April 20, 1928. The treasurer of the dzong did not arrive and we had to remain at Saga dzong until his arrival. Everyone rested after the strenuous journey of the past ten days. Our camp was pitched close to the trade route Ladak-Nga-ri-Saga dzong-Lhasa and from early morning we could hear the melodious jingling of bells on the horses and mules of passing travelers. Saga dzong is a governmental relay station on the trade route and the administrative center of a vast district, which borders to the north on the territories of Nag-tshang and Nga-ri; to the south and east on the district governed by Dzong-kha, a fort situated on the Nepal border.

The population of the Saga district consists exclusively of nomads, who breed yaks and sheep. The annual tax is paid in produce, chiefly butter, wool, and hides. The headmen of the district assemble yearly in the ninth month of the Tibetan year (about October-November), to pay the annual tribute collected by officials from Lhasa. Saga dzong has about thirty half-ruined stone and brick hovels. The official residence of the Governors, or the dzong proper, is in the center of the village. The place was visited by the British Gartok Mission under Captains Ryder and Rawling in 1904 and by Dr. Sven Hedin in 1908.

During our stay in Saga, both Governors of the fort were in Lhasa and the district was administered by several deputies and the nyer-wa of the dzong, assisted by a deputy from among the local headmen. The dzong had a garrison of thirty soldiers under a she-ngo or non-commissioned officer, whose duty it was to police the district and enforce governmental orders. The soldiers wore no uniforms to distinguish them from the local population except for ammunition belts and a strip of cloth on their right shoulders with the number of their company (mag-khang). The garrison of Saga is supplied by the battalion of infantry stationed at Tingri on the Nepal border. The armament consisted of Lee-Enfield rifles of an old pattern, all of which were in a very bad condition.

Near the dzong there are numerous mani-walls and in the village itself there is a small temple with a huge prayer wheel inside. The place is visited during the summer by traders from the central provinces of Tibet and Nepalese merchants coming by way of Dzong-kha and Nye-lam. The nomads chiefly trade in the local produce, salt, wool, and hides. This year because of the exceptional snowfall, the trade routes were blocked and most of the cattle perished from want of fodder during the winter. The population was unable to obtain the necessary supplies of food and many families starved. During our stay at the dzong, the village was full of beggars, who were in such a desperate condition that they ate the carcasses of animals. The authorities were unable to maintain the required number of relay horses on the stages along the route and to send the annual tax to Lhasa. A petition was therefore presented to the Government, requesting the Precious Protector to exempt the people of Saga dzong from taxes and relay duty for the next year.

In the early morning the officials of the dzong paid us a visit and brought the draft of a letter announcing our passage, to be sent by special messenger to Tingri. The authorities intended to send us to Tingri by a desert route and to make us cross the Yaru tsang-po at a place above Kya-kya where two hide boats carried passengers and goods across the river. They admitted that the boats were in bad condition and needed repair. We resolutely protested against this plan and stated that we should be allowed to proceed to Yanju and cross the river at Sharu. They finally agreed to this and sent the messenger to Yanju but insisted that we should attach our personal seal in red sealing wax to the document, for according to them, the peasants seeing only the official seal of the dzong, would think that it was one of the annual levies of caravan animals for the private use of the dzong and would refuse to comply promptly with the order. Strange as it was, these local officials were deadly afraid of their own people and gladly hid behind the backs of strangers. We pointed out to them that they would be held responsible for any delay and detention at Saga, and that our passport ordered all local authorities to supply us with all the necessities. They replied that they were ready to give us a letter stating the causes of the delay and their inability to supply us with adequate provisions.

April 21. A sunny day with a light southwest wind. Fresh grass was beginning to appear on the banks of the rivulet flowing near our camp. We tried hard to buy some provisions, but it seemed a hopeless task to get anything out of the local authorities or the population. A Kham-pa trader from Tachienlu who was staying at Saga to buy products of nomad households, told me that this year was exceptionally hard on the local inhabitants and that very little trade was carried on in the district. We succeeded in buying from him one piece of poram and one bag of barley for our horses, which were badly in need of grain.

