Sharugön, January 4, 1928. A cold night, the thermometer at -30° C. Toward morning the cold became still more intense, and we shivered under the canvas of our summer tents. At about half-past seven the sun appeared from behind the mountain opposite our camp and relieved us a little. The day promised to be sunny. We took our usual walk in the morning along the bank of the frozen river and noticed lammergeyers sitting on the rocks about the monastery, as if expecting some prey and indeed, toward evening one of the local guardsmen brought the news that the Major's wife had died that morning. "Sir," he said, "the Major has been oppressing the poor people of the place and did much harm to Your Honor and therefore the protecting gods of the monastery punished him." Several days before I had told the Major that pneumonia could not be cured at such an altitude and in such dreadful conditions.

Rumors were current that the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu on arrival at Tsom-ra had again returned to Nag-chu. A local headman, a short man with a sly face and quiet manners, came to see me in my tent and repeated the usual local grievances. He told me that the region had been taken over by the Government of Lhasa some twelve years ago. "Under Chinese rule we lived much more happily," said the headman, "but now are suffering from heavy taxes levied by the Tibetans, who reduced our people to utter poverty. Do not believe the Tibetans. Since the time we became Tibetan mi-ser (peasants or subjects) four chyi-chyab or High Commissioners changed, but we did not see any justice from them." Our conversation was interrupted by a soldier from the Major who came to tell us that the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu were due to arrive the next day.

Everybody rejoiced, seeing in this the probable end of our detention. The local people were particularly pleased as they were tired of serving us and the Major and his soldiers. In the evening, when the moon rose above the rocks, the new guards sang the Kesar saga and accompanied their song by a weird dance. "Today Kesar's horse arrived, today the sun will rise, on the glacier the lion will walk about," sang the Hor-pas, – a passage from the song about the war of Kesar against the King of Hor. Their shrill voices rose high in the solitude of the night. In singing the Kesar song they wished us good luck on our way to far distant India. Their song was abruptly stopped by a Kham-pa. "Do not sing so loudly," said the man, "otherwise the Tibetans in the monastery will hear you and will be angry with you." The song stopped abruptly and the audience dispersed, each going to his tent. We stayed outside for some time, speaking of the strange fascination that the Kesar saga has on these simple-minded nomads. We slept little that night. The Major ordered the camp for the Governors to be erected during the night, and there was a continuous going and coming the whole night. Next morning at about ten o'clock two Tibetans arrived: the do-nyer, or representative, accompanied by the cook of the Governor. They were dressed in the usual Tibetan style, with enormous fur caps, and carried ga-u or incantation boxes. They had Russian rifles adorned by khatags and multicolored flags.

About noon a general commotion announced the arrival of the Joint-Governors, who proceeded at once to their tents. An hour later the Governors sent a message, informing us of their visit. We all assembled in the dining tent. The Governors came in procession, followed by a number of retainers, who carried presents for us—two bags of barley for one hundred animals, tsam-pa and tea of very inferior quality! The Nag-chu khan-po was a middle-sized man of about sixty, dressed in the usual red and purple lama dress. He was considered a very able diplomat in Tibet, and was known under the name of Gomang garpön. In his youth he entered the Gomang da-tshang of the Dre-pung Monastery, but left the monastery for China, where he led an errant life, visiting different parts of China, Mongolia, and even Siberia. Afterward he spent five years in government service in Peking, where he met Rockhill, and seven years as Tibetan trade agent at Sining in the Kansu Province. He possessed a very fluent knowledge of Chinese and some knowledge of Mongolian. He was a square-jawed gentleman, and had the reputation of being extremely arrogant and difficult to deal with. He wore black Chinese spectacles, trying apparently to intimidate us by his ferocious appearance.

According to his own words, he had been living in retirement for several years at Lhasa, when the most lofty Government of the Holy Protector, fearing a Chinese advance from Kansu, appointed him, the faithful servant and diplomat of the Government, possessing detailed knowledge of "eight great countries," to the Governorship of Nag-chu-ka. Notwithstanding his being married, the Dalai Lama himself conferred upon him the rank of tse-drung, given usually only to celibate monks.

His colleague, the Civil Governor or nang-so, was no less distinguished in the government service. He was an elderly gentleman, wrinkled in the service of his Government. He appeared before us attired in a dress of Chinese yellow brocade, and a Manchu hat. His name was Gong-kar, and his son had studied military science in India with a Gurkha battalion. The Governor spent most of his life in different dzong-khas or provincial districts in Tibet. When Tibet was fighting the Chinese, he mobilized troops in Nam-ru. In 1918 he was attached to the Teichman Mission in Kham, and saw some service under the Kalön Lama, the Tibetan Commander in Chief during the Sino-Tibetan war of 1917-18. Before his coming to Nag-chu, he had been dzong-pön or governor in Kong-po, where he had met Colonel Bailey and Captain Morshead. From this list of their distinctions we could be sure that we had to do with experienced diplomats, fully trusted by their Government.

On learning of the objects of the expedition, the khan-po exclaimed that he was very pleased to hear all this, but since Tibet is a religious country, unconcerned with affairs of the outside world, the Government of the country does not permit foreigners to visit Tibet proper. We pointed out to him that they had admitted foreigners in 1904 and that there was a British detachment stationed at Gyangste. The Governor only smiled and assured us that all British subjects had been driven away from Gyangste, and that he never heard of British troops in that place. We asked him for permission to send a wire from Lhasa to Sikkim, but the Governor insisted that there was no wire communication between Lhasa and India. "When Minister Bell negotiated the treaty, there was a need of telegraphic communication, but now since the treaty has been concluded, the telegraphic line has been broken down. The British did not keep their promises and did not teach the Tibetans how to make gunpowder."

