had been created. Only a few of the most prosperous settlers had managed to build foundations for their houses and to lay in timber for them. This consisted of magnificent timber, straight as an arrow, of Tian'-Shan' spruce (Picea schrenkiana), which had been brought here from the Almaty valley. The settlers complained only of the fragility of this timber, which split badly; but that happened because, after felling the trees, instead of drying them out beforehand while still in the damp zone of forest vegetation, the settlers transported the trees straight into the unusually dry foothill zone, where at that time there was not a single tree growing, while the luxuriant orchards, in which this garden city now abounds, began to be planted only much later.

At the time of my arrival Colonel Khomentovskii was the police-officer of the Great Horde, and therefore also administrator of the entire Trans-Ili territory. He had done well as a student at the Corps of Pages and with all his gifts would have been an outstanding man, if he had not suffered that shortcoming which paralysed so many of our best people in the outlying districts at that time - alcoholism.

Khomentovskii greeted me very affably, and he and I very soon hit it off on the strength of our Peterhof camp recollections. He informed me that he had the Governor-general's instructions concerning an escort for me, and expressed his

confidence that with my military education I would maintain discipline in the convoy which was placed under my immediate command better than any of his officers. He warned me that at the eastern end of Issyk-kul' I would probably not find anyone, because owing to a prolonged and bloody strife between the neighbouring tribes of Kirgiz people - the Sarybagish (subjects of the Kokand khanate) and Bogintsy (subjects of China) - the latter had fled from Issyk-kul to the east, while the former had not yet dared to occupy the ancestral Bogintsy lands, that is the eastern half of the Issyk-kul' basin. Of course, one might come across roaming gangs of one or the other party, but Khomentovskii considered all this tribal strife to be a favourable circumstance for my journey, the only hindrance to which was the late time of year.

My expedition to Lake Issyk-kul' was equipped in two days. I had at my disposal ten Cossack escorts, two Kirgiz, three pack-horses and a camel. We left on 2 September towards evening; on our departure from Vernoe we encountered some of the first Russian peasant settlers, who had just arrived in Vernoe, enjoying a khorovod (round dance). My team consisted of fourteen people (apart from myself and the ten Cossacks, there were my serf servant and two Kirgiz), but we were joined by two more Cossacks, from among those on indefinite leave, and a youth, who had not yet reached the age for service, but who wished to go with us to the mountains to hunt tigers, In addition, we were accompanied by three officers (Colonel Khomentovskii, artillery Captain Obukh and another artillery officer with their escorts, who were travelling to Kirgiz auly temporarily residing by the river Issyk); thus, our whole caravan consisted of thirty people. We made our way straight to the east at the foot of the Zailliskii Alatau, by daylight at first, and then when the last rays of the sunset had disappeared, by moonlight for two more hours, and having travelled altogether almost twenty-four versts, stopped for the night at the first sizable river (the Talgar), which emerges from the mountain ridge further to the east of Almaty. The place chosen for our overnight stay was where the river Talgar broke away in a rapid torrent from the valley into the foothills.

On 3 September I got up well before sunrise and, accompanied by a Cossack, set off to the nearest hill in order to enjoy the fascinating picture of the morning glow (Alpengliihen) on the snow-covered Talgar group, where we could see through a wide hollow of the Talgar valley. While the low foothills nearest to us, with their soft, rounded outlines, still hardly appeared from under the cover of night, the sharply outlined serrated snow crest with its three-headed giant (Talgarnyn-tal-choku), rising at the head of the Taigar valley, was already glistening with its eternal snow in the bright purple rays of the sun, which had not yet appeared from over the distant horizon. However, when the bright luminary finally appeared above the mountains, I turned my attention to the immediate surroundings of our overnight bivouac. On its way down to the foothills the Talgar appeared to me to be wider, faster and noisier than the river Bien in the

Semirechensk Alatau. Its banks were overgrown with trees and bushes. The river's boulders consisted of syenite, diorite and diorite porphyry.

We did not get under way before ten o'clock in the morning. The day was very hot. We forded the Talgar with difficulty, and having rapidly travelled for twelve versts along the same foothills, reached the Issyk, from Vernoe the second significant river of these foothills, and at its exit from the mountains we settled for our midday snack at about eleven o'clock in the morning. In this place the foothill summits were rounded and did not have any rocky outcrops. The boulders in the river consisted of porphyry and of diorite in small quantities. The river Issyk, on its exit, from the mountainous valley is somewhat narrower than the Taigar, though just as rapid, and its valley overgrown thicker than that of the Talgar with trees, among which apple-trees, uriuk (apricot-trees) and hawthorn were the principal ones.

The Issyk valley provides one of the best entries into the best areas of the Zailiiskii Alatau for views. I had been told so much about the waterfall in the Issyk valley, and about the beautiful alpine 'Green lake' (Dzhasyl-kul'), which was easier to reach through the valley of the Issyk, that, leaving my team at the place of our halt, I decided to make an excursion into the valley accompanied by three escort Cossacks and three hunters.

We left at about noon. At first the valley made straight for the south, between rounded hills. The forests of apple-trees and apricot-trees were becoming thicker and thicker. Soon to the right of us we could see a way into a side valley, where I decided to go with my fellow-travellers, as it was extremely narrow and picturesque. The high, rounded mountains which bordered it rose on both sides one after another, not unlike coulisses. They, too, were covered with dense thickets of apple-trees and apricot-trees. In spite of it being autumn, everything in it was fresh and green, as in a beautiful orchard. The apple-trees were covered with r;pe apples, but the apricots had already fallen. The climb along the valley was fairly steep and difficult.

The Cossack hunters accompanying us were not disappointed in their expectations, and when we left the zone of fruit trees for the zone of coniferous trees, consisting of slender firs, and then of archa (Juniperus Sabina), we did indeed scare two tigers out of the dense thickets of archa. Everyone rushed after them, but, of course, without any chance of success, and having travelled for about three versts into the mountains, I decided to turn back with my escorts to the Issyk valley. The Cossack hunters parted with us, wishing to track down the tigers and to continue the hunt, which in their opinion had started so successfully. I returned to the Issyk valley with my escorts and began to climb along it.

The mountains were becoming higher and closer together, and on their slopes in front of us there appeared slender spruce trees. Eventually, at the fifth versta there appeared sheer rock cliffs and scree. The rock, of which the mountains edging the valley consisted, turned out to be red, quartz-free porphyry. The tops of the mountains which formed the valley, which further on turned into a narrow gorge, were, however, rounded and cupola-shaped. Almost nothing but porphyry was found in the scree and boulders either, and only now and then we found pink or white and black syenites. Four times we had to ford the furious Issyk in order to get round sheer rocks, rising now on one, now on the other bank of the river. The fords were deep and extremely dangerous, since in the swiftest places of the impetuous torrent the horses, if they stumbled on submerged rocks, could easily be brought down and carried away by the foaming waves. In one place such a wave did topple one of our horses, which stumbled on a submerged rock. Fortunately, the Cossack riding it managed to jump off on to a rock, which was not flooded by the waves of the swift current, and we soon managed to pull the horse, which had become stuck among the rocks near the bank, out of the water. At last, at the end of the wild gorge a waterfall, descending like a wide silvery ribbon, came into view. The whole Issyk, like the Giessbach I in Switzerland, rushed from a long slope along ledges into a deep gorge, and only its top burst in a waterfall through a rocky cavity, picturesquely bordered with dark green fir-trees, which stuck out from rocky porphyry cliffs, partly covered with the dark verdure of archa.

We were not able to get to the 'Green lake' during this visit, as there remained a few more versts of the difficult climb, and the sun was already hidden behind the high mountains. I visited Lake Dzhasyl-kul' only the next year (1857), but that day I hurried to return to our camp (at the Issyles exit from the mountains), which we reached by moonlight. I found the officers, who were travelling with me, here at the lodging for the night after completing a horseback tour of the Kirgiz auly.

I was not in a hurry with my departure next day, as the traverse I was faced with that day was the easiest. Having satisfied myself during our tiger-hunt, and also during our four crossings of the Issyk, that the Cossacks' horses were totally unsuitable for mountain travelling, I decided, come what may, to exchange all my horses for my two-week expedition for fresh ones from such Kirgiz of the Great Horde as could be considered mountaineers, as during the summer season they kept their herds on the most inaccessible heights of the Zailiiskii Alatau. I was able to find such auly, on Colonel Khomentovskii's directions, on the river Turgen, which was only fifteen versts away from the Issyk.