April 22. We spent another day trying to buy some grain for the four days' journey to Yanju. The quality of the barley was very inferior and each bag contained a large amount of small stones. The local nomads complained that the peasants in the sedentary districts of Tibet put stones into the grain to make the bags heavier and thus sell them to the nomads at a higher price. Most of the local grain supply came from the district of Shekar. The wealth of Tibet lies in the nomadic districts of the country, for from there come all the wool, hides, cattle, and salt, which form the chief objects of Tibetan export.

April 23. Again a sunny day with a steady southwest wind in the afternoon. The caravan animals for the next journey to Yanju were slowly beginning to collect and the local officials assured us that we should be able to start the next day. I spent the morning looking for the grave of Mohammed Isa, Sven Hedin's trusted guide and caravan-bashi who died here in 1908, but failed to find it, and the local people seemed to have no knowledge of it.

April 24. We rose early in the morning in order to hasten the departure. There was the inevitable delay with caravan animals, which had reached the village but were for some reason or other delayed in the dzong. Portniagin and I had to go to the dzong and drive the animals out of the courtyards. After much bustle, the yak caravan was finally started and we rode off in company of two do-nyers or local official representatives, who were commissioned to escort us to Shekar dzong.

The trail followed the left bank of the Chorta tsang-po, which was still frozen. Just outside the village of Saga stood a huge menhir of gray granite. The stone was surrounded by numerous small columns made of small stones of white quartzite. The top of the slab bore traces of frequent butter libations. According to the official, the stone had stood here from time immemorial and was consecrated to the goddess Pal-den Lhamo (dPal-ldan Lha-mo) the divine protector of the district, which is said to be the abode of a host of powerful deities and is therefore called Saga or the "Happy Place." This local cult of Pal-den Lhamo had been ordered by the Government, and all passing travelers had to stop and offer libations to the stone slab. This was a good example of the assimilation of old sanctuaries of the primitive religion of Tibet by the ruling church of Tibet.

The country was utterly barren and we wondered where the local nomads had their pastures. We halted after a short march of some six miles, at a spot opposite the snow peak of Saga Jo-chung. It was impossible to make the official go farther, for he insisted that the yaks were in poor condition and could march only in short stages. The official apparently dreaded the local nomads and tried to avoid unpleasant conversations. His assistant was a good-for-nothing fellow, whose only idea was to transport himself. Grain was unobtainable, although each stage brought us nearer to the agricultural districts of Tibet. For one bag of barley containing about seventeen pounds of grain, we had to pay twelve ngü-sang.

Our camp was visited by a group of pilgrims, natives of the district round the Manasarowar Lake, who were on their return journey from a visit to the monasteries of Lhasa. The party consisted of several men and women, carrying their baggage on their backs and traveling on foot. They begged for some money and food. Unfortunately the word bakhshish is already well known here and is freely used. These pilgrims seldom spend the night in villages and most of the time sleep outside in caves and other sheltered places. The local population dislikes them and frequently turns them out. Many of them die on the way from exposure and hunger.

The local nomads seemed to be very independent and paid but little attention to the orders of the officials who were accompanying us. In the evening some of the relay horses were reported to have stampeded, but our sentries saw them being driven away by their owners. We protested to the official from the dzong, but he was unable to get hold of the men and their horses. In order to make the officials more attentive to their duties, we took the horses of one of them and next day he had to go on foot. The result was that on the next stages we were supplied with the necessary number of relay horses.

April 25. Next day we started early. The track led up the Jya La Pass situated at an altitude of 16,135 feet. From the summit we obtained a fine view of the distant Himalayas. The descent was very gradual over a well-trodden path, except for a couple of hundred feet of a rather steep track running along the side of a precipitous gorge. The sandy slopes of the mountains were covered with juniper shrubs. We observed the first hoopoe.

