The General departed and the great camp lay deserted. Most of the Hor-pa tribesmen who were in attendance on the High Commissioner returned to their pastures. Only the headmen of the five Hor tribes of the region and the Major, Sö-nam Thop-jyel, with a detachment of soldiers remained in camp to attend us and spy upon our movements. A guard of militia was stationed in our camp and our servants and caravaneers were forbidden to speak to strangers. The militiamen, unkempt fellows in dirty sheepskins, sat continuously outside the tents and watched every movement. The headman in charge of the militia post was an agreeable man, of pleasant manner, and tried his best to assist us. He had the appearance of a south-European with an aquiline nose and long straight hair. He wore a coat of purple puru and a charm box of silver. According to him, the northern Tibetan frontier had been closed since last year.

The route from Nag-chu to Lhasa was strictly guarded by military posts, who stopped and searched harmless pilgrims from Mongolia and the Chinese border, and only Tsaidam Mongols were permitted to move about freely. The country was agitated by rumors that the Tashi Lama was approaching with a mighty host of Chinese and Mongol troops.

The Major, Sö-nam Thop-jyel, paid us an official visit and inquired about our needs. He told us he was confident that an answer from the Government of Lhasa would be received soon and that we should be allowed to cross the territory of inner Tibet. He had many stories to tell about his military adventures. He had received his rank during the Sino-Tibetan war of 1918 and was present at the siege of Ri-wo-che and Chamdo. He had met the Chinese commandant of the Chamdo fortress, General P'eng, and even remembered having seen our old Chinese interpreter, Ts'ai, who was taken prisoner at Ri-wo-che. The Major advised us to send all our animals to pastures with good grass, situated some eight miles northwest of Chu-na-khe. He promised to send four men to guard our horses and mules. As no fodder was available and the supply of grain was very scant, we were forced to agree, much against our will. Many of the animals never returned to the camp and perished from exposure and want of fodder. We received only their tails, which were brought back to our camp as proofs that the animals had died.

October 20, 1927. A warm night was followed by a cold day with a piercing wind from the northwest. The Tibetan winter was approaching. The temperature dropped and the thermometer registered -5°C. A mounted messenger arrived toward evening and brought a letter from the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu. The Governors informed us that so far no reply or instructions had been received from Lhasa and requested us not to move from Chu-na-khe until a government reply had been received by them.

October 21, 1927. Again a quiet day. Mrs. Roerich was ill with a cold and had to remain in bed. The Major sent us word that a new messenger had been sent to Nag-chu with a letter.

In the evening heavy, gray clouds rolled up from the southwest and light snow fell in the early morning. The headman on duty in our camp advised us to move the camp to Sharugön, a Bön-po monastery some four miles distant from Chu-na-khe. We were unable to follow his advice immediately because of Mrs. Roerich's health, and the assurance of the Major that an answer from the Government or De-wa-shung (sDe-pa gshung) would be received in a few days.

Next day, heavy snow covered the ground and the surrounding hills and deprived the animals of the much-needed grass. Thunder roared in the mountains, as if summer were resisting the advance of the winter. The early fall of snow alarmed the Tibetans, and the Major dispatched a special mounted messenger to a well-known Tantric lama, asking him to stop the snow for several days, during which period he expected to receive the answer from Lhasa.

October 23, 1927. The day was mild, and happily for us there was no piercing wind. As there was no hope of moving quickly, we decided to improve our camp as much as possible and protect ourselves from the approaching winter days. The situation of the camp was bad and something had to be done to improve it. Chu-na-khe is a depression situated at an altitude of 15,500 feet and sheltered on every side by low, grassy hills on which herds of domestic yaks and flocks of sheep graze during the summer months. To the south of the depression lay the col of Tasang La. On the southern edge of the depression stood a high stupa or chorten and the place was sometimes called Chorten-thang, "The Plain of the Stupa" or Chorten kar-po, "The White Stupa." Under this last name the place was known to Tsaidam Mongols.

North of us lay the Tibetan camp, where the Major stayed with his soldiery and the Hor headmen. The depression was watered by a small rivulet that rises on the northern slopes of the Ta-sang La and then flows eastward. The depression of Chu-na-khe is exposed to all winds and the southwest wind was sometimes of such violence that it was impossible to stand outside the tent. To make our summer tents warmer, we covered them with felts taken from the camel packsaddles. The baggage of the expedition was piled up in one heap in the center of the camp and a Hor-pa was supposed to guard it during the night.

The Major paid us his daily visit and we told him our intention to negotiate with the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu for permission to visit Nag-chu and continue our negotiations with the Tibetan Government from there. Winter was rapidly setting in and if the matter was indefinitely delayed, we would have to face a grave and dangerous situation. The Major told us that he was unable to give us permission himself, but offered to send one of our men and one soldier to Nag-chu to buy supplies for the expedition. According to him, a controversy had developed between the Hor High Commissioner and the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu and that the Nag-chu officials had refused to give us any assistance. "The Hor High Commissioner received you and it is for him to help you out of your difficulties. We are civil officials and have no right to interfere with the orders of the military authorities." It was difficult to find the cause for such an attitude. Something very important was going on, and although the Major professed to be cut off from Lhasa or the High Commissioner by snowdrifts that had rendered the passes dangerous, he often received messages and we frequently heard the jingling of bells on the horses of passing dispatch riders.

Late in the evening some of our Mongols and Tibetans obtained barley wine from the Tibetan camp and got drunk. A fight followed and we were forced to restore order by arresting the men and imposing a heavy fine. People are easily irritated at high altitudes and it was very difficult to maintain strict discipline among the men because of the demoralizing proximity to the Major's camp with all its attractions of wine and Indian cigarettes, sold secretly by the soldiery against the strict orders of His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

October 24, 1927. Heavy snow fell during the night and we were awakened by the noise made by our Mongols who were clearing the tents of snow and making footpaths in the camp. Unless we succeeded in getting a sufficient supply of grain from Nag-chu, the condition of our caravan animals would become critical. The Major came to make a list of all our requirements and read us his letter to the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu. According to him the delay was caused by the fact that the Nag-chu officials had received a severe reprimand from the Government for letting in strangers who had come ahead of us. He advised us to send some present to the Joint-Governors, for this would make them friendly. We accordingly wrote a letter to the Joint-Governors and told them about our position, Mrs. Roerich's health, and of our firm intention to reach India by the shortest route. The letter was sent with a present of a silver table set and a pair of field glasses.