The Governor further informed us that his government does not permit British, Russian, Chinese, and Japanese subjects to enter Tibet proper, that is the Ü and Tsang Provinces, and although there is no such provision against Americans in existing treaties, to which Tibet was a signatory power, they could not allow us to proceed because the British, Russians, and Japanese would take advantage of this precedent and penetrate into the country. The Joint-Governors told us that the usual way of dealing with foreign subjects arriving at the Nag-chu border was to send them back either to Sining or to Ladak, but in our case the authorities were ready to consider our demand to let us cross Tibet to India. The khan-po added that according to instructions received from Lhasa, he and his colleague would give us caravan animals to replace ours, and supplies as far as the frontier of India.

In replying we informed the Joint-Governors, that treaty provisions could not be applied to us in any case, as we were no intruders and were in possession of an official passport delivered to us by the Tibetan representative in Mongolia. We insisted that we be allowed to visit Gyangste, in order to confer with the British Trade Agent stationed there, and mentioned that many foreign subjects had lately visited the Tibetan capital, especially General Pereira, who crossed Tibet in 1922 to India. The Joint-Governors declared all this to be lies, for according to them no such person as General Pereira ever existed! They again and again referred to the general rule, that foreigners were not allowed to enter inner Tibet (Pö-nang) but were free to travel in outer Tibet (Pö-chyi) comprising all the provinces east of Chamdo, and the Province of Thö-nga-ri kor-sum in the west. We continued to insist that we be allowed to cross to India by the shortest route, if necessary avoiding Lhasa, Shigatse and Gyangste. The Tibetans asked us to show them our proposed route on the map. We proposed the route across the Dam La Pass, which crosses the territory of inner Tibet between Lhasa and Shigatse, and then joins the Treaty Trade Route Lhasa-India at Phari dzong.

This route had the great advantage of being much shorter than any of the circuit routes, only some twenty days by pack to Phari dzong and it crossed rural districts of Tibet, where supplies could be easily obtained. We again reminded the Joint-Governors that we were no intruders, and possessed passports granted by the Tibetan representative in Mongolia. "Why do you pay so much attention to a piece of writing given by this miserable beggar?" exclaimed the khan-po. He was losing his temper and the servants standing by impudently laughed into the sleeves of their fur coats. We continued to insist on our point and advised the khan-po that if the Tibetan Government did not recognize its official representative in Urga, it should immediately notify the Chinese and Mongolian Governments of the fact. The Governors rose in tumult and declared that they had to go and draft a new letter to Lhasa about us. We accompanied the Governors outside the tent, and they at once retired to their camp. Clouds gathered toward evening, indicating a probable change in atmospheric conditions.

Snow fell during the night and a strong southwest wind violently shook our tents. The day was miserable and the gale continued till about midnight. The Governors came again to see us. We could not be allowed to proceed by the Dam La past Gyangste, but their government was ready to arrange for our passage to Sikkim via Nam-ru, Nag-tshang and Saga dzong. The whole journey would take only one month, for Saga dzong is only six days from the Sikkim frontier! Poor Governors, did they try to deceive us, or was their knowledge of their own country so deficient? Nothing was to be done and we had to agree but asked that we should be allowed to cross the Trans-Himalayas into the Tsang Province south of Nag-tshang. The Joint-Governors promised to transmit our request to the Government. The khan-po asked us to come and visit him, as he would like to have the list of supplies required by the expedition on its way to India. Three men would start at once for Lhasa to buy them.

At five o'clock in the afternoon we paid a return visit to the khan-po. The Governor had his temporary headquarters in an ordinary ba-nag or black nomad tent. We found him squatting on a low seat near the fireplace. The tent pole in front of him was literally covered with firearms—several Russian cavalry rifles and German Mauser automatic pistols, rendered harmless by excessive silver ornamentation. We again tried to persuade the Governor to send our wires to Lhasa for further transmission to New York and to Colonel Bailey, British Political Officer in Sikkim. The Governor again refused to send the wires as the line between Lhasa and Gyangste had recently been damaged and all British troops withdrawn from Gyangste and Chumbi Valley, which was now under full Tibetan control. We told the Governor that we were rather surprised at this change in the attitude of the Tibetan Government toward the British and asked him to explain the situation. The answer was quite unexpected. The Governor accused the British of introducing Bolshevism into the Tibetan army!

Having settled the question of supplies, we returned to camp. The wind was howling, driving sand and wet snow into our faces. Next morning the Governors left for Nag-chu and we began our preparations for departure. We were now allowed to proceed to Nag-chu and the local headmen left Sharugön to collect yaks and horses for us.

On January 11, the funeral of the Major's wife took place. It was somewhat delayed as the Gelük-pa lama who was to perform the ceremonies had to travel from afar. The road was blocked by snows and he lost several horses on the way. The body of the deceased was carried to the top of a nearby mountain and there fed to vultures. Birds of prey followed the procession from the monastery. Some of the soldiers accompanied the body to participate in the pious and gruesome work of cutting it to pieces. Tibetans believe that one who rolls himself on the bloodstained place where bodies are cut, gains longevity. The present Dalai Lama is credited with having performed this useful ceremony on a rock near the Pa-bön lha hermitage, some two miles northwest of the Sera Monastery. The rock is said to have miraculously flown from India.

Mr. Portniagin and our Tibetan guide were suffering from scurvy. New arrivals from Nag-chu reported that famine was spreading in the district—a small bag (about twenty pounds) of tsam-pa cost twenty-five ngü-sangs! The unusual snowfall on the Nyen-chen Thang La caused great hardships in the district. People were unanimous in saying that since the departure of the Panchen Lama, terrible snowfalls occurred every year, ruining the population.

For the past few years the climate of the Tibetan uplands has been changing rapidly, the region receiving more precipitation. There are heavy snows in winter and heavy downpours of rain in July and August. I remember having seen pools of rain water on the sandy surface near the Kokoshili Mountains, caused by recent rains. This year the snowfalls began about the middle of November. The local nomads decamped in search of grazing grounds for their cattle and went far to the north of the Thang La Range. Those who were unable to move in time lost most of their cattle and were wandering in the district in search of sustenance. The Government was trying to help them and daily distributions of tsam-pa were held at Nag-chu. Local Hor-pas said that it would be impossible to use yaks on the long journey, as the animals were extremely weak. For the past ten days we had been trying to buy a yak, in order to get some meat for the journey, but the local population was unable to satisfy us, because no yaks were left in the region. Pack yaks for the expedition had to be brought from beyond the Thang La, almost eight days' journey from Sharugön.