On 4 September, having got up rather late after the tiring travels of the previous day, I learned about the sad outcome of the tiger hunt, at the beginning of

which we tried to participate. Going in pursuit of the tigers, the three hunters eventually came upon their tracks, which in one place diverged, since obviously the two tigers ran off along different paths. One of the two older, more experienced hunters set off along the upper path with a dog, and the other equally experienced old Cossack went along the other path with the youth, who had never before been on a tiger hunt. Neither party lost sight of the other. Unfortunately, the Cossack who was going along the lower path without a dog noticed a tiger lurking in the bushes, only too late to have time to shoot at it. The tiger threw itself upon the hunter so swiftly that with a blow of its paw it knocked the rifle from his hands. Keeping his composure, the experienced hunter stood facing the tiger, which in its turn also stopped and lay down before the hunter like a cat that lies in front of a mouse when it stops moving. The young Cossack hurried to the rescue of his friend, but his hands became so frozen with fear that he was unable to shoot. Then the older Cossack demanded that he pass him his own rifle, but this, too, the young Cossack was unable to do; the old Cossack turned and took two or three steps in order to take his rifle from the young man. At that moment the tiger threw itself upon its prey and grasping the Cossack by his shoulder, carried him forward with a strong movement, as it noticed the third Cossack, who was going along the upper track, running quickly across its path. The tiger had already crossed the point of the intersection of the paths, but the dog managed to catch up with it and to seize it by the back. Then the tiger, having left its prey, ran forward a little and started to circle around in order to throw off and to tear in pieces its small enemy; and that was what he finally succeeded in doing, but at this moment it was struck by two lethal shots from the hunter who had been pursuing it; however, it still had enough strength to go down to the stream, to have a drink in it and to breathe its last on the bank. But the victorious marksman was no longer concerned with the tiger; he rushed to the help of his friend, who had one arm gnawed through above the elbow, while two fingers on the other hand had been badly damaged. The two Cossacks carried their colleague in their arms over to the place where they had left their horses, and then with their help they reached our bivouac on the Issyk. With difficulty the victim was transferred to Vernoe, where I visited him in hospital only after my return from my two trips to Issyk-kul' and found him recovering, although he had already had his arm amputated. The trophy of their hunt, a beautiful tiger's skin, was given to me, and the hunter who killed the tiger magnanimously let his maimed comrade have the sum of money I gave him.

On 4 September at ten o'clock in the morning, having said goodbye to Khomentovskii and to the artillery officers, and this time accompanied only by my Cossack escorts, I quickly covered the ten-versts distance between the Issyk and the next easterly important river, the Turgen. We came to the Turgen at the place where it had eroded a deep hollow for itself as it left the mountain valley for the foothills. Its bed was filled with boulders of porphyry and syenite, its current was

rapid and noisy, its waves foamed, as it leaped over the submerged rocks. In the river there were many alluvial islands, heaped up with boulders; the width of the river was the same as that of the Talgar, and at its exit from the mountains the ford was very difficult for our weak horses. An aul, where we could hire fresh horses, was located five versts below the place at which we came out; it belonged to the rich bai, Atamkul, who was renowned for being one of the bravest heroes of the Great Kirgiz Horde. I succeeded in getting fifteen excellent horses, accustomed to mountain travel, for two weeks with two guides, for two sheep per horse, but the horses could be gathered together only by late evening, and I stayed for the night in the iurta offered to me by the hospitable Atamkul. The camel, provided by Khomentovskii for my expedition, was unanimously agreed to be suitable for mountain journeys.

On 5 September I began the journey with my escort at seven o'clock in the morning. After an hour's travel towards the south from Atamkul's auly, upstream along the Turgen, the hollow of this river had turned already into a valley. Its lateral hills had a rounded outline and consisted of dark argillaceous schist, of sandy alluvia and of yellowish clay, with boulders mainly of porphyry. In places these boulders were piled up in heaps, like erratic blocks, high above the level of the present river.

Unfortunately, I did not have enough time at my disposal for an investigation of the reasons for these boulders' being on these elevations, and, not yet having had an opportunity to make certain of the existence of glaciers in the Tian'-Shan' mountain system, I could ascribe the presence of these boulders at considerable heights only to the fact that the river originally flowed across the valley in a wider bed and at a higher level, but by gradually eroding a deeper bed for itself in the friable deposits of the foothills, it had already parted for ever from its previous higher course, leaving on its old banks whole ridges of boulders, which it could not carry away from their high, but by now inaccessible, level.

At the Turgen's entry to the valley, a small stream, which we crossed, discharged into it on its right-hand side. After an hour's journey from this stream there appeared on both sides of the river the first outcrops of rocks, which consisted of porphyry on the right bank, whereas on the left one, high above the level of the river, ridges of boulders were still found in large quantities. Along the slopes of the valley there were growing bushes of cherganak (Berbefis heteropoda) with its black, rounded and tasty berries, buckthorn also with black berries, and kurchavka (Atraphaxis spinosa), still covered with pink flowers, and nearer the river bed willow. But all the grasses we came across belonged to the cultivated zone of the Zailiiskii Alatau and had a European character.

The Turgen valley was gradually becoming narrower and more picturesque and further overgrown with apple-trees, apricot-trees, poplars, hawthorn and the maple which was later named after me, and slender fir-trees appeared on the mountain slopes, where they were descending to the valley. Twice we had to ford the river, in order to steer clear of the overhanging rocks. After three hours of travel the valley, going in a south-easterly direction, suddenly forked; the smaller of the river's branches was coming directly from the south, that is from the transverse valley, and the larger one from the east, from the longitudinal valley.

It was into the latter that we turned and here at first we came upon outcrops of gypsum and, further along, a dark variety of porphyry. Our route went upstream along the valley for a long time, but little by little it moved away from it, climbing steeply up the mountain. After four hours travelling the road, which had moved away from the river, started going up to a mountain pass. The ascent was very steep. Granites appeared in small outcrops too, but then there were stretches of porphyry again. After the pass we came down to another river, also one of the sources of the Turgen, the left bank of which was covered with spruce-trees. Then we climbed again, but this second pass also brought us to yet another of the Turgen's sources, which was flowing eastwards at first, and then turning in an arc initially to the east and then to the west, carving its way along the valley, across which to the north-west of us we could see, covered with continuous perpetual snow, the entire crest of the northern chain of the ZailiiskiiAlatau, while the mountain crests of porphyry, through which our pass was going, had only belts of perpetual snow on them. The passes we crossed were already in the alpine vegetation zone, while the hollows of the upstream tributaries of the Turgen were in the coniferous forest zone.

From the same upstream tributary, which turned in a full arc westwards, we climbed up the last and highest pass, which the Kirgiz called Asyn'tau. Beyond this pass we came down to the river Asy (Asy-su), which flows to the east along a continuation of the same longitudinal valley, along which we climbed the Asyn'tau, and stopped here for the night. The thermometer showed 7' here at eight o'clock in the evening.

Our camp turned out to be at 2,390 metres above sea level, but it was about 500 metres lower than the last pass, and yet even near our camp the vegetation had an alpine character. Migration of plants of the alpine zone into the low forested and cultivated zones along the mountain streams, which retain their low temperature due to the rapidity of their currents, is a phenomenon which I noticed many times on the northern slope of the ZailiiskiiAlatau, and it is explained by the fact that seeds of alpine plants, which find opportune conditions of development in places where the soil obtains constant irrigation from always equally cold streams, are carried over from the alpine zone by the waters of those streams.

From Atamkul's auly we had made no less than sixty versts of a very difficult traverse, which was accessible only to the horses of Kirgiz mountaineers.

On the morning of 6 September, there was hoar-frost. At eight o'clock in the morning we left our overnight camp for the riverasy and set out eastwards along its longitudinal valley. A quarter of an hour later we forded the river, and after two hours, when the valley suddenly became wider, we deviated from the Asy-su at the place near its bank where there was a Kirgiz grave in the form of a conical tower built of sun-dried brick, with a window, surrounded by a small balcony. Leaving the river, we began to climb along an inclined plane, which was covered with dark coniferous forest. After a quarter of an hour of climbing we came into a wild gorge, along which a stream, which fell into the Asy, forced its way. The right side of the ravine was covered with spruce-trees, and the left side with archa. The gorge was rocky; the outcrops which we encountered at first consisted of metamorphic rocks, and further on of syenite, like all of the ridge which we were ascending. The climb was so steep that our camel became exhausted, and after the second hour's ascent we had to make a one hour stop. It was not without reason that the Kirgiz people called this pass Dzhamanbastan (the Evil Way).