Strong southwest winds and heavy clouds prevented the melting of the snow and great anxiety was felt for our animals, which were reported to be weakening as the result of several days of snowdrifts.

October 25, 1927. A thick mist shrouded the surrounding hills and snow fell until midday, when the weather cleared a little. Large herds of domestic yaks passed our camp. They all go northward from Nag-chu-ka, in search of better grazing. The snowfall in Nag-chu and on the Shang-shung Mountains was said to be particularly heavy this year and the population was hastily moving their encampments and herds to the Thang La region, where the ground was still free from snow.

October 26, 1927. A steady southwest wind drew away all the clouds and mist that hid the mountains and we were glad to have a sunny day to dry our tents. Wet snow and piercing wind are very trying at high altitudes. The cold, damp air penetrated the tents and made conditions miserable. Many of the members of the expedition were already suffering from colds and our doctor predicted difficult times to come. The camp servants were careless at night and many of them were beginning also to contract colds.

One of our Mongols in charge of our caravan animals, returned to camp and reported that one camel had died and that the horses and mules were in bad condition. It is advisable to take to Tibet only young camels with strong teeth, for aged camels with worn-out teeth are unable to eat the short, coarse grass of the Tibetan upland.

October 27, 1927. The day was again sunny but bitterly cold, the thermometer registering -20°C. Late in the afternoon a messenger from Nag-chu arrived with a letter from the Joint-Governors, addressed personally to Professor Roerich. The Joint-Governors, who are commonly known under the compound name of Nag-chu khän-nang-nyi, thanked us for the presents and informed us that they expected an answer from the Government soon. They had not written to the Government themselves, for our case was taken up by the Hor High Commissioner, who was responsible for the delay.

October 28, 1927. Heavy clouds rolled up during the night and the morning was cold and misty. Chu-na-khe presented a dismal picture with its white shroud of snow and the mournful black tents of the Tibetan camp. The nomad encampments deserted the place and it was almost impossible to find sufficient supplies of fuel and fodder. The Major arrived with his soldiers and brought provisions from Nag-chu. We had to pay exorbitant prices for everything. We succeeded in obtaining four bags of Chinese flour, one bag of dirty sugar and several packages of candles. We sent a letter addressed personally to His Holiness, the Dalai Lama. The letter was written in English for we knew that the Dalai Lama had a Private Secretary with a good knowledge of English who had once been a clerk in a Darjeeling bank.

The next day was again cold with southwest wind and occasional snow. During the night several wolves tried to approach our camp but were driven off by our dogs. In the morning a horse belonging to one of the militiamen was found devoured by wolves. We applied for permission to fire on the wolves but the Major informed us that this was against the laws of Tibet where shooting was strictly forbidden.

Packs of hungry dogs roamed the vicinity and occasionally attacked men. We ordered the militia to drive off the dogs with stones, but stone throwing had very little effect on them. It was becoming hazardous to leave camp, so we informed the Tibetan Major that we would be obliged to scatter the packs of dogs with our rifle fire, but the Tibetan answered that this was against Tibetan customs and that it was considered sinful. He advised us to use swords as the natives do. We followed his suggestion and were careful to carry Tibetan swords when going out of camp.

Another nuisance was the ravens that swarmed around the camp. Their impertinence was so great that they stole food from the kitchen tent and sometimes even carried away teacups. The huge birds were feeding on dead carcasses left by passing caravans.

Golubin went to inspect our caravan animals and found them in a deplorable condition. A horse, a mule, and one camel had perished and six more were reported to be near their end. The weathered grass was quite insufficient and the supply of grain was too small to give adequate rations to the animals. A horse or a mule received only about two pounds daily. The camels were not accustomed to eat grain and were rapidly losing their strength. We asked the Major for permission to sell some of the animals. But he replied that he could not allow us to sell them until the Government had sent an answer. The answer was not forthcoming and the situation was assuming a grave aspect. The health of several members of our expedition was beginning to give considerable anxiety. Many complained of heart trouble. We were short of warm clothing and had to buy felts and sheepskins to make winter coats and winter boots.

For the first time in twenty-two days, we saw a tea caravan on yaks coming from Szu-ch'uan. It belonged to a wealthy lama, who himself accompanied his caravan, riding on a diminutive black pony. He was greatly surprised to see a European camp and stood and watched us for a long time until one of the militia ordered him to move away.

For the past four years the Tibetan trade with Mongolia and western China has greatly diminished. The caravans and pilgrims from Mongolia were coming only in small numbers and the number of traders from Sining was insignificant. Since the Chinese Civil War, traders prefer the sea route of Calcutta-Shanghai. The old caravan routes connecting Tibet with inner China and Mongolia are losing their importance and Kalimpong and Calcutta are Tibet's only outlet to the outer world. Autumn is the season for camel caravans from Mongolia. In former years the routes were thronged but now they lie almost completely deserted. We did not meet any caravans while traversing the Tibetan upland and only a small number of caravans passed our camp at Chu-na-khe.

October 31, 1927. Again a sunny day. The morning was bitterly cold and columns of smoke rose from every tent in the Tibetan camp. The thermometer registered -25°C. The Major made his daily visit and brought thirty-two pounds of butter sewn into a yak hide, which cost twelve ngü-sangs, and several locally made felts of a very inferior quality. We also bought two yaks for thirteen Mexican dollars. The Major informed us that he had received word from a famous Tantric lama, that according to the lama's divination, the government reply would be received in four or five days.

The next day was warm with a bright sun and a cloudless sky. The hard, frozen snow began to melt under the warm rays of the sun and large pools of water stood about the camp. In the early morning a large caravan of camels passed northward. Our Mongol cameleers went out to speak to the travelers but were prevented by the militiamen. The Mongols became terribly excited and complained to us against this infringement on their personal liberty. I had a heated argument with the head of the militia post, as the result of which our Mongols were finally permitted to go to meet the passing caravan.