On our way down the pass, we encountered the first big caravan, which belonged to a lama trader from Tashi-lhun-po and was carrying bales of tea, cloth, silk, and metal wares to Nyima in the Nga-ri Kor-sum Province. The caravan consisted chiefly of yaks, but had also a large herd of horses without loads, driven by several herdsmen. The trader himself was accompanied by a number of armed retainers, wearing red turbans and having Mauser rifles slung across their shoulders. These traders spent the summer months trading in the Nga-ri Province and returned to inner Tibet in the early part of autumn.

On descending from the pass, the trail ran across a broad mountain valley in which lay a small salt lake whose shores were covered by flocks of gray geese, Brahmini ducks, and seagulls. The valley broadened and after an hour's ride, the trail emerged on a great latitudinal, loess-covered plain with fine grazing. Herds of kyangs were seen in the neighborhood. In some places the ground was covered by a saline crust and this accounts for the fine grass on the plain, for in Tibet the best grazings are invariably found on plains and valleys with saline ground.

We crossed a belt of sand dunes with sand so deep and soft that our horses sank knee-deep in it. Toward the west opened a sheltered valley watered by a rivulet. Several encampments and herds of sheep were seen at the foot of the mountains forming the valley. The trail which we were following passed the valley and entered a narrow mountain gorge, situated southeast of it. For about three miles the track followed the gorge, then entered an eroded canyon into the valley of the Yaru tsang-po, the great water artery of Tibet. We pitched our camp on a sandy plateau on the river bank.

At last the great Brahmaputra! It is difficult to express the feelings of all of us. It was so significant to camp on the banks of the great river and to water our horses in it. The banks were covered by quicksands and were very swampy. In the period of summer floods, the river occupied a much larger bed and approached the aeolian mesas found on the elevated river terraces.

The place of our camp was known under the name of Kya-kya (sKya-sKya). Near the camp was a ferry. Two miserable hide boats were lying idle on the river bank; they were badly in need of repair. From here a route went toward Tingri and Nye-lam, crossing the elevated highlands south of the Tsang-po. The local population had never seen camels before, and old and young turned out to see the strange animals, which gravely wandered about the river banks. The local people were certain that we brought the strange animals all the way from America, where camels were used for transport purposes.

The language of the local nomads was already closer to the dialect of the Tsang Province. The men who visited our camp were intensely interested in the geography of Tibet and asked many questions about the Chang nam-tsho or the Tengri-nor of our maps. Shentsa dzong was another place of interest to them and wild yaks were a topic of a lively conversation between our servants and the local herdsmen. The day was warm and along the river banks we found fresh grass. We burned juniper shrubs, brought in by local nomads, in our camp fires and many of us found the resinous odor of the shrubs so wonderful that we came and sat at the kitchen fire. What a change after the evil smelling argal!

April 26. We made an early start, for everyone in the caravan was eager to reach the agricultural district. The road followed the left bank of the Yaru tsang-po. In places the cliffs projected far into the river and we had to march in water. The Yaru tsang-po flowed in several channels which probably united during the period of high water. The river was muddy and full of whirlpools. The bottom of this section of the Tsang-po is sandy and dangerous. On the numerous sand banks that render the river unnavigable we observed herons and Brahmini ducks. After a six-mile march along the northern bank, we turned into a mountain valley, stretching toward the northeast. Caravans with heavy loads had to follow this valley and cross a pass in order to reach Yanju. The road along the bank of the river, although much shorter, was impracticable for heavily loaded animals, and was used only by riders.