After our halt we climbed for another hour and a half until we came out into the alpine zone; and then reached the top of the pass. On its northern side in a small hollow there were visible the remains of snow which had not quite melted during the whole summer season, and towards the end of our climb snow was falling upon us in the form of granules from a small cloud which had built up, but when we reached the top, from which there arose a picturesque ridge of rock, a gusty wind dispersed the clouds, and an extensive view of the whole southern chain of the Zailiiskii Alatau opened up before us. To our right it stretched in a continuous crest of snowy summits without any indentations; in front of us there arose mountains, on which there were visible only patches and strips of perpetual snow, while to the left the whole ridge rapidly became lower and smoother at the place where our guides pointed out the lowest of the passes of this range, calling it Santash. The summit of our pass, however, had high alpine vegetation. The space between us and the southern chain of the Zailiiskii Alatau was very wide and was filled with some parallel ridges, which looked like garden beds from the enormous height at which we stood.

The descent from the mountain pass was steep and quick, along a small spring, which our Kirgiz called Chin-bulak, the gorges of which were covered with spruce-trees on one side, while cliffs full of syenite abounded on the other. Leaving the small stream, we descended towards the south-east, and then to the south, and having crossed over to a big granite ridge, we came out, by now in the

twilight, into a valley along which the river Dzhenishke was flowing eastwards. Having forded this river, we camped overnight on its right bank, among dense thickets of poplars and cherganak, intertwined with lomonos (Clematis songatica). Above us some diorite rocks jutted out. In the twilight the cliffs of the left bank seemed to me to be like ruins of an old fortress with loopholes.

On 7 September in the morning I satisfied myself that these cliffs consisted of absolutely horizontal layers of weakly cemented sandstone, which included a large quantity of huge and small boulders, among which porphyries were the main element, and then diorites and syenites. In this conglomerate there were quite a few caves.

After leaving our overnight camp at eight o'clock in the morning, we journeyed down the river Dzhenishke for about an hour, and then started climbing towards the south-east to a new pass. The place at which we departed from the river was remarkable for the fact that its valley was turning into a type of gorge, restricted by sheer rocks. These rocks consisted of a very hard conglomerate, under which I found real crystalline rocks, namely very coarse-grained granite, very much weathered, however. Having parted from the river, we began to cross gentle uvaly, on which we met a big wolf, but could not catch up with it.

After continuing for two and a half hours across these uvaly, at last we saw the valley of the most significant of the rivers originating in the Zailiiskii Alatau, namely the Chilik, which was bordered here by quite high, but gently sloping hills, covered with herbaceous vegetation. Above the place where we reached to the Chilik, this river from its uppermost reaches flows from west to east along the most sizeable valley of the Zailiiskii Alatau, separating the northern of its two parallel ranges from the southern. At the place where we saw it for the first time, the Chilik appeared as a full, wide and noisy river, rushing stormily across the rapids caused by the rocks, which were piled up by it. Its banks had become covered with thick forest, which consisted of poplars, types of tal (Salixpurpurea and S. fragilis), sea buckthorn , cherganak, argai (Cotoneaster sp.) and other bushes. We wandered about in these thickets for more than half an hour before finding a ford across the river. In one place, almost from under my horse, a Siberian stag,'bugu' in the Kirgiz language, sprang out with its huge branching antlers. The ford was wide, deep and extremely dangerous; only our experienced Kirgiz mountain horses could withstand the crossing. There were many conglomerates and breccias among the huge boulders carried down by the rapid river.

Beyond the Chilik we headed south-east across a fairly smooth steppe plateau, very slowly but gradually rising in the direction of our route. We went along this high steppe for about five hours, without meeting any flowing water, but we came across multitudes of light-footed and beautiful wild goats

running across these steppes in small herds. The Kirgiz call this plateau UchMerke (Three Merke), after the name of three rivers, which have eroded incredibly deep valleys for themselves in the high plateau. As it rose towards the south, it was as though the southern range of the Zailiiskii Alatau had merged with it, and on the distant horizon, in the brilliance of the sun's rays, I saw for the first time what had been for many years the goal of my plans and aspirations, the continuous snowy Tian'-Shan' range, which my guides called Mustag. (The name Mustag is actually that of a southern peak in the Pamirs.) The gigantic ridge was sharply distinguished from the nearer southern range of the Zailiiskii Alatau, on which only strips of perpetual snow were visible in front of me-, but soon a gusty wind covered the mountain crest nearest to us with clouds, and when the same wind swept away these clouds, the peaks of this crest too had already been covered with fresh snow.

After five hours' travel from the Chilikourway across the plateau was suddenly blocked by a deep hollow, cut into it by the first Merke. The depth of this typical valley, etched into the plateau no less than 300 metres below its surface, gave me a graphic appreciation of the height of the plateau. The sides of the valley, along which we had to descend, were very steep and consisted of those typical conglomerates, of which the entire plateau was apparently composed and which contained huge boulders of porphyry, syenite, diorite and other crystalline rocks, fairly weakly cemented with sandstone. The valley was half a versta wide; along its bottom there flowed a rapid, quite sizable, full river, on the banks of which there was not a single tree. We made a one-hour halt here, and then climbed up the other side of the valley along just as steep and rocky a slope, which consisted of the same conglomerates, again onto a flat plateau, interrupted by a deep valley, and after an hour's journey across the plateau we reached the second Merke, which had incised almost as deep a valley here as the first one.

On the edge of the river valley arose a Kirgiz cemetery. Here among the graves we noticed a grave-digger, a light grey, small Tian'-Shan' bear. Having scared him off, we started in pursuit of him. He ran unusually quickly, and without a backward glance, going down to the valley of the second Merke, and amusingly turning head over heels on steep slopes. Since I had the best horse, I dogged his heels, but my escorting Cossacks were little by little falling behind me. Only one of them turned off and with exceptional presence of mind came down to the valley via the shortest route in order to be in time to cross the bear's path. The Cossack's manoeuvre succeeded. When I reached the bottom of the valley, following at the bear's heels, I saw the Cossack standing before us with a rifle in his hands in complete readiness. The bear ran very fast

about one hundred paces ahead of me, but when he noticed the Cossack in front of him, he began walking very slowly, with a lumbering gait. By chance I had neither a rifle nor a pistol, and I could only look on with curiosity at the outcome of our pursuit, the more so as the rest of the Cossack convoy had fallen far behind us. At last the bear came alongside the Cossack, but he, instead of taking a shot, moved backwards and let it go past him. The bear passed by its timid foe ponderously and quietly, and then after glancing back, took to its heels with incredible speed. As for me, I galloped to the Cossack and asked him why, having been in such a favourable position for a hunter, he had not shot at the bear, and received the answer: 'Yes, I was quite ready and took good aim, but when I looked at the bear near me and thought: 'What if it eats me?', I lost heart, it went by me, and then it ran off'.

On the bank of the second Merke we were delighted to find a group of willows and it was among these trees that we settled for the night on the very bank of the river. Half a versta below our bivouac the second Merke was bursting into a wild gorge, forcing its way past outcrops and making small waterfalls or rapids across the rocks, which consisted of hard and clear porphyry.

On 8 September at seven o'clock in the morning we left our overnight camp on the second Merke and set out along a steep slope from the valley to the plateau. Travelling across it south-eastwards for three-quarters of an hour, we reached the valley of the third Merke. This valley, just as deep as the valley of the second one, had a width of half a versta and slopes that, though steep, were covered with turf one versta below the place where we forded the river, the third Merke was forcing its way just like the second one, through a gorge. From our crossing we did not turn downstream but went upstream. In an hour and a half the valley turned into a narrow gorge with steep porphyry cliffs and slopes overgrown with fir forest. Steering clear of this ravine, we climbed its right bank and made a two-hour circuit of it, and then came out again into the widening valley, the slopes of which were covered with turf.

After three hours' travel from the place of our overnight stay, the third Merke divided into two branches, one of which flowed from the south, and the other from the south-west. We went along the first one; in one hour we entered a spruce forest, partly covering the valley's slopes, which consisted of diabase. Five hours' journey from our overnight camp the river divided again. After this bifurcation we went along its western branch and began to go steeply uphill, following one of the upper streams of the third Merke, but after half an hour we made a one-hour halt, owing to the extreme fatigue of our camel. Here the outcrops consisted of metamorphosed limestone with veins of limestone spar. Already from the start of our ascent we had emerged from the forest zone; the bushes were subalpine: archa (juniperus pseudosabina), four types of currant, Tatar honey-suckle (Lonicera tataka)

and a subtle, delicate type of beresklet, which was later named after me (Euonymus semenowi). Then we went through meadows with high alpine vegetation and finally we reached the top of the mountain pass on which snow still lay until the beginning of July, but had already melted by the end of that month and did not last into August. The height of this pass was no less than 2,500 metres, but nevertheless it seemed to me to be lower than the Asynyn-tau. My guides called this mountain pass 'Tabul'gaty'. The outcrops on it consisted o granite.2 From here two rivers were flowing in different directions: one southwards, into the Issyk-kul' basin; the other northwards into the Merke, which belonged to the basin of the river Ili. Both had one and the same name Tabul'ga-su.