The caravan consisted of Tsaidam and Khalkha Mongols en route for their native lands. An Alashan Mongol Prince was traveling with the caravan and he gave our Mongols some interesting information on our predicament and the attitude of Tibetan authorities toward us. He told us that the authorities were unable to decide whether we should be allowed to proceed farther or ordered to return and that the Government of Lhasa was waiting for more information. The Tibetans were greatly alarmed for someone had spread the rumor that we were a large body of Mongol cavalry. Troops were rushed to the border and the Government even dispatched several mounted guns to check our advance. According to the Prince, all Mongols contemplated leaving Lhasa, where authorities were oppressing the Mongol colony. The Hor headmen had told our men that they could not understand the policy of the Lhasa Government and that our forced stay in Chu-na-khe was a great calamity to the local nomad population which had to supply us with fuel and food and maintain a large body of men and horses; all the money received from us for the supplies was taken by the Major and that very little was left for them. Whether true or not, their words were significant and showed that our detention was not caused by local authorities and conditions, but was ordered by higher authorities in the Government. At a meeting of all the members of the expedition, we decided to send a new request to the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu and ask them to transmit telegrams by wire from Lhasa to the United States and to Colonel F. M. Bailey, the British Political Officer in Sikkim. The position of the caravan was becoming desperate. Daily a horse or mule was found dying. Packs of hungry dogs infested the neighborhood and large flocks of ravens circled around the camp. The poor caravan animals were given only one pound of grain a day and no grass whatsoever. At night the hungry animals wandered about the camp and we observed a peculiarity of horses and mules. When about to die, the animals would invariably try to enter the tents, as if searching for a more sheltered place. In the morning we often found horses and mules dead and our Mongols, greatly attached to the animals, complained violently against the attitude of the Tibetan authorities.

In the afternoon emissaries from Nag-chu arrived, a headman and an inspector of the relay service along the routes. They brought a letter from the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu, in which the Governors wrote that they were returning our presents for they could do nothing for us so far, and that the whole affair did not concern them, but the Hor High Commissioner. They presented us with one bag of rice and three bags of horse food. The envoys told us that a letter from Lhasa bearing the seal of the Yik-tshang or the Ministry of Court, and addressed to Kusho Kapshöpa passed Nag-chu four days ago. According to the same men, a letter from the High Commissioner was expected to reach Chu-na-khe in four or five days. They also informed us that Dr. Filchner and his party consisting of two missionaries, had left Nag-chu for Ladak, and that they would be traveling by way of Nam-ru and Nag-tshang. While in Tibetan territory, they would be accompanied by Tibetan local officials. The Nag-chu headman said that it was difficult to obtain a sufficient number of pack yaks. We sent a letter to the Joint-Governors with the emissaries, and a wire to be transmitted to Lhasa and then to India.

November 4, 1927. A fine morning with a slight wind from the southwest which brought clouds. In the afternoon there was again snow and mist. The Nag-chu officials refused at first to take our letter and telegram, for they feared to get into trouble for transmitting a message from a foreigner. In Tibet no one dares to transmit a message given by a foreigner unless he is authorized to do so by the Government. Officials who had received a written message from a foreigner would carefully conceal the fact. Others would never accept a letter, and when handed one, would drop it on the floor, to demonstrate their refusal. The ban on foreigners and the necessity of continuous spying upon suspicious individuals or disguised foreigners, made the country folk extremely suspicious. According to the laws of Tibet, every man meeting a foreigner on the territory of Tibet is compelled to report to the nearest governmental official or militia post.

The rate of exchange of Chinese dollars was improving and we received sixteen shos and five karmas, that is, one ngü-sang, six shos and five karmas for one silver dollar. During this season of the year, Mongol pilgrims and Tibetan traders were returning to Sining and Tsaidam and there was a growing demand for Chinese silver currency.

November 5, 1927. Heavy snow fell during the night and in the morning the camp was buried under several feet of snow. The tents had to be excavated as they were covered so completely that several of them looked like snow mounds. Our poor camels were lying outside the camp. Some of the stronger ones rose and tried to shake the snow from their bodies. Many never rose again and froze to death with their long necks stretched out on the ground. It was a pitiful sight and our Mongol cameleers sternly remarked: "Tibet is said to be the country of the Burkhan, and compassion is said to be the chief virtue in the sacred scriptures, but the Tibetan Burkhan has no compassion toward living creatures." According to our cameleers, many of whom were lamas, pilgrims from Tsaidam were not making the dangerous pilgrimage to Tibet, which in most cases completely ruined them. At present most of the pilgrims from Tsaidam and inner Mongolia went to Peking or Wu-t'ai Shan to pray to the Panchen Lama and very few penetrated as far as Lhasa.

Our camp was visited by a Tsaidam Mongol from Mahai who was traveling from Lhasa and carried a letter from the Dalai Lama to the Mongol Prince of Kurluk. The man was traveling with his wife and children and had two camels. He was very eager to buy some of our camels, for his own animals were worn out by the journey from Lhasa. The militiamen objected to his coming into our camp, but we ordered them to keep to their tent. They had no right to stop visitors coming to our camp, for according to the words of the High Commissioner we were guests of the Tibetan Government and not prisoners. Some of our cameleers, who had their own camels, asked for permission to send them back to Tsaidam, but the Major refused, for according to him neither men nor animals were permitted to leave our camp before an answer from the Government had reached the place. Our Mongols insisted on their right to do so and returned to our camp with a complaint against the Major. We at once sent him a letter, asking for an explanation of his action, and requesting him to issue without any further delay the required permit. The stern wording of our letter had the desired effect and our Mongols were permitted to hand over their camels to the man.

The Mongol told us that it was extremely difficult to reach Lhasa at present. Great numbers of troops were stationed along the route and two mountain guns had recently been acquired by the Government. It was the same story which we had already heard from passing caravans. Five large caravans of Mongols were for some unknown reason detained at Nag-chu and the caravan animals had nothing to eat, because of exceptionally heavy snowfalls.

November 6, 1927. Snow continued to fall during the night and the following day. We all had to keep to our tents. Everyone was tired of the terrible frost that was beginning to exhaust our strength. To keep one's self warm inside a tent at such high altitudes was almost beyond possibility. To have fires burning in all the tents was impossible for we received only a very limited supply of argal each day and the quantity was barely sufficient for our kitchen and the kitchen of our Mongols. We had to keep ourselves warm by walking up and down the camp along a footpath specially made for this purpose. After sitting for half an hour in a tent, one had to go out again and walk to get warm, and that continued during the whole day. In order to keep our feet warm, we made extra boots of felt from the camel packsaddles of animals which had died.