Portniagin was still suffering and the Colonel again fell ill. It looked as if we would be unable to make a long and difficult journey and would have to fight our way to India by the shortest route. After the departure of the Joint-Governors, we were busily occupied packing our yaghtans, repairing saddlery and patching the tents. On January 18, some of the yaks from the Pädro nomads reached Sharugön. For one hundred pack yaks needed by the expedition up to Nag-chu, we would have to pay two hundred ngü-sangs. The price of a horse was twenty-five ngü-sangs, as there were no horses left in the region. We decided to go on our own horses, sixteen of which were still in condition to be ridden. The Major, greatly afflicted by the death of his wife, took no interest in the proceedings. The day was occupied with the almost hopeless task of extracting the iron pegs of the tents. The pegs were frozen hard into the ground and we had to thaw the ground with fire.

On January 19, everyone rose very early. The day promised to be fine. Having distributed the baggage among the different headmen who supplied yaks for the caravan, we started. Thus ended a four months' stay in the land of Hor. The Colonel was still very weak and asked us to leave him behind at Sharugön to await his end, but we persuaded him to mount his horse and to try to follow the caravan.

The lamas of the monastery and the assembled headmen said farewell to us at the gates of the monastery. At ten o'clock we reached Chu-na-khe and passed the site of our former camp. A piercing southwest wind was blowing in our faces, making progress very difficult. We now learned the sad news that one of our lama companions had suddenly died when about to mount his yak. He suffered greatly during the detention and the continuous worry had weakened his heart.

We stopped north of the Ta-sang La near a frozen brook. Having pitched our tents, we noticed two camps of Goloks in the neighborhood. They proved to be pilgrims going to Lhasa. We took precautions, but the night passed quietly, the Goloks being apparently in a peaceful mood.

Next day we had to fight our way through the snows that blocked the Ta-sang La. The ascent was not steep but long and it took us four hours to get to the top of the pass. Heavy clouds covered the sky. Yaks had a bad time on the pass and many stuck in the snow, unable to move, and had to be dragged out by their lakto or drivers—a tiresome job at these altitudes. The horses stumbled knee-deep in snow. We passed a Golok lama on the top of the pass. The poor fellow was struggling in the snows, his horse having fallen while ascending the pass. Several tea caravans from Sining were stranded on the pass, unable to proceed farther, all their caravan animals having perished.

The descent was abrupt in some places. A narrow valley inhabited by Hor-pas of the Pädro tribe, stretched from northwest to southeast. Toward Nag-chu were endless chains of snow-covered mountains. The valley into which we descended was covered by camps of Amdo lamas, going to Lhasa on pilgrimage. It took them eighty days to cover the distance from Kumbum to Nag-chu-ka. We proceeded a little farther trying to find a suitable camping place, but as it was getting late, we had to pitch our camp on the slope of a hill overlooking the southwestern part of the valley, where there was neither water nor grass for the animals. The snow lay two feet deep, and no fuel was to be found. After some difficulty we managed to get some argal from the valley.

Next day we passed Tsom-ra, where the Filchner Expedition had been detained. The whole country was buried under snow and no cattle were to be seen. The Golok caravan was following us. Some of them paid us a visit—strong, tall fellows with rude features. The headman of Pädro, who accompanied us to Nag-chu, was nervous about their coming to the camp and told the Goloks that they should be very careful, as I was a big Lhasan official accompanying the American Mission. My knowledge of Tibetan, and the enormous fur cap, helped to keep up the unexpected disguise. The Goloks presented me with a khatag and retired from our camp. There was a certain uneasiness about the Goloks. They and our local guardsmen shouted to each other the whole night. "Ki-hu-hu" the cry of the Goloks resounded in the frosty air of the night, and "ha-ha-ha-ha," the drawling cry of our Hor-pas. This diabolic concert of mutual trust continued until daybreak.

In the night we experienced unusual cold. The thermometer fell to -50°C.! Some of us got quite frozen.

On the next day, we passed several nomad encampments surrounded by corpses of fallen yaks and horses. At some of the tents we counted forty dead yaks! The famine and snowfall had made awful ravages in the region. Crossing a small pass, we reached a broad valley to the south of which we caught the first glimpses of the glittering peaks of the Shang-shung Range.

After following the valley for some time we crossed a ridge and stopped on the bank of the Nag River. The snow covered the ground some five feet deep and we spent several hours clearing the place for our tents. The guide told us that we could reach Nag-chu the same day, but it was advisable to stop here, as the animals were very tired and we had already left several yaks behind.

In the night, we again experienced intense cold but as the march was to be short, we stayed in our tents until ten o'clock in the morning and started when the sun had sufficiently warmed the atmosphere. Even the cognac in the doctor's flask was frozen.

Rounding a rocky spur, we saw the town of Nag-chu at the other end of the valley. Its monastery, a towering dark mass, was clearly visible in the violet mist of the winter morning. After an hour's march, we reached the place. The do-nyers of the dzong were waiting outside the town and ushered us to a half-ruined structure, the best and most spacious in Nag-chu, excepting the monastery and the Governor's house. The house had six damp rooms. The windows had Chinese paper spanned on the frames and the walls were covered with cheap, red cloth. The ceiling was thickly covered with tar that continuously dripped, leaving dark stains on our clothes and belongings. The Colonel was so disgusted with the new quarters that he preferred to stay in his tent, which was pitched in the courtyard. There were no stoves in the rooms, but we were promised some in a few days. We hoisted the American flag on the gate, and crowds gathered every evening to see the flag lowered for the night.