Along a very steep slope we came down into the valley of the southern Tabul'ga-su, which was overgrown with well-proportioned spruce trees. Beginning with the pass over the crest, during our descent I was able to enjoy constantly a wonderful panorama of the entire Tian'-Shan' between the meridians of the famous Musart mountain pass and the western extremities of Lake Issyk-kul'.

Unfortunately, I could not orientate myself in this splendid panorama, since my guides (though Kirgiz of the Great Horde), who were well acquainted with the Zailiiskii Alatau, were totally unfamiliar with the Tian'-Shan'. To the left of our meridian in the middle of an extensive group of snowy giants there was a mountain of pyramidal shape, distinguished by the boldness of its outlines, the slopes of which were so steep that in some places the snow could not hold, but in spite of that the pyramid seemed to be snow-white, especially as right from its base, which was in the middle of the other giants of the mountain group, it was already situated in the zone of permanent frost. To the left of this very prominent mountain there was yet another, which rose in a gentler cone, but yielded to it in height, perhaps because it was further away. A little further to the right from our meridian towards the south-west, our attention was attracted by a three-headed giant, which resembled the Dents du Midi in the Valais Alps in shape, but was all covered with a cloak of snow.

After descending from the Tabul'gaty pass, we chose a camp for the night at the river Tabul'ga-su's exit from the valley, transversal to the axis of the range; we came down this valley from the pass into a longitudinal valley, that is parallel to the axis of the range, which separated the low foothills from it. The place which I chose for the overnight stay was very well protected by foothills on one side and by forest thickets on the other, and was situated at the very bank of the rapid river, where it was rushing over the rocks and to the sound of which one could drop off to sleep so sweetly. From here the mountain pass of Tabul'gaty, which was 1,010 metres above us, seemed to be a mere speck.

As we had arrived at our camp-site not later than four o'clock in the afternoon and the sun was still high, I left my escorts to pitch the tent, to make a fire, to make tea and to prepare a modest supper, which consisted of dried bread, soaked in water and fried with the fat of a sheep's tail (since I never took any kind of canned food for my travels), and galloped with one of the Cossacks to the nearest knoll of the foothills, from where I could have an unobstructed view of Issyk-kul', the length of which stretched for more than 150 versts to the west-southwest.

From the south the whole of this blue basin of Issyk-kul' was enclosed by an unbroken chain of snow giants. The Tian'-Shan' appeared as a steep wall. (A note: Semenov thought the Kungei Alatau ridge, bordering Issyk-kul'to the north, to be the southern chain of the Zailiiskii Alatau, and called the high Terskei Alatau and the high mountain junctions (Ak-shyirak, Khan-tengri, etc.), situated behind it, the Tian'-Shan'. One must bear this in mind when reading his subsequent account of his journey across the Tian'-Shan'.) The snow peaks, with which it was crowned, formed a chain, unbroken anywhere, since their snow-free lower slopes were hidden below the horizon, due to their being so far distant in the south-west, and they seemed to be coming directly out of the dark blue waters of the lake. Having returned to my tent, I fell asleep particularly well under the impression of the pictures of nature I had seen, and to the sound of the river, falling in cascades.

On 9 September we left our camp on the Tabul'ga-su at seven o'clock in the morning and set off towards Issyk-kul'. For more than an hour we followed the longitudinal valley, extending from east to west parallel to the river Tiup and separated from it by a low mountain ridge. There was no river flowing through this valley, since the Tabul'ga went across the ridge's path. On the northern side of the valley was that rounded hill which I had climbed the previous day in order to view the lake.

After an hour's journey, the ridge which bordered the valley from the south smoothed out, and after a short descent we found ourselves in a wide steppe valley, across which the rivers Tiup and Dzhargalan, the abundant eastern tributaries of Issyk-kul', flowed westwards in parallel; the first of them (Tiup) gathers together all the rivers flowing from the north, which originate in of the southern chain of the Zailiiskii Alatau (this does not reach the snow-line here), which we

had crossed the day before at the Tabul'gaty Pass. And Dzhargalan, the second of the mountain tributaries of Issyk-kul', collects up all the rivers flowing from the south and originating in the frontal chain of the Tian'-Shan'.

We were travelling across the Tiup-Dzhargalan plain directly westwards, along the foothills of the southern chain of the Zailiiskii Alatau, at some distance from them, but nearer to them than to the Tiup. The Tiup-Dzhargalan valley was at least twenty versts wide, and behind it was a gigantic range, the foremost mountains of which here and there had snow zones on their peaks, while the rear giants made up a continuous row of snow belki. The Tiup-Dzhargalan steppe or plain was raised very little above the lake, and hence, having walked across it for an hour, I stopped at a transverse stream for a hypsometric measurement. It was half past nine in the morning. The thermometer showed 1 O'C, the weather was a little dull and slightly misty, with low easterly and higher westerly winds.

Continuing on our way, we frequently crossed transverse streams, the Tiup's tributaries, of which there were in all no fewer than twenty-five. The mountains, as their spurs intruded into the valley, seemed to be now closer, now further away from us. The steppe was treeless, and its herbaceous vegetation had the steppe character of the foothill plain of the Trans-Ili territory and of the European Sarmatian plain. In some places we encountered marshy areas, overgrown with tall rushes, among which we noticed the tracks of wild boar. Over and over again we put up Semirechensk pheasants, which the Cossacks could not shoot with their rifles, loaded with bullets.

After three hours travelling from the stream, by which we made a halt, we approached a mountain spur, which projected into the valley and almost barred our path, which had to go round it. The mountain consisted of finely-grained granite. Climbing it with one of the Cossacks, I could see the entire lake and the wide mouth of the Tiup in front of us. From here to Issyk-kul' there remained no more than eight versts. We soon came off the road, making straight for the lake, and in about an hour and a half we reached its shore. The place at which we came out to the lake jutted out into it like a peninsula, or, rather, a spit between the mouths of the Tiup and the Dzhargalan. With its sandy soil the entire peninsula was thickly covered with only one shrub, sea buckthorn (Hippophae rhamnoides).

The lake's water looked beautiful with its transparency and light blue colour, but it was salty and unsuitable for drinking. The waves broke steeply. On the sandy shore there were no boulders, except for pieces of loose conglomerate, formed by the lake itself, and not rounded off as either boulders or pebbles. The shells I found on the shore belonged to a new species of the fresh-water genus

Limnaea (L. obliquata). The Tiup's width was greater than that of the Rhone at its mouth in Lake Geneva. Westwards the lake seemed to be boundless. On its northern side, twenty to thirty versts away, a high mountain buttress jutted out into the Kungei valley' and came near the lake, assisting in the formation of beautiful bays. There were no islands at all in the take. On the Tiup's bank, about five or six versts above its mouth, there towered a remarkable structure, easily visible from the road. It was a mulla (a Kirgiz grave). The edifice was solidly built of sun-baked grey brick, had a cupola and two slender towers, like minarets, joined by a high wall with narrow windows like loop-holes.

We reached Issyk-kul' at four o'clock in the afternoon and would gladly have stayed until the next day, but to spend the night on the lake's shore was too dangerous. A bivouac on the peninsula would have been most unsuitable. Our lights would have been visible from everywhere on both sides of Issyk-kul' (Kungei and Terskei), and it would have been all too easy to cut us off from communication. Our arrival at Issyk-kul' might already be known to the Karakirgiz, because in the morning we had seen one horseman in the distance. The path to the mulla with freshly beaten tracks proved that it was visited quite frequently. On our way we had come across the remnants of destroyed iurts in large numbers; here, this spring raids and bloody battles had taken place between the two Karakirgiz tribes. Since the victory fell to the more aggressive Sarybagish, they could be spending the night on Kungei, behind the mountain buttress. Any passing raiding party would notice our lights. That is why I decided not to stay overnight here but to go back to our previous site. The Cossacks cheered up, and the three Kirgiz, who accompanied us, and who with much effort had been leading our camel and pack horses, diligently set off at a trot.