The next day one of our Torguts arrived at our camp and reported that the horses and mules were suffering terrible agony. The scant grass on the pasture was covered by several feet of snow and the local guards were unable to clear it away. The fine, big mule from Su-chou and one horse had perished during the night and another mule was left dying. The Major paid us a visit and brought ten small bags of grain for our horses and one bag of tsam-pa for the expedition personnel. These provisions were collected with great difficulty from the local population, which was short of grain and other supplies. We again asked the Major to permit us to sell our animals to traders and pilgrims at Nag-chu but he made the same reply that he had no power to do so without permission from the Government, which had forbidden him to allow us to trade with local people. We were supposed to receive our rations from the Government. The Major told us an amusing story which showed well the mental attitude of the Tibetan authorities. The expedition had brought from Su-chou one rooster and two hens. The fowls were fed on grain, but as we needed all the available grain for our animals, we presented them to the Major. The disappearance of the birds from our camp was quickly noticed and somehow reported to the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu. The Major had addressed a letter to the Joint-Governors saying that according to his observations we were religious people abstaining from killing animals. To this he received the reply, that his statement was not correct as we had apparently eaten the rooster and the two hens, which according to their private information, had disappeared from our camp. The Major was so excited by this false implication that he sent another letter, informing the Joint-Governors that the rooster and hens were given to him and were now in his custody. The wind howled on the passes and half-frozen messengers were forging ahead through the snow, carrying letters about a rooster and two hens that had disappeared from the strangers' camp!

November 7, 1927. A bitterly cold day, the thermometer registering -35°C. A steady southwest wind penetrated the tents and made their interiors icy and unbearable. We were forced to stay outside or in the kitchen tent, warming ourselves at the fire.

The next day was cold and sunny. Again no messenger from Lhasa. It seemed hopeless to wait for an answer from a Government which had decided to starve the whole caravan, men and animals. The local nomads were tired of supplying us with fuel and food. Their encampments were far away and snow made it difficult to bring provisions to Chu-na-khe. The headmen informed us that they intended to wait for an answer five days more, and if none was received they would be obliged to escort us to Byi-ru gompa, where the High Commissioner had his winter quarters.

The cold increased and the thermometer registered -40°C. before sunrise. The doctor notified the Major that several of our men were suffering from bad colds, which could easily develop into pneumonia, if we had to stay longer at these altitudes. Many of us complained of our hearts and were given stimulants. Some of the Mongols had swollen and disfigured faces and limbs, and could hardly move. Our lamas were murmuring prayers and burning incense. Several of them were in a serious condition and succumbed to the hardships. Lhasa was no longer an attraction to them and they spoke of returning to Tsaidam and Kumbum. They remembered old prophecies, in which it was said that with the departure of the Tashi Lama religion would disappear from Tibet and only a shell would remain. Men were becoming irritable, and fights occurred often. This day a soldier came to our camp and gave an order to one of our militiamen, who was slow to execute it and the infuriated soldier seized a huge stone and struck the poor Hor-pa on the head. The man dropped to the ground and the soldier prepared to deliver another blow. Our intervention stopped the fight and the soldier was ordered out of camp. The wounded Hor-pa had to be carried to his tent and treated by our doctor. When the doctor and I entered the tent to apply a bandage to the man's head, the headman in charge of the post exclaimed, "Such is the treatment accorded by the De-wa-shung to their subjects! Sin be on them!"

The soldiers were perpetually drunk and spent the entire day gambling. The uplifting examples of Je-tsün Mila and the fiery striving of the great religious reformers of the eighth to fourteenth centuries were irrevocably forgotten by indolent posterity. Nowadays the most learned lamas of the Tibetan lamaseries all come from Mongolia, Derge, and Kham. The people of Lhasa admit their indolence and this fact has already been noticed by Sir Charles Bell in his recent book. Conversing one day with a learned Tibetan gelong, he said to me: "You wish to find learned monks and true religion. Why go to Lhasa? Lhasa is a mere trading center, where religion became a lucrative trade. Go to the mountains, and in the wilderness you will find lamas learned in the precepts of the Blessed One."

November 9, 1927. Again a cold day, full of eternal expectation of an answer from Lhasa. Tibet is going through the same evolution that brought the end of old China. The antiquated Manchu order became an unnecessary survival. Most of the young generation who have visited India with her modern trends, are already fired with a desire to build their lives on a new basis and bring about great changes in the antiquated order of things.

A caravan of Mongols, servants of the Kurluk Prince, skirted our camp and our Mongols rushed to greet their countrymen. The militia tried to prevent them and feeling ran high. We had to intervene, with the result that the Mongols were permitted to speak to the travelers. They proved to be from Kurluk, with camels belonging to their Prince, and they were going to Lhasa to take back a golden manuscript of the Känjür, ordered several years ago by the Prince. The Dalai Lama maintains a body of lama copyists whose duty it is to copy the sacred scriptures.

The manuscripts of the Känjür written in gold are very expensive and only a few monasteries and rich families of old descent possess gold Känjür sets. The pages of such Känjürs are invariably painted black or very dark blue and consist of several leaves of paper pasted together. The letters are of thick gold, and thieves often steal pages or even whole volumes in order to scratch off the gold. Some of these manuscripts have exceptionally fine wooden covers, carved with figures of Buddhas and other motifs of Tibetan religious ornamentation. These manuscript Känjürs are important for text-critical work, for many of them are dated and show ancient orthographies. The great monasteries of Tashi-lhun-po and Lhasa possess excellent manuscript copies with dates, and finely carved wooden boards that serve as bindings.

Outside Tibet, manuscript Känjür sets are extremely rare. So far as I know, no golden manuscript Tänjür sets exist. The Mongol Prince of Kurluk had ordered a golden manuscript copy of the Känjür from Lhasa and stayed over three years at Lhasa to supervise the work.

We again wrote to the Major protesting against the conduct of the militia and requested a written explanation of the whole case. At first the Major was very reluctant to give out a written statement but finally wrote that the Mongols who passed our camp in the morning were bad people and that we should avoid talking to them. If only the Prince of Kurluk would hear it!

Before sunrise on November 10 the thermometer registered twenty degrees below zero but at noon it showed ten degrees below. The snow was melting and large pools surrounded our tents. The Major paid an unexpected visit and brought the important news that he had received a letter from the High Commissioner of Hor announcing that a letter had been received from Lhasa, saying that the Government had received the High Commissioner's report and was considering our case. It was the first letter from the Government acknowledging the receipt of the report from Chu-na-khe.