The district of Nag-chu or Nag-chu-ka, named after the river Nag, which flows out of the Amdo tsho-nak Lake some fifty miles northwest, is a vast stretch of land with an average elevation of fifteen thousand feet, stretching north of the Shang-shung Pass in the Nyen-chen Thang La Range. To the west the district borders upon a narrow patch of country called Chö-khor, which is the property of the Sera Monastery in Lhasa. On the southwest it borders on the district of Dam which belongs to the Tsang Province. Toward the northwest it stretches far into the region of Amdo tsho-nak, and borders on Nam-ru. To the north the district stretches as far as the Ta-sang Pass, then comes a narrow strip of country from the Ta-sang Pass to the Kam-rong Pass (the high elevated valley of Chu-na-khe and the surrounding hills), which is administered by the High Commissioner of Hor. The Sheng-di Valley, north of the Kam-rong Pass, and the country north of Sheng-di, as far as the river Chu-mar or Napchitu ulan-müren on the Tibetan upland is again a part of the Nag-chu district. Such districts, in which one part is separated from another by strips of land belonging to a third district, are a characteristic feature of Tibetan local administration and one of the greatest handicaps to travelers who have to change their transport on the way.

The Nag-chu dzong is situated some one hundred and fifty miles north of Lhasa on the river Nag in a broad valley surrounded by low hills. Yak caravans reach Lhasa in fourteen days and mounted messengers cover the distance in four or five days. In winter, when the passes are covered with snow, eight days are required. The whole of the district is controlled by the Dre-pung Monastery of Lhasa, and is governed by a lama official with the rank of a tse-drung, who is always a nominee of the monastery. The lama official is titled khan-po, and is considered the nominal abbot of the Shab-den Monastery at Nag-chu. The Government appoints a civil official or nang-so, who looks after the interests of the Government and helps the lama official administer the district. The place itself is a motley collection of about eighty houses of the usual Sino-Tibetan architecture. The French Lazarist fathers, M. Huc and M. Gabet, who visited the place in 1845, gave an accurate description of it. It has changed little since that time. In the center is situated the Shab-den Monastery having nominally three thousand inmates; actually only one hundred and eighty reside there. This is the usual story with Tibetan monasteries—each one has a register in which the names of all the monks are recorded, but the number of lamas registered never corresponds to the actual number of resident monks. The monastery consists of a prayer hall or du-khang, on the second floor of which are rooms reserved for the private use of His Holiness the Dalai Lama and His Holiness the Tashi Lama, a temple (lha-khang) with a big statue of Maitreya Buddha, the two-storied house of the Head Lama of the monastery and several other houses round the principal courtyard, containing accommodations for the lamas. Outside there is a temple consecrated to the Religious Protector of the district. The lama official or Nag-chu khan-po lives in the monastery, occupying a two-storied yellow building with a small courtyard in front of it where criminals are usually executed. To the northwest of the monastery on the other bank of the Nag River is a small nunnery and several other houses which are said to be hermitages belonging to the Shab-den Monastery. There are several shops in Nag-chu owned by Lhasan merchants, which trade in cheap English, German, and Japanese goods. The merchants get local products in exchange, mostly wool, which is afterward sent to Lhasa and farther to Chumbi and India.

Nag-chu is the first big settlement on the great northern highway, and journey-stained travelers from the north, Mongols, Amdo-was, Goloks, and Panags from the Koko-nor usually crowd the shops on arrival. During our stay there were very few arrivals from Sining and the Golok territory, and almost none from Mongolia and distant Siberia, and the trade in Nag-chu suffered badly. The snows had blocked the passes to Lhasa and stopped all caravan communication with the capital. The prices were unusually high and the nomad population, impoverished by the loss of cattle and general famine, was unable to keep up trade.

We were told that the unusual snowfall on the Shang-shung Pass and the highlands round Nag-chu-ka had upset all trade, and that most of the customs officials and big merchants had left for Lhasa. It is true that during January and February, we saw no caravans coming to Nag-chu, except some tea caravans encamped north of the Ta-sang Pass and unable to proceed farther to Nag-chu, having lost most of their pack animals. Only in March when the snows on the Shang-shung Pass had sufficiently melted, did we see caravans of yaks with barley and tsam-pa come from Lhasa. A caravan with food supplies for the expedition sent from Lhasa crossed the Shang-shung Pass only with the greatest difficulty, losing many of its animals and covering a two days' distance in six days!

The trade in Nag-chu usually consists of brick tea brought in from Tachienlu through Bathang and Chamdo and from Sung-pan t'ing and Sining in Kansu. Chinese silks, Mongol felts and "bulgar" boots are highly valued. The Tibetans offer furs of rather inferior quality, wool, and cheap European goods brought via India. The amount of local productions, such as puru, sold on the market is insignificant. In recent years a European firm from Tientsin sent an agent to Nag-chu to study the Tibetan fur market, but the results of the inquiry were disappointing. Since a recent edict of His Holiness the Dalai Lama, no hunting is allowed in the district, and the number of furs offered is small. One would expect the big game to increase in number since the issue of the edict, but in reality it is rapidly diminishing south of Thang La.

Nag-chu is situated at the crossing of several big caravan routes. The first is the great northern route, Mongolia-Tsaidam-Lhasa; the second, China-Sining-Nag-chu-Lhasa; the third, Sung-pan t'ing-Jyekundo-Nag-chu-Lhasa; the fourth, Tachienlu-Chamdo-Nag-chu-Lhasa; the fifth, Ladak-Nga-ri-Nag-tshang-Nam-ru-Nag-chu-Lhasa. Nag-chu is considered to be one of the most important custom outposts in Tibet, and all caravans coming from the north and northeast are stopped, pending a favorable reply from Lhasa.

For the past three years, the Tibetan Government, apprehending an advance by the Chinese from the Kansu border, established several outposts along the northern route. Travelers are now detained for a few days at Sheng-di, south of the Thang La. The Tibetan outposts pushed even farther north, at present occupying the line along the southern bank of the Chumar River. In 1926 Tibetan soldiers were reported at Neiji, south of Tsaidam, but were soon recalled.