Soon we reached the mountain buttress, which we had passed, jutting out on the road. Climbing the mountain, I could once more take a farewell glance at the wonderful surface of Issyk-kul'. A bright stream showed up silver across its surface under the dying rays of the sun, which soon sank in a haze of evening fog. Soon, it was quite dark. It only remained for us either to spend the night in some side gorge or to return to our previous camp. Despite the tiredness of men and horses, we chose the latter. The night was moonless, and even without stars; the sky was covered with dark clouds, and the outlines of the mountains were obscured by fog. We went at a fast trot in a tight group, like a Kirgiz baranta, for four hours. Frequently we had to ford the numerous streams running from the mountains. Soon, we completely lost the road or path and had to cling to the mountain slopes in order not to lose our way entirely, and riot lose our direction in the wide steppe of the Tiup. At last our camel, tired by the forced march,

stopped. There was nothing we could do. We climbed the slope and dismounted from the horses. The wind was extremely strong and piercing, the temperature had dropped below zero. At first it drizzled, and then it began snowing in large flakes. Without unsaddling the horses, having unloaded only the camel, we lay down on the damp ground, covering ourselves with whatever came to hand. The Cossacks were so tired and so chilled that I forbade them to pitch a tent for me. There was nothing with which to make a fire, and besides the place of our halt was too exposed and dangerous. Being tired, I fell asleep for a while, but in an hour woke up under the influence of the piercing and unbearable cold. It was the dead of night. The clouds dispersed a little, and here and there the stars began to shine. I decided to rouse the Cossacks and to seek an escape from the cold by getting on the move again. The camel, which was somewhat rested, was loaded again. I went ahead with one Cossack, and luckily soon found the road. In about three hours of difficult travel, eventually we reached the Tabul'ga-su gorge, which was well protected by a mountain on the east, and by a small grove on the west. Joyously I heard the welcoming sound of the familiar stream. Across patches of soft snow, lying here and there, we reached a ford and, having crossed the stream, spent the night at our former site, pitching a tent there and making a huge camp fire which was invisible from all sides.

On 10 September we left our camp at ten o'clock in the morning and made oi,,r way along the valley towards the east. The mountain cliffs, which bounded the valley on the north, consisted of dense grey limestone with traces of fossils: shells, corals, fossil crinoids and ortho-ceratites of the Carboniferous system. We forded the Tabtil'ga-su and soon came out to the river Tiup, into which it discharges. The Tiup here flows from east to west, and only on joining with the Tabul'g,t does it force its way through the ridge and move away to another parallel valley.

The valley across which we were travelling upstream for three or four hours was picturesque and attractive. Its width was about one versta, its floor was overgrown with willow, the river was wide and fast; fir-trees grew on all the slopes, on which there were also many bird-cherry trees and cherganak; in short, the vegetation was very rich. The mountains bordering the plain were not high, but had beautiful wavy outlines; their suinmits were covered with snow, which had fallen the day before. The mountain cliffs were extremely interesting. The limestone appeared here in such small outcrops that it was impossible to note its extent, but it rested on a dense metamorphic sandstone, which extended from the north-west to the south-east, with a 40 degree deviation from the meridian, and a dip of 45 degrees to the southwest. All this was intruded with conglomerates and breccias, composed of huge blocks of the same limestone, sandstone and red porphyry, tightly cemented by a finergrained mass. Obviously, the rock forcing through here is red porphyry, which

forms rods in sedimentary rocks. Further on, the same limestones stretched along the whole valley. Finally, the valley ended by widening up to four versts, creating a locality very suitable for colonization.

From here we turned towards the north-northeast, crossed an easy pass and entered a wide valley, which had a meridional direction, and in which there was no river, but only a small lake and marsh. On the left, that is western, side of the valley, the sandstone appeared with the same extent and dip as previously. Then we made our way directly towards the north and went uphill a little onto a lowered continuation of the southern chain of the Zailiiskii Alatau; we crossed it for three or four hours and finally came out onto the Dzhalanash (Uch-Merke) plateau. Ahead, there appeared before us a row of poplars, which marked the course of the river Karkara. Here we had hoped to see the auly of the Bogintsy, but could not find them, and hence turned to the north-northeast, so that the Karkara remained to the right of us, and by evening we came out to the river, which our guides called Chirik-su, and on which we spent the night. The valley of this river was treeless here, bounded by high mountains and aligned from south to north. The night was cold, and by the morning it was minus 2 degrees C.

On 11 September we got under way from our camp at ten o'clock in the morning and, having forded onto the left bank of the river, we climbed a hill and made our way to the west-northwest across the steppe plateau. To the right of us the Chirik-su, from which our track was slowly diverging, could be seen continually. After three hours we again drew nearer the river, which we found here to be twice as wide. It was enlarged, and its direction was slightly changed into a latitudinal one, by the confluence from the left of the river Karkara, after the junction with which the united river takes the name Kegen-su. Visible beyond the river, a ridge stretched from the east-northeast to the west-southwest, drawing nearer the course of the Kegen on its right side.

After three hours of further travel to the west, the river Kegen was now flowing across the longitudinal (with respect to the direction of the range) valley of the Zailliskii Alatau, which gradually turned into a gorge; because of its inaccessibility, we had to go round this gorge and come out to the river Kegen where its valley was getting wider again. The rock outcrops here consisted of red porphyry. After an hour and a half travelling along the valley we again came to its entry into a wild gorge, due to the absolute inaccessibility of which we had to leave the course of the river once and for all and to climb up the high Dzhalanash plateau, through which the river forces its way.

After a further hour we descended into the deep valley of the third Merke, which had blocked our route, and regained our old road. In the depths of the valley we had our afternoon snack in a grove on the river bank. Here the outcrops consisted of the same limestone which we had come upon at the Tabul'gasu, and which contained fossils characteristic of the Carboniferous system,

namely Rhynchonella and Productus with longitudinal furrows. The extent of this limestone was not clear either, because it appeared at the surface only in the form of flat rocks. Above it, as on all the Merkes and on the whole plateau surrounding it, there was piled up alluvium of poorly cemented sand with a multitude of huge and small boulders of porphyry, syenite, granite, diorite and conglomerates of these same rocks.

We reached the second Merke by the previous track, but having gone across its deep valley and come out again onto the plateau, we took to the right, that is more towards the north-west, and reached the first Merke at a much lower point than before, nearer to its confluence with the Kegen.

The descent towards the first Merke was very prolonged, because its valley was even deeper here. The rocks surrounding it here consisted of red porphyry. From the descent one could see the confluence of the Merke with the Kegen, which after having received all three Merkes, was making its way through a wild gorge; here its flow, like the Imatra,l took on the character of a sheer waterfall, owing to which the Kirgiz identified it by the name of Ak-togoi.

The place where we made a halt on the first Merke was covered with beautiful thickets of trees and bushes, whereas higher up, where we had crossed the valley of this Merke on our way to Issyk-kul', there had been no woodland vegetation. The thickets, in the middle of which we spent that night, consisted of willow , poplar, argal, eglantine, and cherganak. The night was not cold.

On 12 September we left our beautiful camp-site early in the morning, by an extremely long and steep climb we got onto the Dzhalanash plateau and at first proceeded parallel to the Ak-togoi at a distance of almost fifteen versts, then gradually moved away from it. To the left of us there remained a breach made by the river Chilik through the same plateau, to the right there was the Kegen, which had already broken free from the wild gorge (Ak-togoi), but was still flowing in a very deep valley. However, when we looked into this valley, we were delighted to see Kirgiz auly and made our way towards them in the hope of speeding up our return to Vernoe by changing a few of the utterly exhausted horses and especially our camel.

After about three hours of continuous descent and a dangerous crossing of the wide and rapid Kegen, which had by now assumed the name of Charyn and which here had the width of the Aare near Interlaken, we eventually reached the

auly. Several hours passed while we were having our first hearty dinner, consisting of a whole sheep, since our departure from Vernoe and while we were negotiating with the Kirgiz, who, for a moderate payment, at last supplied us with six horses and a camel, and we started on the journey at five o'clock in the afternoon, when the sun was already declining to the west. We climbed the heights which surrounded the valley for a whole hour and came onto the plateau. Across it we rode at a trot for the fifteen versts which separated us from a ridge, extending in front of us from west to east, and which the Kirgiz called Turaigyrtau. The sun had already set when we started climbing this ridge and we had to stop overnight half-way through the ascent at a stream, which was flowing from it.