November 11 was a cold, windy day with drifting snow. Heavy clouds hovered over the hills heralding a snowfall for the night. The chief headman of the region unexpectedly brought back our letter addressed to His Holiness the Dalai Lama and sent by us on October 28. He told a strange and incredible story—that the letter had been lost by the messenger and that another traveler had picked it up. We requested him to send the letter once more and to punish the previous messenger for carelessness. A messenger with the letter galloped away the same day. A big caravan of Mongols on camels passed northward. Our men had a talk with the caravaneers, who proved to be lamas from Barun and Dzun dzassak in eastern Tsaidam. According to them their caravan had been detained for twenty-one days at Nag-chu. Rumors were current along the Lhasa route, that north of Nag-chu stood a foreign general with a strong cavalry force. In Nag-chu people spoke about a big Noyon or Prince who had come from China.

One of our Mongols in charge of the horses arrived in camp and reported that four more of our animals were dead. We decided to bring the remaining horses and mules to camp and try to sell them to travelers. We were obliged to buy some more felts in order to protect ourselves from the cold of the nights. The cold was so intense that it was utterly impossible to place sentries at night and the protection of the camp was intrusted to the local militia, who stood the weather unusually well. All our Mongols had heart trouble. They resented strongly the inhuman attitude of the Tibetan authorities, and it was becoming difficult to moderate their sentiments. Toward the evening another big camel caravan passed northward, a long string of loaded camels, with men walking ahead of the animals. A miserable cold evening followed the cold day and drifting snow cut our faces, as the wind roared in the mountains.

November 12. Snow fell during the night but the day was warm and windless. A horse, a mule, and two camels died during the night. In order to protect the remaining ones from the cold, we bought some more felts, and covered the shivering animals with them. The horses and mules were walking skeletons with long manes and shaggy, long hair.

November 13. The snowfall brought a change in the weather and temperature. The day was warm and misty and a dense fog hid the surrounding mountains. The Major paid us another visit and we had a long conversation on the situation. He inspected our caravan animals and found them in poor condition, many of them doomed. He realized suddenly the hopeless situation of the caravan and agreed to dispatch another messenger to Nag-chu urging the Joint-Governors to do their best to get an answer from Lhasa quickly. We had had enough of Tibetan hospitality. We remembered having heard a few months ago of a Tibetan caravan detained for several days by order of Chinese authorities. The Tibetans were furious and protested against such detention.

November 14. A cloudy morning with gray clouds drifting from the southwest. In the afternoon an unusually heavy snowfall buried the camp completely and resulted in many deaths among our caravan animals. Our camp was now surrounded by corpses of horses, mules, and camels. Ravens and big packs of dogs were feasting on them. Every morning our men had to drag away the fresh corpse of an animal which had died during the night.

November 15. The heavy snowfall continued during the night and in the morning we could hardly move about the camp. Snow had to be removed from tent entrances to permit the occupants to come out. The camels tied to a picket rope were completely buried under snow and refused to get up. This was a bad sign, and meant that the animals would be dead before long. The hungry mules began to eat each other's felt coverings and tails.

November 16. Professor Roerich fell ill and had to remain in bed. The doctor was also suffering from weakness of the heart. I wrote another letter to the Major informing him that we had decided to go to Nag-chu without delay, for further detention would cause irreparable harm. The Major was now trying to avoid coming to our camp, excusing himself by saying that he was busy with local matters.

Local headmen advised us to send our remaining camels to Tsom-ra, a place in the neighborhood of Nag-chu, where the Kurluk Prince was keeping his camels. According to them the snowfall was not so heavy at Tsom-ra and weathered grass was to be found in sufficient quantity. Two mules and one camel perished during the day.

November 17. In the night another snowfall added to our discomfort and a warm morning melted the snow. The air was damp and large pools of water were rapidly covering the ground in the camp. Professor Roerich was still suffering from a cold and his condition was beginning to cause anxiety. I sent a messenger to the Major eight times, requesting him to come, but he did not come and our servants reported having seen him drunk and unable to talk. Passing travelers reported heavy snowfalls on the Shang-shung Mountains. On the Shang-shung Pass the snow reached almost to the saddle and riders were unable to cross the pass. Local nomads had lost most of their cattle and the few families remaining in the neighborhood were trying to move their encampments farther north.

November 18. A cold and clear day followed dismal days and nights with snowfalls. The thermometer registered 35°C. below zero in the morning and a low temperature prevailed throughout the day. A messenger reached Chu-na-khe with the report that a letter from Lhasa was due to arrive in four days. Professor Roerich was still suffering and the attitude of the Major caused considerable irritation among our camp servants.

November 19. A sunny, bright day. In the early morning one of our best horses died. The poor animal had a long agony and hungry dogs sat round it, waiting for the end. The Mongol who rode the horse was heartbroken and kept the head of the dying animal in his hands until the end came.

In the afternoon, the Major brought back our letters to His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Colonel Bailey, and several telegrams to New York, which were supposed to have been transmitted via Lhasa to India. The Joint-Governors of Nag-chu wrote that they were unable to forward these letters to Lhasa, because of the heavy snowfalls on the Shang-shung Pass. The soldier who had gone to Nag-chu to buy grain for our animals, returned with provisions. He succeeded in buying only two small bags of grain and one bag of bad flour. The poor caravan animals would have to starve. We were short of grain or tsam-pa and had to feed the animals with chura or Tibetan milk cheese and dry tea, which was still to be found among local inhabitants. Most of the camels had left for Tsom-ra and only the two best ones remained with us. In order to keep them well, we were obliged to destroy camel packsaddles and give them the straw in the saddlecloth to eat.

November 20. Cold days with frosty nights, during which the thermometer registered down to 40°C. below zero. The ground was frozen hard and the thawed snow became a thick crust of ice that made walking difficult.

November 22. A windless cold morning was followed by a windy afternoon. The southwest wind usually started after midday and continued to blow until sunset. It was impossible to stay long outside and the interior of the tents was too cold. Our Colonel was suffering from a general breakdown. He remained in his bed and we worried about his condition. The Major paid his daily visit and told me that according to a Tantric Lama who was now staying with him in his camp, a letter from the Government would arrive very soon and that we should not worry. He told me that he remembered having seen Mme David Neel at Jyekundo but professed to have no knowledge about General Pereira, who was there about the same time.

The following day a gale blew from early morning and the thermometer registered -25°C. Nothing was heard about the messenger who was said to be on his way from Lhasa. Some of the militiamen spent the entire day watching the route. Every new arrival from Nag-chu was questioned but all professed utter ignorance of any messenger or letters on the way. Two more horses perished and several others were on the verge of collapsing. The mules wandered about the camp in search of food and devoured anything that was found lying on the ground. One of the muleteers lost his belt, and another had his fur cap eaten. The possibilities of a mule's stomach are truly remarkable.