These frontier guards consist of local militia or sa-srung mag-mi with no uniforms to distinguish them from the local population. The militia is mobilized from the nomads of Nag-chu-ka, and outposts are changed twice or three times a year. An outpost usually consists of five or ten men under a chu-pön or corporal. They are armed with matchlocks, the usual Tibetan swords and spears. Some carry Russian service rifles and we have been surprised to see in their possession some Russian infantry rifles, made by the Remington Armory in the United States at the close of the Great War. Certainly these outposts are no military protection for the country, and the Government of Tibet is well aware of it. The district of Nag-chu is supposed to mobilize one thousand mounted militia under a tong-pön, and yearly meetings are held at Nag-chu in August, at which the Governors, with no knowledge whatever of modern warfare, inspect the prowess and efficiency of their troops. At this meeting the militia is supposed to show its efficiency in firing a rifle on foot and in galloping a horse, the last maneuver usually ending in the rider being thrown from his horse. The timid Hor-pas are considered to be the fiercest soldiers in Tibet, but one can be quite certain that all these braves in case of serious fighting will make a desperate rush for home. The tightening of customs formalities, and the virtual closing of the northern frontier, resulting from the present policy of complete isolation, will be a heavy blow to Nag-chu and its trade.

The Tibetans greatly pride themselves on Nag-chu and in official correspondence the place bears the grand name of "the lofty snow-palace of Nag-chu" although there is no building there or in the neighborhood that could be called a palace. The Governor's residence is certainly not palatial!

The sanitary conditions of the place are awful. One sees everywhere carcasses of dead horses and yaks. Heaps of refuse, and hundreds of vagabond dogs are among the adornments of the town. Happily the river was still frozen and we thanked the fate that made us visit Nag-chu in winter. The smells of the place in summer must be very trying. Conversing with one of the custom officials of the dzong, I mentioned the dirt that permeates the place. "What would you say of Lhasa," exclaimed the man. "Here in Nag-chu we have a pure stream flowing from the Amdo tsho-nak, but in Lhasa you have to drink water from a river, which receives enormous quantities of refuse every day. Thanks only to the protection of the Exalted One, the city is seldom attacked by diseases."

We tried to arrange more comfortably the house in which we had to stay awaiting a final reply from Lhasa. In some of the stores we succeeded in finding iron stoves from India, but the price was exorbitant—seventy dollars for one stove!

The health of our Colonel was not improving and he did not leave his tent. There was nothing to break the monotony of bleak winter days. In the mornings bitter frost, in the afternoons strong southwest winds, driving clouds of dust over the town. Arrivals were few, as it took fourteen days for a rider to reach Lhasa. Some of us were compiling diaries, others tried to warm themselves by walking up and down the courtyard.

The Joint-Governors were drafting a fresh report to the Government, and on several occasions asked Professor Roerich and me to come to see them. They took great pains to impress upon us that the expedition had been detained by the High Commissioner of Hor and that the Government or De-wa-shung of Tibet never gave orders to detain us. According to Tibetan laws, no military official (drag-pöi pön-po) is allowed to negotiate with foreigners, this being the duty of the civil authorities (shi-wai pön-po). We pointed out to the Governors that according to our custom, the Government is held responsible for the actions of its officials, and as, according to their words, the Government of Tibet did not issue orders to detain us, we considered ourselves free to proceed southward, and asked the Joint-Governors to supply us with transport to replace our dead caravan animals. This statement greatly confused the Governors. One of them even left the room, probably to regain his countenance.

On the fourth day of our arrival at Nag-chu, I paid a visit to the Civil Governor or nang-so. The old squire lived in an ordinary Tibetan house with two courtyards, his quarters being much inferior to those of his colleague. He told me that he expected an answer from the Government soon, for he "always got favorable answers from Lhasa." The Governor told me most amusing stories of his war experiences in Kham under the Kalön Lama. He complained that European maps of Tibet were very deficient and that the Tibetan Staff had a very hard time planning their campaign. I asked him what kind of maps they used and imagine my stupefaction when the Governor told me that they used a general map of the world and a globe! I tried to explain to him that these maps were quite useless for military purposes and that it is no wonder that they could not recognize the region of their operations on these maps, their scale being too small. The Civil Governor continued to insist that the globe was a very useful thing, as it represented the whole of Jambuling. He also told me that Eric Treichman, British Consular Officer at Tachienlu, carried two small artillery guns in his saddle-bags when traveling in Kham!

According to the Governor, all Europeans had a pernicious custom of taking notes while riding horseback and in this way they got all sorts of useful information about the country.

The days were becoming somewhat warmer, although the nights were still very cold. We often had a temperature up to +32°C. in the sun on midday and -20°C. at night. The snow on the Shang-shung Pass was beginning to melt and a few traders succeeded in reaching Nag-chu. They reported that many caravans were waiting for passage at Pondu dzong on the southern side of the pass. We asked the khan-po for permission to visit the Shab-den Monastery, a brief description of which was given above. The Governor told us that he would have to consider our request, for the monks in Tibet were unruly and could easily do some harm to foreigners. The permission was granted, however, in a few days, and accompanied by do-nyers from the dzong, we paid a visit to the Monastery. The lamas proved to be peaceful and we gave some presents to them.

The next day, the Governor informed me that I should have to come to see him, and that the Civil Governor and the Major would also be present, as some important questions were to be discussed. A letter had been received from Lhasa and the Governor read extracts from it. The Government was in receipt of the Joint-Governors' report drafted in Sharugön and desired to have more details about our proposed trip. The Government professed to have no knowledge whatever of our detention and desired to inform us that the letter addressed by the High Commissioner of Hor was lost on the way and that the soldier who carried the letter never reached Lhasa. I asked the Major whether the soldier returned to the High Commissioner, but he professed to know nothing about it and apparently found nothing wrong in the fact that official messengers from his superior officer had been intercepted somewhere on the way. The Joint-Governors decided to send a new letter about us, giving all necessary details, and the Civil Governor at once busied himself with the preparation of the draft. Meanwhile, the khan-po, being in a talkative mood, proceeded to tell stories about recent happenings in the world. Everyone listened eagerly to his words, and even the Civil Governor stopped his work.