We followed the valley for another four miles and then camped on a level spot on the bank of a tiny mountain stream emptying into the Tsang-po. Here two tents were pitched for us by order of the yu-pön or headman of Yanju. The place was known under the name of Phur. Fine, multicolored rocks rose on either side of the narrow valley. The dark coloring of basalt alternated with bands of bright red and purple limes, on whose background were scattered the bright green spots of juniper shrubs. Snow was still lying in sheltered ravines. The Yanju men who brought the tents refused to supply fuel and fodder on the ground that they did not desire to serve Ja-gar phyi-lings or Indian phyi-lings. We ordered their names to be taken and reported to the local authorities at Yanju. After this stern threat the fuel and fodder appeared on the scene. The officials from Saga proved to be good for nothing and were helpless with the local population.

April 27. A frosty morning followed a warm night, the thermometer registering -6°C. The stream froze during the night and was covered by a thin crust of ice. The track followed the gorge and then turned into a side valley lying to the east. After a two-mile ride we reached the foot of the pass, Urang La. The ascent was long and steep. The horses frequently stopped and breathed heavily. One of the relay horses collapsed near the summit and had to be abandoned. From the summit we obtained a wonderful panorama of the Himalayas, probably the grandest scenery in the entire world. Sparkling in the morning sun the jagged snow walls of the Himalayas rose high above the other mountain peaks. We all stood and gazed at this panorama of cosmic greatness. Not even a single cloud covered the high peaks and all the snow giants stood clear and sharp in the rarefied atmosphere of Tibet. Behind those peaks and snow fields lay the torrid plains of India with all their wonders of nature.

The descent was easy and followed a well-trodden track which skirted the slope of the mountain and led into a narrow valley. We halted in the valley to wait for our camels which had a hard time on the pass. We started again, after perceiving their tall silhouettes on the crest of the pass. The brave animals had conquered the high pass and were slowly descending into the valley.

After crossing the valley we ascended another low pass with a long and steep descent. We all had to dismount and find our way among the débris and bowlders blocking the trail. Below the pass lay a large, sandy plain open toward the valley of the Tsang-po. We noticed ruins of old structures, towers, and walls, traces of old fields, and irrigation channels.

After five miles of easy road over the plain, we reached Yaru tsang-po and descended to the river bank through an eroded canyon cut in the limestone side of a mountain spur by a dried-up torrent that once emptied into the Tsang-po. Numerous aeolian mesas crowned the river terraces. Some of them with fantastic forms reminded of ancient Indian temples with carved surfaces of columns and walls. The river at this time of the year was shallow and abounded in sand banks. Some of the river terraces were covered by sand dunes, attesting the action of western winds along the valley. In the period of high water the level of the river rose and inundated the adjacent sandy surfaces and excavated deep canyons in the limestone of the surrounding hills. The strong western winds, which blow in winter and early spring, eroded the surface of neighboring hills and produced the aeolian mesas, situated high on the mountain tops.

After rounding a rocky spur just above the river, we rode into a broad valley in which Yanju dang-khar was situated. Stupas and mani -walls lined the road. We saw several groups of stone and brick buildings in the distance. This was Yanju. We passed a Red Hat or Nying-ma Monastery of Chatu, with a half-ruined assembly hall and broken windows, out of which stuck bundles of straw. The temple was surrounded by dirty, brick hovels and in the streets camped yak caravans with loads of barley for the nomad encampments north of the Trans-Himalayas.

We rode toward the hills forming the northern rim of the circular valley of Yanju, at the foot of which was a large village. The residence of the local headman, and two Bön-po monasteries, with their newly whitewashed walls presented a better appearance compared with the dirty, decayed state of the Nying-ma Monastery. We camped on the bank of a brook, close to the barley fields of the village. Wild geese had their nests along the banks and seemed not to mind at all the presence of villagers and their animals. Three large tents were pitched for us and a sufficient amount of grain and even straw and hay were stored for our use. A large crowd surrounded the camp. We asked everybody to leave but the local people insisted upon being allowed to see the camels, about which rumors had traveled in advance of us. Everyone wished to have a small quantity of camel hair to place in his charm box. Toward evening the crowd returned to the village and we breathed more freely.