On 13 September we got on our way very early in the morning. The route went steeply uphill through a wild transverse ravine between the black, bold and abrupt crags, which jutted out from all sides. The whole ridge consisted of diorite porphyry and, as it turned out from my measurement the following year (I 857), rose to 2,000 metres above sea level. When we climbed to the top of the mountain pass, we again saw before us a high steppe valley, about fifteen versts wide, stretching from west to east. In vain our eyes sought out auly. To the left of us the gorge of the Chilik was visible and beyond it a junction, linking the first chain with the second. Beyond the descent I noticed a porphyry conglomerate, which constituted its margins, here and there revealing itself as if in strata, sharply inclined to the north (at 40') and extending from west-northwest to east-northeast. I did not see any other rock here. The whole steppe valley was dusted with sand deposits together with a great multitude of boulders from the same mountains. It was pitted with marmot's burrows and was rich in salines. All the plants were, of course, scorched and dried out, only some solianki were fresh. We descended to the steppe at the foot of the next ridge and here saw numerous herds and auly. Without wasting time, we made our way there and in about three hours we reached them. Here again a delay ensued until nightfall and the following day. The aul in which we stayed was situated at a small spring at the foot of a rounded, but elongated hill of red porphyry.

On 14 September at seven o'clock in the morning we left the aul and made our way to the west and north-west diagonally across the Scirektash mountains, then proceeded along the longitudinal valleys. These mountains were almost the same height as the Turaigyrtau ridge parallel to them. Their rocks were flatter and more rounded, and all of them consisted of red porphyry, and not diorite. In one place I came across an exposure of a large vein of quartz; all the rest cornprised quartz-containing porphyry. When we started coming down from the mountains, we saw in the north-west the course of the Chilik, marked by a belt of trees; but in the gorges of the mountains on the northern side there were apple-trees growing. In the north there was again visible a wide steppe valley on a plateau, about twenty-five to thirty versts wide, and beyond it there was another

parallel ridge, Boguty. However, this ridge, which was almost as high as the previous one, did not cross the Chilik and did not extend further to the west, whereas the two previous ones were joined to the high crest of the Zailiiskii Alatau by a special nexus beyond the Chilik.

Descending from the mountains, we came out to the valley of the Chilik, and travelling for about fifteen versts, made a halt on its bank, having forded all its wide and rapid arms with difficulty. The Chilik here flows towards the west and north-west, carving out a very wide and deep hollow for itself in the steppe. The slopes of this hollow are very steep and consist of sandy alluvium, filled with boulders of porphyry, diorite, syenite, granite and conglomerate. Among the trees, willow, poplar, hawthorn, sea buckthorn and eglantine predominated.

Beyond the Chilik we proceeded parallel to the northern chain of the Zailiiskil Alatau straight to the west and in about an hour and a half we saw the first auly by a small spring flowing from the mountains. Here we changed our horses and the same evening continued on our way. Having travelled for another hour and a half, we arrived at a new aul and here we stopped for the night.

On 15 September we set out from our camp at the second spring from the Chilik at seven o'clock in the morning, after two hours we crossed the river Karaturun and in another hour we came to Dzhainak's aul. Here we stayed for an hour and a half, and at half past eleven we continued on our journey. At about three o'clock in the afternoon we crossed the Turgen near a row of 'chudski'l" tumuli, and at sunset reached the river Issyk, where we spent the night about four versts below our previous camp-site.

On 16 September at ten o'clock in the morning I returned safely to Vernoe. Khomentovskii rejoiced at my safe return, the more so as while I was absent there had occurred events, in which I might have been useful to him. His relations with the neighbouring Karakirgiz tribe of Sarybagish to the south-west continued to be strained, and more than once the latter, although without their former impudence, had continued their rapacious forays into the new Russian Trans-Ili territory, which was not yet sufficiently firmly established. In particular, Khomentovskii was beside himself at the pillage, ten versts away from Vernoe, of a Russian merchant caravan on its way to Tashkent and also at Karakirgiz raids, directed at our loyal subjects, the Kirgiz of the Great Horde. The courageous Khomentovskii quickly resolved to undertake a campaign against the Sarybagish auly, which lay in large numbers to the west of Issyk-kul', on to the upper reaches of the river Chu, with the purpose of dispossessing them, that is taking away from them their herds of horses and livestock, in order to replace the losses inflicted by their forays on Russian subjects.

Khomentovskii's strong detachment, which had left Vernoe soon after the beginning of my

journey to Issyk-kul', consisted of three hundred Cossacks, one company of infantry mounted on horses, two mountain cannons, a few rocket mountings and a great number of Kirgiz of the Great Horde.

The detachment had safely crossed a high mountain pass and came down to the valley of the river Chu, below the Kokand fortification of Tokmak.1 Here it found innumerable masses of Karakirgiz nomads, devastated their auly and, having taken possession of their nearest herds, started on the way back. But the Karakirgiz, who had taken flight at first, gathered in countless numbers and began to pursue our detachments, which became seriously extended on their difficult ascent to the pass, threw themselves into the attack with exceptional bravery, in spite of the fact that the rocket mountings, which they had never seen before, and also the shots of our Cossacks, were producing great devastation among the Sarybagish. The losses of the detachment, however, amounted to seventeen people killed or seriously wounded. When the wounded, transported with difficulty on horses, made stops and fell into Karakirgiz hands, the ferocity of the latter was so great that they hacked them to pieces. Nevertheless, the impression made by Yhomentovskii's campaign was very strong, as the number of those killed and wounded on the Sarybagish side was great. Yhomentovskii considered it particularly important to assess this impression, and hence decided to organize a new reconnaissance detachment for this purpose without delay.

He offered to place this detachment, consisting of almost a hundred Cossacks and a few Yirgiz guides, at my disposal in order to reach the river Chu, and if I did not find the Sarybagish there, to penetrate to the western limits of Issyk-kul' and to return to Vernoe via the mountain passes of the Zailiiskii Alatau which were familiar to me.

We left Vernoe, ninety people in number, on 21 September at eleven o'clock in the morning. We travelled towards the west that day, along the foot of the northern chain of the ZailiiskiiAlatau for about twenty-seven versts, to the river Keskelen, an important tributary of the river Ili, which emerges from the snowy mountains. The weather was dull and turned to rain.

After travelling for about forty versts along the foothills of the Zailiiskii Alatau towards the west from Vernoe and descending into a deep hollow which intersected our path, we heard desperate screams. Karakirgiz bandits were pillaging a small Uzbek caravan, which was going to Vernoe. When we galloped up to the aid of the caravan, the Sarybagish had fled before they had time to plunder the caravan: we caught them at the moment when they were taking off the Uzbeks' boots in order to take away their money, which they kept in their boots. Without wasting time talking to the Uzbeks, together with some of my Cossacks I rushed

to pursue the raiding party. This pursuit went on for a couple of hours and ended when the bandits, who had abandoned their outer clothing, nevertheless managed to gallop away from us. By the end of the chase only three bandits, lagging behind, remained ahead of us, but on our part too the majority of those pursuing had fallen behind, owing to the horses' tiredness, and there was left by my side only my Cossack-interpreter, as we had the best horses. We, too, like the pursued Karakirgiz, were going at a slow pace, two hundred metres apart from each other. I did not want to shoot at unarmed people, and hence decided to go back to the place which I had fixed as our bivouac, which was all the more necessary as those being pursued set fire to the dry steppe in the direction of the wind, which was blowing in our faces. We avoided an encounter with the fire wall, by going down into a deep hollow which we came upon, and then settled in it overnight.

On 22 September the weather cleared a little: the fog dispersed and even the mountains with their snowy summits appeared. Having travelled for about thirty versts towards the south-east to the river Chemolgan, we were forced to make a prolonged stop here while waiting for fresh Kirgiz horses, as the Cossack ones on which we had left Vernoe turned out to be unsuitable for our long and difficult journey. By evening the weather deteriorated again, and it went on raining until far into the night.

On 23 September we left the Chemolgan early in the morning on fresh Kirgiz horses amidst impenetrable fog. Our journey was hampered by the fact that we had to cross a dense network of deep hollows with steep sides, which intersected the foothills. After four hours we reached the river Uzun-agach, by which we made our afternoon halt. Although the autumn vegetation of the steppe had already withered somewhat, it had not completely dried up; what especially caught the eye were the pink flowers of tall hollyhocks (Althaea officinalis and Lavatera thuringiaca), light blue flowers of chicory, pale yellow flowers of sofor (Sophora alopecuroides) and dark blue flowers of steppe sage (Salvia silvestris). Liquorice, which is very widely distributed here, was still in bloom.

During our halt the weather completely cleared up: at two o'clock in the afternoon it was 18 degrees C. We moved on and after about twenty versts reached the river Kara-kastek. Here, with clear weather, there was a magnificent picture of the sunset in store for us. To the left of us, sharply outlined against dark azure, there towered the majestic range of the Zailiiskii Alatau, at the western edges of which stood out the high rounded summit of Suok-tiube: snow-white strips, illuminated by the pink light, were shining in the sunset. But in the far west, when the purple sunset, above which two or three small golden clouds still hung for awhile in the air, had completely gone, high above the mountains to the left the pale golden crescent of the new moon was revealed. The night which fell was very cool, but we still travelled for another three hours by the weak moonlight to our camp on the Kastek at the foot of Suok-tiube.