The khan-po told us that formerly the religion of Russia had been somewhat similar to the religion of Tibet, but since the victory of the Reds, there was no religion in Russia. Present-day Russia was ruled by a man who killed the Tsagan-bator Khan with a revolver. Pictures of this man were to be seen everywhere and his name was Nenin. This man on committing the deed, climbed a high tree and proclaimed from the top of it that Tsagan-bator Khan was no more, and that the religions of Yisu (Jesus) and Buddha had been destroyed. But, unfortunately for him, a woman possessing the knowledge of Red and White customs, who was formerly the wife of a big official under the Tsagan-bator Khan, was still alive, and resolved to revenge the death of the great Khan. She approached the man ruling Russia and shot him dead, after which she committed suicide! That is the story of the Russian Revolution according to Lhasa.

According to the khan-po, the Emperor of China was a lay disciple of the Dalai Lama, and his empire a dependency of Tibet. He was very sorry about the present change of government in China, for the country lost the unique opportunity to profit from the advices of the All-knowing Presence. Indeed, the Chinese rebelled against Tibet in 1911 and multitudes of their warriors appeared in Lhasa, but the Inner Protector by his incomparable power of discrimination and the bravery of his countless troops, punished the insolent Chinamen. Formerly the Mongols were subjects or mi-ser of the Lhasan Government, but lately they had tried to shake off the authority of His Holiness and abolished the incarnation of Je-tsün tam-pa, who had been Tibet's Vice-Regent in Mongolia. After this enlightening conversation with the Governor I received the impression that Tibet was rapidly losing its place of "paramount" power in Asia!

The khan-po explained to his audience that Dr. Filchner or Philik-ner in Tibetan, had in his possession a wonderful mirror in which all the country round Lhasa could be seen, as if on the palm of one's hand. He maintained that such mirrors were manufactured only in Germany and was eager to buy such a wonder for the Tibetan Government, in order to enable the Tibetan officials to watch the situation in neighboring countries without the necessity of visiting them. I had to agree that such an invention would be very useful to Tibet, since the country was determined to remain isolated.

On taking my leave from the Governor, he told me that it was very foolish of us to present the Monastery with ninety-five ngü-sangs. The monks were robbers and would never acknowledge the receipt of the sum. If we wished to honor the Holy Images we should hand over the sum to him and he would issue orders that offering lamps should be lighted before the images. In the future, he asked me always to take his advice on such matters.

On the next day, I went to see the Civil Governor to discuss with him our future route. I pointed out that Saga dzong was too much out of the way and that the health of some of the members of the expedition had been severely tried during the detention at Chu-na-khe. The Governor assured me that he would try his best to allow the expedition to proceed from Shentsa dzong to Chang Lhartse on the Yaru tsang-po.

In the afternoon a Tibetan brought me a manuscript copy of the Kesar (Kesar-gyi drung), and a sword said to come from the famous Palace of Kesar. The Palace of Kesar or Kesar pho-tang as it is called in Tibetan, is situated in the neighborhood of Jyekundo. The beams of the ceiling in the temple are made of swords, which are highly valued by the Kham-pas. During the Chinese War, many of these swords were stolen by soldiers.

On February 7, the nyer-wa or treasurer of the dzong paid us a visit and informed us that the government reply or ka-len had been received. In the afternoon we were asked to visit the khan-po who officially informed us that the Government of Tibet agreed to allow us to proceed to Sikkim and that they would arrange the caravan for the expedition as soon as the snow had melted sufficiently, as at present there were no pasture grounds for horses and yaks on the way. Professor Roerich insisted that we should be allowed to start at once, as the expedition was short of funds. The khan-po promised to send notice to all the headmen of the Nag-chu district. The Governor added that the Government had expressed its displeasure at the news that all our caravan animals had died and that a government inquiry was expected.

The messenger who carried the government reply, brought the news that the caravan with supplies for the expedition had reached the Shang-shung Pass. On the following days we tried to get some information about routes to Sikkim. The khan-po professed complete ignorance of the route. He said that Saga dzong was situated almost on the frontier of Sikkim and it would take thirty days to reach the frontier of India! Local traders, who usually possessed a far better knowledge of their own country than officials, told us it would take us some hundred days to get to the frontier and their statements were fully corroborated by the evidence supplied by our maps. But it was hopeless to argue any more with the Joint-Governors.

In a few days the headmen returned to Nag-chu and reported that the local population had lost most of its cattle and transport animals, and those of the animals which were still alive were so weak that they were unable to make the long journey to Nam-ru. The headmen presented a ceremonial scarf to the Governor and begged him to free them from the necessity of supplying caravan animals to the expedition. They even went so far as to point out that the expedition had been detained by the High Commissioner of Hor, and that it was his duty to supply us with means of transport. The Joint-Governors, seeing the firm stand of the peasants, decided to make them supply only half of the animals needed, the other half to be supplied by the headmen of the Hor-pas. The Major suggested that a soldier be sent to Tse-mar to collect yaks. The authorities promised to arrange everything for our early departure. The coming New Year festivities would necessarily cause some delay, but March 1 was fixed as the date of our departure.

The preparations for the lo-sar or the New Year were in full swing. Enormous amounts of chang, the country wine, were prepared in every house. Most of the officials were on holiday and under the strong influence of chang. The local headmen refused to furnish argal to our lamas, who were going on a pilgrimage to Lhasa. They insisted that pilgrims from Mongolia should pay them. Some caravans on yaks were beginning to come from Lhasa. We were surprised to see the small size of the local yaks in comparison to the fine animals seen on the Kirghiz pasture lands of Chinese Turkestan.

In the evenings heavy clouds of argal smoke poisoned the atmosphere. The refuse heaps in the streets were growing larger, for the population was busily occupied preparing the New Year feasts. How happy we all would be to begin the long-expected journey to Sikkim, and to approach the mighty Himalayas!