A strange-looking woman with a small girl remained in camp and wandered about the tents. She wore a long, yellow coat with several strings of Nepalese beads around her neck. In her hands she had a long staff and a damaru or hand drum used in religious ceremonies. The girl was almost naked and her body was covered with ashes, her hair being gathered on the crown of her head. The woman and child came from Khambu, an interesting mountain district in the neighborhood of Mount Everest.

Late in the evening a Nevari trader from Deo-Pathan in Nepal paid us a visit. He had just arrived at Yanju and expected the arrival of his large caravan from Khatmandu through Chirong dzong and Tingri. He was dressed in a Tibetan costume, except for Indian slippers and a woolen cap on his head. He spoke a fluent Tibetan and came every spring to trade in Tibet. We tried to obtain from him some Indian rupees but he refused to take our silver Chinese dollars. According to him, Khatmandu, the capital of Nepal, was about twenty days' journey from Yanju. The route there was extremely difficult. After crossing the high mountain passes one has to traverse a jungle country with hardly any roads.

The headman from Yanju paid us a visit and brought a new da-yig or "arrow letter" announcing our passage. This letter was about to be dispatched by a special mounted messenger to Tingri and Shekar. The headman asked us to fix our private seal on the document and thus make it more powerful. We should have to stay a full day at Yanju because yaks had not yet arrived. The local inhabitants possessed only donkeys and dzo . In the evening our camels and horses were given the first hay after eight months of fasting on barley grain and the scant, weathered grass of the Tibetan upland.

April 28. I woke early, at about four o'clock, roused by the continuous jingling and rattling of bells on the numerous donkeys which were carrying water into the village and manure to the fields. Little shaggy creatures they were, but remarkably enduring, able to carry loads sometimes bigger than themselves. Tibetan villagers in the agricultural districts keep donkeys chiefly to serve as transport animals. The jingling of bells started very early at daybreak, for Tibetan farmers rise much earlier than their nomad countrymen of the north. The morning was fine and almost warm. The mountains south of the Tsang-po were covered by a veil of light, transparent mist. We visited the Nying-ma Monastery of Chatu in the morning and also asked for admission to the Bön-po monasteries at the foot of the ridge, north of the valley, but were politely told that if strangers of another faith visit their monasteries, terrible calamities follow. The crops are often completely destroyed by hail. We did not insist and turned our attention to the Nying-ma Monastery. On our way there we passed several barley fields, for only barley grows at these altitudes. The peasants were already at work, plowing and sowing their fields.

The du-khang or assembly hall of the monastery was a square, whitewashed brick building. Unfortunately the head lama was absent and had taken the key of the temple. The Tibetan monks have a laudable custom of spending one or two weeks in meditation in the third and fourth month of the Tibetan year (April-May). The courtyard of the monastery had a forlorn appearance. The once multicolored portal of the temple was in complete decay and it was a wonder that it did not fall down on the heads of the faithful.

We were accompanied by a Tibetan, whose interest in us was twofold. First, he was trying to sell us a horse belonging to his master, and secondly, he was delighted to have a chat with foreigners whom he greatly respected. According to him, one of the great advantages of foreigners was that they were straightforward people, keeping strictly to their word, whereas his own countrymen were somewhat unreliable and great liars, even when there was no necessity for it. "Look here, Sir," said the Tibetan, "now I am talking to Your Honor and there is no need of my telling a lie, but still it is difficult for me to refrain from this and I have constantly to remind myself, 'Speak truthfully, speak truthfully!' " When asked for the reason for such a strange national character, he scratched his ear and replied "Kug-pa re"—"Stupidity."

The Nga-ri-Lhasa highway passed just outside the village and there was a continuous coming and going. Riders on mules or horses with bells and huge saddlebags, small caravans on donkeys and dzo carrying firewood, wandering lamas and beggars—all moved in a continuous stream along the narrow track called the Lhasa jya-lam or highway.