At seven o'clock in the morning on 24 September it was 7 degrees C, and the weather was absolutely clear. Proceeding along the Kastek valley from north to south, we started climbing the Zailiiskii Alatau. We continued up the Kastek for about four hours between granite rocks. Eventually, the Kastek divided into two branches, of which one was going from the south-east, and the other from the south-west. We went along the first one in order to cross a high mountain pass to come out at the river Chu a little lower and further from the Kokand fortress of Tokmak. Going up along this branch, we finally reached the top of the pass. From this summit, on which the cold temperature justified its name of Suok-tiube ('Cool mountain'), we saw the entire valley of the river Chu, which here formed several branches, shining in the sun. To the left, one could also see the course of the river Kebin, which emerges from a longitudinal valley of the Zailiiskii Alatau, separating its northern and southern chains and discharging into the river Chu on its exit from this valley.

Beyond the river Chu there stretched a high mountain ridge, the summits of which were covered with snow. We came down from the mountain pass in no more than an hour and, coming out to a stream abundant in water, which discharges into the river Chu and is called Beisenyn-bulak, we stopped for the night.

When we awoke the next day (25 September) the temperature was minus 1.5'C. The night was very cold, and my tent became covered with ice. The morning was foggy; nevertheless, we got under way from our bivouac at seven o'clock in the morning. Of course, there was no time to be lost. It turned out that there were no Sarybagish in the Chu valley by then. It was obvious that, frightened by their bloody battle with the Russians, they had fled, in all likelihood to Lake Issyk-kul', and that is where I decided to confront them with my whole detachment, proceeding up the river Chu through the wild Buam gorge. In essence, the march of eighty versts through an almost impassable gorge, in, or beyond, which we were bound to encounter embittered enemies, since all the Cossacks of my detachment had already participated in the Khomentovskii campaign, might seem to be an act of madness for my quite numerous detachment, consisting of ninety horsemen and twenty pack-horses (fortunately, we did not have the camel), and it was not easy to maintain spirits and self-confidence among the Cossacks.

The thick fog was very favourable to us: if any mounted patrols were undertaken from Tokmak, we could cross the Chu valley unnoticed and come into the narrow gorge during the day. And that is how it was done. Snowflakes were falling while we were descending to the Chu valley, but towards the end it had already turned to rain, and after our descent into the valley it stopped completely The river Chu, where we came out to it, was flowing across an extensive valley which was six versts wide, and its course was accompanied by woodland vegetation, which consisted of tall poplars.

We crossed the wide valley, which stretched diagonally from east to west, in a south-southeast direction, and, unnoticed by anyone, entered the Buam gorge, out of which the river was breaks into its wide valley near the porphyry Boroldai knoll. When we came into the gorge, it soon became so narrow that it was impossible to proceed any further along the right bank of the Chu, on which we were, because rocky cliffs of enormous height fell down to the river extremely steeply. We all had to ford the rapid course of the river to its left bank, along which we continued our journey, but then a similar obstacle forced us to cross again to the right bank.

The day was already declining, the sky had become covered with dark clouds, and soon a dark night fell. Only from time to time the full moon, throwing some light upon our way, appeared between the clouds. Our progress was impeded in the extreme by the fact that our path could not run uninterruptedly along the river bank itself, as here and there waterside cliffs fell absolutely vertically down to it, and it was necessary to climb up the side walls of this rocky corridor, known by the name of Buam (Bom, to the Altai people), along dangerous paths, which went round the sheer precipices from above. Of course, we had to make these detours on foot, leading our horses by their reins, unloading the pack animals and carrying their loads in our arms. In some places, instead of making these diversions we went, where it was possible, along a ford at the foot of the cliff, against the rapid current of the river over the rocks, which fill its bed, with an incessant danger for each one of us of being swept away by its furious waves.

Thus we proceeded with incredible difficulty until three o'clock in the morning and at last reached a narrow hollow, in which we decided to stay until dawn. This place was on the very bank of the river between two high 'boms', at the tops of which I placed guard pickets on both sides. This precaution was necessary because if the Karakirgiz, getting over the summits of the mountain cliffs, had noticed our bivouac at the bottom of the gorge, they could have wiped out our entire detachment, by showering it from above with huge stones and rocks, which were overhanging it and could easily be pushed down. The Cossack sentries were to raise the alarm, warning us with rifle shots, in case of imminent danger. I tried in vain to fall asleep in the tent to the noise of the waterfalls formed by the river Chu. The night I spent in the Buam gorge was nearly the most anxious in my life. On me rested the responsibility for the lives of almost a hundred people and for the success of the whole enterprise.

My nervous state soon proved to be justified: two warning shots resounded one after another. The Cossacks immediately rushed to their saddled horses, and, grabbing my pistol, I jumped out of my tent and rushed up a steep path on the nearer 'bom' towards the Cossack sentry, in order to find out the reason for the alarm. It turned out that the Cossacks had heard a continuous fall of small stones above them. Since the moon lit up the mountain slopes with full brightness, the Cossack had noticed that high above him along the mountain slope two

Kirgiz were picking their way with difficulty, leading their horses by therein, and under the horses' hooves small stones were slipping down into our gorge, making a slight noise. I stood for a long time with the Cossack, having a good look at the Karakirgiz movements through binoculars, and finally became convinced that they did not have any hostile intentions towards us, but on the contrary, having noticed a large Russian detachment encamped overnight, were going round it in fright, in peril of their lives, over steep inaccessible slopes, proceeding along the Buam gorge in the direction of Lake Issyk-kul'. The only danger we could expect from them was lest they should warn the Karakirgiz who were at Issyk-kul', about the approach of the Russian detachment, and thereby might prepare a hostile reception for us. That is why, after returning to my tent towards dawn, I roused the whole detachment, and we started on our journey again on 26 September no later than five o'clock in the morning.

For about two hours our journey was still as difficult as the day before; but then the walls of the gorge began to diverge, and it turned into a valley with gentler slopes. Very soon after entering this valley we came across a small Karakirgiz aul, which consisted of five l'urty. The men galloped away on their horses as soon as they noticed us, and only an old man, who did not have a horse, rode off on an ox and hid in a small mountain ravine. In the iurty there remained only women and children, who had nowhere to go; despairingly and with a deathly pallor in their faces, they threw themselves towards us, pleading for mercy. I hastened to reassure them, gave them small presents and explained to them through an interpreter that we did not have any hostile intentions, but were going to visit their chief manap Umbet-Ala, with whom I wanted to be tamyr (a friend). We learned from these women that Umbet-Ala with his whole clan was to be found near the territorial limit of Kutemaidy on the shore of Issyk-kul'. We hurried there with the greatest possible speed and soon found ourselves amidst an incalculable mass of Karakirgiz herds and flocks. Four Cossacks had to be sent forward in order to clear a way for our detachment through this mass of animals. I ordered this Cossack advance party to repeat, when meeting the Karakirgiz, what had been said to the women in the first aul we encountered, that is, that we were coming without any hostile intentions, directly to visit Umbet-Ala.

The territorial boundary of Kutemaldy lay at a bend of the river Chu, which, after emerging from a gorge in the Tian'-Shan' with the name of Kochkara to the plain, which forms part of the Issyk-kul' basin, but, fifteen versts short of the lake, turns to the left and bursts through the Buam gorge. At this bend the Kutemaldy stream, fed by marshes, discharges into the river Chu.

The entire flat area between the bend of the Chu and the shore of Issyk-kul' was occupied by an incalculable multitude of Karakirgiz iurty. Obviously, almost the entire tribe of Sarybagish had encamped here near the aul of Umbet-Ala. At last, we reached his aul. Here an excellent iurta, hurriedly prepared for those who declared themselves to be the guests of Umbet-Ala, awaited us. In the iurta

rich carpets were spread out, and when I took a seat on them, the manap's brother and uncle, with some other privileged persons, came into the iurta and announced that Umbet-Ala himself was not at home, as apparently he had gone thirty versts away into the valley of the river Kochkara to prepare a baiga, that is a funeral feast for the Sarybagish who had been killed. I had to explain the purpose of our arrival to the family of the manap and the Sarybagish elders.