Toward evening the frost increased in intensity but the wind abated and the night was cold but quiet. I entered the militia tent in the evening and found the men sleeping in a sitting position on the bare ground. It was a miracle that they did not freeze to death in their torn sheepskins.

November 24. The morning was one of the coldest we had experienced, the thermometer registering -45°C. Another horse, the gray ambler of our Tibetan guide, was found dead in the snow. Packs of hungry dogs were beginning to be troublesome and were attacking our men outside the camp. This day they killed three sheep. The militiamen kept them away by throwing stones but without great results for the dogs dispersed only to collect again in another place. At night we could hardly sleep for the continuous howling and barking. The dogs even came into our tents and stole provisions. The local people were of the opinion that the unusual snowfall was a punishment sent to Tibet for the strange behavior of the Government toward us.

November 25. Again a frosty day with a temperature of -25°C. In the morning we held a meeting of all the European members of the expedition and it was decided to try to obtain permission to cross Tibet to India by routes east or west of Shigatse. A man was sent to the Major, who came at once, greatly alarmed at our decision to start southward. After a long conversation, he agreed to communicate our intention to the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu and ask them to hurry matters in Lhasa.

November 26. Once again a bitterly cold day. The temperature dropped to -55°C. and with morning we found the brandy frozen in the flasks. The intense frost played havoc with our instruments and watches, as their springs were unable to stand the cold. To keep ourselves warm by night we had to sleep in heavy fur bags and cover ourselves with extra fur blankets. On awaking in the morning, we usually found the outer blanket frozen hard and forming a kind of dome over the camp bed. It was out of the question to rise before the sun had warmed the air a little. Even then the process of dressing (we took off only our fur coats and fur boots) was a painful operation. Hands and feet became numb and refused to obey. Every morning one would see the straggling figures of our companions walking about their tents in a futile attempt to warm themselves. The high altitude intensified the cold and it was hardly possible to do any kind of work.

Notwithstanding these hardships, our Mongols showed a fine spirit and did not complain. The men had to spend most of the day in a cold tent. To warm themselves they had to walk about camp, and they continuously told their beads. It was pathetic to see these silent figures slowly moving about. Their faces became emaciated, the features sharpened, and the eyes acquired that peculiar look which is common to men who are near death.

As a result of inadequate feeding, a scurvy became almost general among our native followers and at the end of our detention even appeared among the European staff. The Europeans as a whole showed better resistance. Several of the Mongols suffered from weakening of the heart and their hands and feet swelled horribly. They could hardly move and were an endless cause of anxiety.

The Major kept his promise and a messenger rode off to Nag-chu. In order to show the Tibetans that our intention to move was serious, we began to repair saddlery and adjust the loads. The Hor-pas watched all these proceedings with great interest and one could hear remarks: "Of course, they can go to Shigatse. What is the De-wa-shung doing?"

November 27. We spent a quiet day. The everyday program of our occupations was terribly monotonous. We rose early, shortly after sunrise. After breakfast we all worked about the camp, feeding the animals, repairing tents, and writing letters to the different officials. This last occupation was interrupted by the necessity of keeping warm by walking up and down the camp. About midday the Major paid his daily visit and we usually spent several hours in negotiations. In the afternoon, we again walked or wrote in our tents. It was almost impossible to use a typewriter. The fingers froze to it and one had to use gloves. At sunset everybody retired to his tent to spend a long night, sleeping in a fur bag.

In the evening of November 27 an unusual commotion in the Tibetan camp announced the arrival of two messengers from the High Commissioner of Hor. The Major at once sent us a message, saying that he would come early the next day with letters from the High Commissioner.

November 28. The Major came about noon and brought a letter from the High Commissioner. After the usual polite phrases, the High Commissioner excused himself for not having sent our letters to His Holiness the Dalai Lama and to Colonel F. M. Bailey. He returned the two letters. He also informed us that the government answer would come through the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu and that from now on we should apply directly to them. The High Commissioner was evidently trying to escape responsibility and was unable to give us a definite answer from the Government. I am sure that such was the case. The letter was probably couched in such obscure terms, that the High Commissioner was unable to make a clear statement. The Tibetan Government orders are usually written in such a way as to leave the official to whom a letter is addressed in the dark about the real intentions of the Government. Following the advice of the High Commissioner we at once dispatched a messenger to the Joint-Governors with a communication that it was our firm intention to move at once to Nag-chu and to negotiate with them about our further route to India.

Late in the evening the lama Rig-dzin arrived with two of our camels from Tsom-ra and reported that five of our camels were dead and the remaining twelve were unable to move and for several days had been lying on the ground. Thus came the end of our camel caravan. Forty fine camels had perished and only four remained alive. There were at Tsom-ra about a hundred camels belonging to Mongols and most of the animals were in a terrible condition. The snowfall was heavy at Tsom-ra and snow was reported as far south as the Ra-deng Monastery, on the southern side of the Shang-shung. Loaded animals were unable to cross the Shang-shung Pass and only official messengers kept up the communication with Lhasa.

November 29. In the morning we had to record another loss among our caravan animals. One mule was found dead and another was missing. Several of our men went in search of the missing animal and found it dead, buried in snow, at the foot of the hill. The day otherwise passed quietly.

November 30 was cloudy with a strong southwest wind. Toward noon the wind abated and the rest of the day was windless and sunny. Golubin and the lama Khe-dup went to buy some butter and furs from a nomad encampment, some three miles south of our camp. The guards were very uneasy about it and begged us not to go. The local nomads had received strict orders not to sell food supplies and were in great fear of the Major and his soldiery. Golubin and Khe-dup returned toward evening and brought some butter and Tibetan cheese. Golubin reported that the encampments were surrounded by carcasses of dead yaks and sheep and that dogs made the approach to the encampments difficult.

December 1-3. The weather was warmer during these days. No fresh snowfalls were reported on the passes and loaded animals were reported to be able to cross the snowy Shang-shung by a well-trodden snow path. Notwithstanding the welcome news that the road to Lhasa had much improved and that caravans and parties of pilgrims succeeded in crossing the pass to Nag-chu, the government reply did not arrive and there was no likelihood of an answer ever arriving. A government custom official stationed at Chu-na-khe proceeded to Nag-chu to confer with the Joint-Governors about our coming there.

December 4. A sunny day. The southwest wind had carried the snow away from the mountain slopes and the western slopes of the hills were free from snow. On the northern and eastern slopes snow lay deep. It was a Tibetan holiday and the Major and his soldiery were drunk from early morning. A Hor-pa brought for sale a musk pod at the exorbitant price of forty Chinese dollars. The Government forbids hunting and the prices of furs and musk were accordingly very high.