On February 16 the much-delayed caravan of supplies arrived and the Joint-Governors, accompanied by all the officials of the dzong, came to the expedition headquarters. We got supplies for the sum of seven hundred and seventy ngü-sangs. Bad flour, some tsam-pa, Chinese conserves in tin, very bad sugar, Chinese vermicelli, frozen turnips, and frozen tangerines. After the long diet of tsam-pa and mutton, all these things seemed to be extraordinary delicacies. We were also glad to get fifteen bags of food for our poor riding horses.

On the evening of the next day, I visited the khan-po, and had a long talk about the arrangements for our future caravan. The Government agreed to let us pay the whole sum due for the caravan through the British authorities in Sikkim. I tried to obtain some information about the country we were to cross. According to the khan-po, we should have to travel some six days over territory belonging to the Nag-chu district. Nag-chu had a population of twelve thousand, chiefly engaged in breeding yaks. The district of Nam-ru was much less populated, having only about one thousand families. This district breeds sheep. The neighboring district of Nag-tshang was known to produce very good cattle and its population consists of some ten thousand inhabitants. The Governor was apprehending an advance by the troops of Feng Yu-hsiang from Kansu and had been trying to secure help from the Tungan Governor of Sining.

Next day (February 20), we witnessed the ceremony of burning the torma or offerings to the spirits of the place, performed before the New Year. The first ceremony took place at the house of the khan-po. We were invited and allowed to take photographs of the procession. At the head, two lamas carried the torma. They were followed by the chief lama, dressed in a red mantle and having the sha-ser or yellow hat of his sect on his head. He was followed by a number of lamas, all carrying objects used in the ceremonies. The lamas were followed by lama musicians carrying drums and long trumpets called dung-chen and Tibetan hautboys. The dead sound of the drums accompanied the procession, which was escorted by a troop of local headmen in brightly colored dresses with green and red turbans on their heads. They all carried swords, and matchlocks with smoking wicks. The procession slowly moved to the street in front of the Governor's house. The torma, after a short service, accompanied by the clamor of tambourines, was precipitated into a great fire laid out on the pavement. The headmen fired their guns into the fire and with loud outcry brandished their swords. After the ceremony, a wild scene followed—beggars and prisoners with shackles on their legs precipitated themselves into the fire and tore from each other in a wild fight portions of the burning tormas. Possessors of such pieces of torma are said to be immune from bullets.

After the ceremony, we all paid a visit to the khan-po. The Joint-Governors were seated on high seats near the wall, attired in garments of Chinese brocade. They offered us some rice and Tibetan tea. According to the New Year etiquette common to Chinese and Tibetans, everyone should be merry and no serious conversations are held. The Governor chose our Colonel as the object of his jokes and called him his "dear beloved brother," insisting that the Colonel should present him with his watch. It would be too tedious to repeat here all the Governor's jokes. The poor Colonel became very tired of all this merrymaking. The festivities at the house of the khan-po were followed by a similar ceremony at the residence of the Civil Governor, only everything was on a smaller scale.

In the afternoon a big ceremony took place in the monastery. A long procession of monks moved across the monastery courtyard preceded by the lama provost or Gekö Lama. The big trumpets or dung-chen were placed on the roof of the du-khang and from there filled the air with their deep, ringing sound. The torma was burned on the chief square of Nag-chu. Merrymaking and occasional firing continued until late in the evening.

February 22, 1928. Today was the Tibetan New Year. The khan-po held a reception in the afternoon and everybody was invited to attend; a very tiresome function, with tea drinking and endless New Year compliments. Later in the afternoon an exceptional quiet pervaded the city. I inquired the reason and was told that all the good citizens of Nag-chu were hopelessly drunk, and were slumbering after the day's exertions. Toward evening beggars went round the place singing New Year songs. The next day the Governors would proceed in a procession to the top of a nearby hill and lay the foundation of a new obo—a rite performed every year at Nag-chu-ka. With this ceremony the local New Year's festivities would end and everyone would resume routine work, although the officials and the richer people would continue to enjoy themselves for a whole month.

Our preparations for departure were well advanced. All the yaghtans had been carefully roped and put in the courtyard of the headquarters so as to prevent breakage by yaks. Horses were shod for the long journey and received an extra pound of food daily. The Civil Governor, in return for our presents, presented us with a young Kong-po wolfhound by the name of Kadru. These Kong-po dogs are greatly valued in Tibet, although their manners are not always pleasant. When young they are very troublesome and will attack sheep and poultry. Usually two varieties of dogs are found, a big one of slender build with well-developed legs, and very fast, and a second variety of a heavier build. The latter reminds one of the Finnish dogs employed in hunting squirrels.

On February 26, two soldiers of the Major came to inform us that the yaks were due that day and that the Major himself would leave Nag-chu the following day. In the afternoon the Major appeared and spoke of his intention to leave Nag-chu. He was drunk as usual and this made him a little more outspoken. He revealed to us that just before our arrival at Chu-na-khe, the Civil Governor had visited the High Commissioner of Hor, and settled with him the question of our going direct to Nag-chu. According to the Major, it was decided to let us visit Nag-chu at once, but then the Civil Governor returned to Nag-chu and had a conference with the khan-po, the result being that he subsequently pretended to know nothing of our coming. What the reason was for such a change of attitude the Major could not tell us. According to him, such actions could have been necessitated by supplementary orders received from Lhasa.

Professor Roerich asked the Major to stay in Nag-chu until the arrival of all the animals. The Major was apparently much displeased with this, but pretended to agree. In the afternoon the Joint-Governors unexpectedly invited us to visit them. They declared that according to their information, the yaks would not reach the place that day and that it was absolutely necessary to make the Major stay in Nag-chu until the arrival of all the caravan animals. The Governors themselves were unable to induce the Major to stay longer and hoped that we should be able to do so. One of the do-nyers was sent to bring him. We had to witness an unpleasant scene, the Major and the Civil Governor quarreling and abusing each other. The khan-po took an evident pleasure in the dispute and laughed when the Major told the Civil Governor what he thought of him. We informed the Joint-Governors that unless all the yaks reached Nag-chu in a few days, we should be obliged to start at once southward by the shortest route and asked them to furnish us with yaks or coolies to transport our baggage to Pondu dzong, south of the Shang-shung Pass. The threat made the Major promise that he would not leave before the arrival of all the caravan animals. As expected the yaks did not arrive on the appointed day although the local officials and headmen assured us that the caravan animals would reach Nag-chu in the evening or during the night.