I told them that I had come from afar, from the capital of Russia to see how the Russian settlers lived at a remote border; only here did I learn of the armed conflict which had taken place, and in my opinion, good neighbourly relations should be established between the Russians, who had built a town on the land of the Great Horde, subject to Russia, and the Karakirgiz; and that neighbours should not carry on baranty, which could so easily turn into a war (dzhou); that the Russians had never been, and never would be, the first to attack the Karakirgiz, but if on the part of the latter any kind of baranta were to be carried out, not only against the Russians themselves, but also against their subjects, the Kirgi of the Great Horde, retribution would be immediate, as had happened; but that the Russians did not wish to continue any hostilities, unless the Karakirgiz themselves would give cause for this by a new baranta or robbery of merchant caravans. That is why I had come to see Umbet-Ala, to try to become his tamyr, and I asked them to pass on to him my presents, for which Umbet's family gave me in return three excellent horses. Thus, according to Karakirgiz custom, Umbet-Ala had become my tamyr.

The day passed in talks and entertainments and my inspection of the western extremity of the lake. Umbet-Ala's relatives invited me to the forthcoming baiga, but I declined, considering it on the one hand impossible for me to be present at the funeral feast for those killed in a battle with the Russians, and on the other hand, fearing some kind of conflict between the Cossacks and Karakirgiz. I put forward as the reason for my refusal that larger Russian detachments, which (as I asserted) were stationed by the mountain passes, expecting us, might be alarmed by the duration of our absence, and, coming in search of us, could come into some kind of conflict with the Karakirgiz if they encountered them. During the night we took all possible precautions: all our horses were saddled and did not leave the hands of the Cossacks, who slept in turn; sentries were posted around the iurta erected for me. Although I was convinced that the Karakirgiz would treat irreproachably the custom of hospitality, which is sacred in their eyes, nevertheless these precautions were not superfluous, especially as they reassured the Cossacks, who so recently had witnessed the brutal vindictiveness of the Karakirgiz against our wounded. The next day, 27 September, I got up at five o'clock in the morning and left the auly of Umbet-Ala, accompanied by my interpreter, another Cossack and two Sarybagish guides. I wanted to achieve one of the main objectives of my visit to the western extremity of Issyk-kul', namely clarification of the hydrographical relations between this lake, the river Chu and

the river Kutemaidy, about which Humboldt had already known from information collected by him in 1829 from Bukharan and Tashkent merchants in Semipalatinsk. During my stay in Berlin (1853) geographers thought that Lake Issyk-kul' had an outlet, but some believed the river Chu to be this outlet, while others, on the basis of information circulated by Humboldt, thought it to be the river Kutemaldy, which supposedly issued from Lake Issyk-kul' and flowed far into the steppe.

On the excellent horses presented to me by Umbet-Ala's family, in three-quarters of an hour we came from his aul to the place where the river Chu, flowing across the Issyk-kul' plateau from south to north, sharply changes its direction to the west and breaks into the Buam gorge.

The question I was keenly interested in was soon clarified. The main constituent branch of the mighty river Chu originates under the name of Kochkara in the Tian'-Shan', comes out of its transverse valley onto the Issyk-kul'plateau, but not following its natural slope towards the lake, it turns straight to the west into the Buam gorge. To the east of this bend I saw a marshy area, from which along its natural slope into Issyk-kul' there flowed the little river Kutemaldy, which was no more than six versts long. The Sarybagish who were escorting me explained the name of the river to me by the fact that it was so shallow that if someone took it into his head to sit down in the middle of it, he would only wet his backside (Kutemaldy means a wet backside). However, the Karakirgiz told me that during flood-time water often flowed from the river Chu via the little river into Issyk-kul'. But when I first saw the Kutemaldy, it did not come immediately from the Chu and was no more than twelve metres wide, and its current was quite gentle, as its fall over a distance of five versts hardly exceeded twelve metres. I rode as far as the river's mouth, and having turned along the lake shore, returned to Umbet-Ala's aul, completely convinced that Lake Issyk-kul' did not have an outlet, that it did not feed the river Chu at present, and that this mighty river was formed from two main branches: the Kochkara, originating in the perpetual snows of the Tian'-Shan', and the Kebin, flowing from the perpetual snows and the transverse valley of the Zailiiskii Alatau. It goes without saying that if one were to imagine the lake's level rising by only fifteen to twenty metres, the river Chu would have become the outlet of Issyk-Kul'; but I put off any thoughts as to whether it had ever been so until my excursion to the lake basin the following year (1857). My main purpose had been achieved, and the safety of the people with whom I was entrusted demanded my immediate return to Vernoe, contenting myself with the preliminary results which I had obtained.

Having returned to Umbet-Ala's aul, I raised my whole detachment and, taking final leave of my hospitable tamyr (friends) on amicable terms, left for my return journey 'to Russia', as the Cossacks put it, after hearty mid-day Karakirgiz hospitality. We travelled for fifteen versts along the northern shore of Issyk-kul'

(Kungei) and then started going diagonally up to the east-northeast for the difficult ascent of the southern chain of the ZailiiskiiAlatau. Here again, as at the eastern extremity of the lake, I took delight in admiring the wonderful beauty of the high range rising beyond the lake.

Our first stopping place, for the night of 27-8 September, was still on the southern slope of the southern chain of the Zailiiskii Alatau, and here as a precaution we did not light any fires, as we could not consider this place to be safe. After the hospitality we had been shown at their home, the Karakirgiz might nevertheless consider it permissible to make some sort of attack on us outside their boundary, and that was what the Cossacks were afraid of, although I was convinced of our immunity in the eyes of the Karakirgiz.

On 28 September we moved off very early from the site of our dangerous overnight stop and quickly started ascending the steep slope. On the way we met a huge wild boar, which we managed to kill. A few hours after that we reached the high Diurenyn' pass, which according to my hypsometric measurement turned out to be 3,000 metres in altitude and was already completely covered with snow at this time of year. The descent from the pass to the longitudinal valley of the Kebin, which separated the two chains, was accomplished very quickly, and before sunset we had already reached the forest zone, which consisted of magnificent, tall spruce-trees. The Cossacks, who had begun to feel out of harm's way, were delighted, set up my tent near a waterfall, built splendid fires, not of tezek (dung), as is usually done in steppe zones, but of dry wood boughs, and prepared an excellent supper from the huge wild boar which we had killed on the journey. Already that evening, unbeknown to me, they sent two Cossacks to Vernoe on the best horses, with spare ones, to get vodka, and by morning the vodka had arrived, in spite of the fact that the distance to Vernoe over the second snow pass was no less than ninety versts.

On the morning of 29 September, we descended unhurriedly to the valley of the Kebin and made a halt by the river itself, where we found traces of a Kirgiz raiding party. It was amusing to watch one of our guides, a Kirgiz of the Great Horde. He was picking up bits of dung and putting them to his nose, and then suddenly, turning pale, announced that the bandit gang had moved from this place no more than two hours ago, that it consisted of Karakirgiz of the tribe most hostile to us, who had left their bivouac when they noticed us coming down from the mountains, that the gang was somewhere in the gorge not far away and, moreover, that it was numerous. It goes without saying that the Cossacks did not share the Kirgiz's fear. In Vernoe it was already known where we were, and to defend ourselves from an attack by the Kirgiz in such a fine wide valley would not be difficult, and the attack itself seemed to us to be absolutely inconceivable.

That day we crossed the high Keskelen pass in the northern chain of the Zailiiskii Alatau; it, too, was no less than 3,000 metres high and was heavily covered with snow on its northern side. On coming down from this pass we had to slide

down on the snow with our horses in a funny, but quite safe, way. We spent the night of 29-30 September still very high up on the river Keskelen, and on 30 September, having come down along the river's valley to the foothills, settled for our last night about thirty versts from Vernoe.

On 1 October we rapidly covered our final stage and returned safely to Vernoe, where we were ceremoniously met by the town's population. Colonel Khomentovskii and artillery Captain Obukh, two intellectuals of this young colony, which promised a brilliant future, rejoiced especially at our success. Captain Obukh was a very likeable and talented man, but unfortunately no stranger to the common vice of the best people of our young colony, alcoholism. Later, together with the famous traveller N. A. Severtsovl he was the first to enter the rampart of the fortress during the capture of Tashkent,' but was struck down by an enemy bullet.

The late autumn of 1856 was setting in. To undertake further journeys this year to the interior of the Tian'-Shan' was impossible by now, and I had to postpone them until the beginning of the summer of the following year. But my first objective had been achieved: I had seen the Tian'-Shan' in the full glory of its outer appearance, for a distance of almost 200 versts, along the entire basin of Issyk-kul', the shores of which I had reached at both of its extremities, the eastern and the western.

Go on to Part Two

Return to the Asia page