December 7. A soldier arrived from Nag-chu and brought back our letters addressed to the Joint-Governors unopened! The Joint-Governors refused to send the letter addressed to Colonel Bailey and even had the insolence to send back unopened our letter addressed to them. Evidently the Major was right and the Joint-Governors were difficult people. A trader once told us, "The High Commissioner of Hor is a man of noble birth with pleasant manners and speech but the Governors of Nag-chu are self-made men." Their present action, besides being uncivil, was very strange and we wrote a long protest and sent it to the High Commissioner of Hor.

7 декабря. Из Нагчу прибыл солдат и возвратил наши письма, адресованные губернаторам, нераспечатанными! Губернаторы отказались пересылать письмо полковнику Бейли и даже имели наглость вернуть назад адресованное им письмо нераспечатанным. Очевидно, майор был прав, что губернаторы – трудные люди. Один из торговцев говорил, что «верховный комиссар Хора – человек благородного происхождения с приятными манерами и речью, но губернаторы Нагчу-выскочки». Их такое поведение, кроме того, что оно было нецивилизованным, оказалось очень странным, и мы написали по этому поводу длинный протест и послали его верховному комиссару Хора.

December 8, 9, 10, and 11. The messenger carrying our letter to the High Commissioner left early in the morning. The local population condemned the high-handed action of the Joint-Governors. The next few days were spent trying hard to persuade the Major to move the camp to Byi-ru gompa, the winter headquarters of the High Commissioner. He was the first to see us and moreover had given us permission to travel about his territory. We therefore decided to proceed to Byi-ru gompa and await there the government answer.

At high altitudes as has been remarked it is extremely difficult to maintain strict discipline among men. They become irritable and although our men showed an unusual amount of courage and loyalty under the hardships, they began to weaken toward the end of the detention. One day one of the Mongols came to my tent and reported in a low voice, hardly being able to screen his excitement: "Sir, our swords are becoming sharper and sharper by themselves! If you do not take measures, there will be bloodshed!" There is a common belief among Mongols and Tibetans that knives and swords would suddenly become sharper before a battle or quarrel. I understood the danger and went to the servants' tent. The men were sitting around the camp hearth and several were examining the blades of their swords, others were excitedly arguing about something. On inquiry, it proved that two of the men had a dispute several days ago over an extra cup of tea and the dispute remained unsettled. Yesterday the men had found that their swords suddenly became sharper and today this process of self-sharpening continued. The atmosphere was charged with tension and some of the cooler heads decided to report the matter. We were obliged to confiscate all knives and swords and keep them in our tents until the situation quieted down. The last three weeks preceding our release were especially trying because of a hidden unrest among the men and we had to be extremely careful not to provoke a quarrel either among our followers or with the Tibetan sentries.

December 12. The Major came again in the afternoon and we had a long conversation with him. Again the old story, which we had heard every day since the beginning of our detention—"Unable to allow you to proceed further before receiving an answer from the Government." "But if some one of us should die from exposure or should contract a serious illness, who would then be responsible? Does the Tibetan Government think about possible complications?" To all these questions the Major looked sadly at us and said that he would probably be made a scapegoat by his Government; that the Tibetan luk-so or custom was difficult and cruel and that the Tibetans inherited many of their bad qualities from their ancestors, an ogress and an ape. The Tibetans speak easily about their own bad traits and usually find an explanation for such a state of things in the mythological story of the origin of the Tibetan race. The ape and the ogress are to blame for most of their bad qualities. Professor Roerich decided to move our camp to the Bön-po Monastery of Sharugön, a place said to be well sheltered from winds.

December 13. We sent a reconnoitering party to Sharugön Monastery to find a suitable camping place. It was out of the question to stay in the monastery itself, and we chose a level spot on the bank of a small rivulet emptying into the Chu-na-khe River. A high granite spur sheltered the place from the southwest winds and toward the south the narrow mountain glen rose toward a flat pass, across which ran another route to Nag-chu.

December 15. A very cold morning with piercing wind. The river close to our camp unexpectedly swelled under the ice and a large area was flooded. The Major paid us a visit at the unusually early hour of seven o'clock in the morning and informed us that he had decided to visit Nag-chu and to confer with the Joint-Governors. We agreed to his plan and in the meantime decided to move our camp to Sharugön and await there the Major's return. The Major told us that he was undertaking the journey of his own accord and that he had no instructions from the Government to do so.

December 16. There is apparently something going on—something that is kept secret from us. The headman who escorted us from Sheng-di to Chu-na-khe visited our camp and said that he had received instructions to accompany the Major on his trip to Nag-chu. About midday the Major and the local headman and our Tibetan guide from Urga, left the camp for Nag-chu. The rest of the day was spent in adjusting the loads, for the following day we were moving the camp to Sharugön.

December 17. Seventy yaks were needed to transport our camp and baggage to Sharugön. Some of the animals were so wild that they threw off the loads and stampeded toward the hills. Many of the cases were badly damaged. We were unable to transport all the baggage on the same day and Golubin remained behind with two Mongols in order to bring the remaining loads the next day.

The road to Sharugön was free from snow. After a two hours' ride, we reached the monastery. It was out of the question to camp in the courtyard of the monastery or to occupy the two rooms on the second floor of the du-khang or assembly hall, which were cold and damp. We therefore pitched our tents on the spot I had chosen two days before. The new camp was pitched in one line, to avoid congestion and leave a passage free. Close to the camp stood ruins of an old stone hovel, which was formerly the property of a wealthy family of nomads.

The head lama of the monastery paid us a visit and brought some milk as a present. He said that the monks did not object to our stay in the monastery but he strongly objected to the Major taking quarters inside the monastery compound. According to the old man, the Major was a bad man and the gods of the place would probably do him some harm.

December 18. The night was quiet and we were glad to have a good rest in a sheltered place, after the strong winds of Chu-na-khe that made a terrible noise in the tents and prevented sleep. In the afternoon Golubin arrived with the rest of the baggage. He told us an amusing story about a rat which used to live in my tent and was always a source of great discomfort to me. After we had taken down all the tents, Golubin saw the rat rushing about the camp in search of shelter. It soon disappeared, probably having found a hiding place. Great was our surprise, when we found the rat sitting between the saddle and the hump of a camel! The animal was probably in the habit of moving about with Tibetan camps and now joined our caravan.