On the afternoon of the next day, the Joint-Governors again asked me to come to see them. A letter had been received from Lhasa, in which it was stated that the Government intended to start an inquiry about our detention and the peril of our caravan. The khan-po informed me that the High Commissioner of Hor had reported to the Government that we came to Chu-na-khe by ourselves and that he never invited us to come. It was clear that the Tibetan General was trying to shift the responsibility on someone else and that the Joint-Governors were in no way ready to take all responsibility upon themselves.

During the night light snow covered the ground, but soon melted away. In the morning, I went again to see the khan-po and told him that unless the yaks came the next day, we should be obliged to start across the Dam La. The Governor replied that he had no power to allow us to go by this route but that at the same time he had no means to forbid us to do so. We could go, if we liked, but he could not furnish us pack animals, and we should have to hire animals from private people. He advised me to go alone, for in that case he would give me some assistance on the way to Lhasa. I told him that we would leave some of our baggage behind and would start with a few pack mules, for the expedition could not be divided.

In the afternoon we invited the Major and told him firmly that unless his yaks arrived the next day, we should at once start for Lhasa and he would have to accompany us, for he was in some measure responsible for our detention. He replied that he could not produce yaks from his pocket, and that we, being at present at Nag-chu, should ask the Joint-Governors about the caravan animals. As to his responsibility for our detention, he had to say that all the wrong was done by his superior officers and that he himself had no reason to detain us for such a long time. He reminded us that he himself suffered badly during this detention and that his wife had died.

The yaks did not arrive and new arrivals from Tse-mar reported that they had heard nothing about them. All this was very disquieting. Professor Roerich, accompanied by the Colonel and myself, visited the Joint-Governors in the afternoon. The Major was also present and behaved in a most insolent manner. He abused everyone. He told us that the High Commissioner never invited us and that the non-commissioned officer or she-ngo who came to inspect our baggage at Sheng-di never existed and that he, the Major, had no knowledge of his coming to our camp. Such a flagrant lie was too much even for Tibetans, for the do-nyer of the dzong, who visited our camp at Sheng-di, suddenly stepped out and certified that he returned to Chu-na-khe from Sheng-di in company with the non-commissioned officer, and that both of them made reports on the matter to the High Commissioner, Kusho Kapshöpa. On being caught in his lie the Major suddenly remembered the man, but according to him, the petty officer, having committed some offense, fled from the General's camp and on his way visited our camp in order to buy some horses or mules from us. I told him that we were not here to listen to silly stories and that our object was to know definitely when the caravan animals from Tse-mar would arrive. Whether the non-commissioned officer received orders to inspect our baggage, or whether he did it of his own accord, were questions of little importance to us. Our baggage had been examined by an officer wearing the uniform of the Tibetan army and carrying official orders from his superior officer. These facts nobody could deny. We added that we should be obliged to report everything to America and that Tibet would have to explain its behavior toward the expedition. The khan-po, seeing that we were in earnest, decided to compromise, and promised to arrange our departure not later than March 6. He gave us a letter with his seal, in which it was said that he would take upon himself all the arrangements. We agreed to this. The Civil Governor left the room to speak to the headmen assembled in the courtyard outside the Governor's residence.

In the absence of the Civil Governor, the khan-po and the Major blamed him for everything. It was he who settled the matter with the High Commissioner. The doctor of the expedition handed to the Governor a medical certificate signed by him, stating that the condition of some of the members was serious and that unless we were allowed to proceed to India, at once, all further detention would be considered as an organized attempt on the life of the members of the expedition. The khan-po asked me to translate the document, as the certificate had been written in English, and on learning its wording, he flatly refused either to send it to Lhasa, or to keep it. It was the High Commissioner who detained us and all such certificates should be addressed to him. He advised the Major to forward the certificate to the General and handed him the envelope with the document, but the Major dropped it on the low table in front of him and also refused to accept it.

The khan-po informed us that our letter to the Government asking permission to get some medicines from Gyangste had been transmitted, but no reply had been received. Health is not taken into consideration in Tibet—such was the statement made by the khan-po.

We asked the khan-po when he expected to receive our passports from Lhasa. He answered that we should not be worried as it took a very long time to get a document from Lhasa, especially when His Holiness' own approval was necessary. The matter must first be presented to the State Council or Ka-sha, then to the National Assembly or Tshong-du, then to the Yik-tshang or the Ministry of Court. From the Yik-tshang the matter is brought before the Dalai Lama, who decides all questions of international importance. In case our passport should not arrive in time, we should be allowed to proceed with a temporary passport issued by the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu and the Lhasan passport would be sent to Nam-ru or Shentsa. It was getting very late and we took leave of the khan-po. Wet snow was drifting and the city was plunged into mist.

On March 2, the Joint-Governors received information that all caravan animals would arrive the following day or on March 4. As no passport had been received from Lhasa, we had to pay the hire of animals as far as Nam-ru. The hire of a horse to Nam-ru was seven ngü-sangs; that of a yak three ngü-sangs. The whole day was occupied settling accounts with the nyer-wa of the dzong for horse feed. For one bag of grain we had to pay thirteen ngü-sangs.

Next morning we woke up very early. A crowd of headmen and yak drivers filled the courtyard. Yaks were tied to ropes outside the house gate. The day was spent in a terrific hustle. Cries, beatings, and general confusion continued until sunset. Tibetan soldiers and we, ourselves, tried in vain to restore some order. The baggage having been distributed among Hor-pas and Chang-ri-was, guards were stationed near it as the Hor-pas and the Chang-ri-was were full of mutual distrust.