December 19. A sunny and warm day but before sunrise the morning was bitterly cold. The narrow glen in which our camp was pitched was surrounded on all sides by high mountain ridges and the sun appeared only at about nine o'clock. Before that time the camp was plunged in darkness. The sky immediately above the crest of the ridge would light up with a golden yellow color and a few moments later, the first rays of the sun would illumine the monastery. The conch trumpet would resound in the monastery and the lamas begin their daily occupations. We always eagerly awaited this moment, for it brought warmth and enabled us to begin work about the camp. Before the sun had risen above the ridge, the cold was so intense that it was utterly impossible to do any kind of work. The hands froze to metal objects and even tea could not keep us warm. The extremes of temperature were very marked, about noon we had +20° in the sun and after sunset the temperature dropped to -25° or even -30°.

A soldier came from the monastery and asked our doctor to visit the Major's wife, who for several days past had been suffering from a cold. We found the young woman sitting in a dirty monastery cell, damp and cold, with an open window and door. The doctor found pneumonia. The woman was doomed and the only thing that could save her was to bring her down to lower altitudes and to better surroundings. At an altitude of almost 16,000 feet pneumonia was deadly and no cure was possible. Our doctor gave her some medicine to help her a little but there was no chance for recovery.

During our stay at Sharugön, I arranged with the head lama of the monastery to examine the Bön-po Känjür and Tänjür, found in the monastery library.

A wealthy Bön-po lama who lived higher up in the glen, visited our camp and was very anxious to trade with us. We therefore sent Golubin to his camp and he brought back several dried carcasses of sheep, butter and what was more important, some fresh milk.

December 20. Quite unexpectedly our Tibetan and the custom official from Nag-chu came back to us. They transmitted an invitation from the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu to visit them. The permission was granted to Professor Roerich, Mrs. Roerich and myself. The rest of the expedition would have to await the results of our negotiations. We answered that the expedition could not be divided and that we could only proceed to Nag-chu together with the rest of the European members of the expedition. A letter was therefore sent to the Joint-Governors stating our attitude.

December 21. A warm night was followed by a windy day with light snow. The doctor paid another visit to the Major's wife, who was getting worse and suffered from congestion of the lungs.

Our Tibetan guide transmitted to us the message from the Joint-Governors, in which they expressed their desire to help us on our way to India. They were much surprised by the absence of any answer from Lhasa. News had been received at Nag-chu that the Filchner Expedition had been blocked in snows, somewhere on its way to Nam-ru or Nag-tshang.

December 22. A soldier arrived from Byi-ru gompa and brought back all our letters and telegrams addressed to Colonel F. M. Bailey and cables to New York. The High Commissioner made the same excuse, that the road to Lhasa was blocked by snow and that messengers were unable to cross the mountain passes. The High Commissioner, hearing of our difficult situation, was sending us two bags of flour, four bags of tsam-pa and ten small bags of grain for our animals. The soldier told us that no letters from the Government had been received at Byi-ru gompa and that the official felt great uneasiness about our case.

December 25, 26. The past three nights were exceptionally cold and the temperature dropped to -35°. The days were windy, and drifting snow forced us to keep to the tents. In the afternoon of December 26 the Major came back unexpectedly to Sharugön and sent a messenger to our camp saying that he would like to have a long conversation tomorrow.

December 27. Again an intense cold during the night. The day was clear but frosty and it was impossible to keep one's self warm. We lost two more horses. One of them was probably poisoned by Tibetan cheese of inferior quality.

The Major visited the camp in the afternoon and informed us that the Joint-Governors were unable to permit the whole expedition to visit Nag-chu and they had decided to come and see us at Sharugön. A fresh letter had been sent to Lhasa with an urgent request to grant a decision. According to the Major the situation in Nag-chu was very difficult. The population of the district was suffering from famine and most of the cattle had perished. A small bag of flour (about twenty pounds) was sold for twenty ngü-sangs. A log of firewood cost one ngü-sang.

December 28. A cold and cloudy day. In the early morning Golubin went to buy some mutton and grain for the horses. He soon returned with one bag of grain and three sheep, which he succeeded in buying with great difficulty. The local Hor-pas had told him that the Major again forbade all trade with us. In the afternoon the situation became still more difficult and all the local headmen came to our camp and informed us that they were no longer able to supply us with grain and tsam-pa. From now on, we had to face famine, or try to persuade the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu to permit us to move to Nag-chu. I answered that it was their business to supply us with a sufficient amount of grain and that in case they were unable to do so they should apply to the Government for orders. We were anxious to go south and would gladly force our way through but in that case the local headmen would be held responsible. These words had their effect and the headmen finally agreed to continue to supply us with grain and tsam-pa. They asked, however, that we insist upon the Joint-Governors giving us permission to travel southward.

December 29. Our doctor paid another visit to the Major's wife. She was beyond hope of recovery. The headmen of the Hor-pas for some reason refused again to furnish us with sufficient supplies. Sentries were posted at all the neighboring encampments to prevent the inhabitants from selling supplies to us. We sent out a reconnoitering party, which was armed as a precautionary measure, to investigate the situation and try to obtain necessities. Every time our party rode up to an encampment, the sentry would run away and leave the passage free. This made it clear that the local population was only outwardly following the orders of the headmen. I had a sharp conversation with the Major's soldiery and the local headmen. We sent a letter to the High Commissioner stating that his orders were disobeyed and that the population was in open revolt against the Major and his soldiers. After a heated discussion, the headmen agreed to continue to supply us with foodstuffs and permit the local population to trade with us. The Major also promised to settle the situation.

December 31. In the early morning we sent out another armed party to find out whether yesterday's conversations had had any results. We found the local population eager to trade and were able to buy meat and butter. A local headman came to apologize and informed us that the ban on trade was removed by the Major. Today was the eighty-seventh day of our enforced detention and the last day of a difficult year.

January 1, 3, 1928. Rumors were current that the Joint-Governors were en route for Sharugön and that horses were ordered to await their arrival at relay stations between Chu-na-khe and Nag-chu. It was unprecedented that the Joint-Governors were leaving Nag-chu to negotiate with foreigners and it was impossible to say what made them come.

The Major's wife was in a critical condition but obstinately refused to follow the instructions of the doctor.

The Major and his soldiery were rapidly losing control over the local nomads and we noticed many armed tribesmen in the vicinity of the monastery. The local population was apparently tired of the necessity of supplying us with food and attending the Major and his soldiers who were receiving all the supplies free of charge.