It was our intention to buy several pack mules or horses to carry our tents. Some fine animals, mostly Kong-po mules, were brought for sale, but the prices were extraordinarily high, about two hundred Mexican dollars for each mule.

The local population did not accept silver Chinese dollars, and as our supply of Tibetan copper coins was coming to an end, we had a hard time in procuring a fresh supply of sho. Indian rupees were sold at the price of four trang-kas or six copper sho. Some years ago the Lhasan Government introduced paper money, printed on machinery specially ordered from India. The venture proved to be a failure and the banknotes were withdrawn from circulation. The chief reason for their withdrawal was the appearance of a great amount of counterfeit notes that flooded the market. The brave people of Lhasa found the new venture exceedingly convenient and started to print banknotes in privately owned presses. Naturally the villagers and other visitors to Lhasa received the largest amount of that counterfeit currency.

Late in the evening the local headman informed us that all the caravan animals would be ready early the next morning.

April 29. Everybody rose before dawn had lit the mountains on the opposite bank of the Tsang-po. We had to wait a considerable time before all the pack animals and horses turned up. Caravan animals had to be collected in the village and as each peasant had only one or two pack animals, the whole village turned out to carry our baggage. For seventy pack animals we had forty drivers! The new caravan consisted of thirty shaggy yaks, twenty donkeys, ten dzo, some of which were about the size of a donkey, and ten pack horses. Obviously the progress of all this collection of caravan animals was far from being equal and the caravan marched in several sections with rather large intervals between. First came the pack horses, then the donkeys and dzo; the yaks were the last to reach the stage.

Before starting the drivers spent an hour in shouting and distributing the loads. Several heavy cases were left behind for no one would take them, and they had to be loaded on extra animals provided by the headman. All the relay horses were shaggy and underfed. Two of them were even unable to leave the camp and collapsed under their riders. We had to saddle our own horses.

The trail followed the left bank of the Yaru tsang-po. We passed several villages surrounded with barley fields. From afar, a Tibetan village or town reminds one of an Italian coast town. Distance is a great embellisher and sometimes works magic. Far off, we behold stately white mansions with flat roofs, large windows, high garden walls, and imposing religious edifices. The traveler rejoices in thinking that he will soon be camping under the shady trees of a garden and wandering about a picturesque native town, which he cannot help comparing to a south Italian sea town.

The distance grows less and the enchanted picture which he beheld suddenly vanishes. It is a rude shock, and I must say from my own experience that I often felt a strong desire to ride back and to look again from the distance.

The town draws nearer and nearer. The stately mansions appear as large square blocks of miserable hovels on the roofs of which stand ugly rods with pieces of multicolored cloth fixed to them. The shady gardens are nothing but a few trees which grow in a small compound. The village street is blocked on either side by heaps of refuse forming veritable ramparts in front of each house, from behind which peep curious crowds, dirty beyond description, but quite content and eager to see the foreigners.

It is altogether impossible to camp in such a village and the traveler is obliged to pitch his tent in some empty field outside the boundary. A dense crowd collects round the traveler's camp which watches attentively every movement. It is a good opportunity to observe the costumes of the natives.

The Tibetans are great lovers of costumes, costly silks imported from China, brocades, bright colors, and jewelry. During the New Year festivities one observes gaily dressed crowds parading the streets, but in everyday life the Tibetan crowd is gray, dressed in rags or dirty coats of gray homespun cloth. Tibetan boots are generally worn, but many have cheap European service boots imported from India. The men seldom wear hats though some of the wealthier have green or brown Homburger hats. The women wear a great variety of headdresses. Some wear wooden oval frames decorated with coral, turquoise, and silver. This is the favorite fashion in the Tsang Province of central Tibet. The women of the Lhasa Province wear small, triangular crowns, adorned with large, round beads and turquoise. Large necklaces with pendant ornaments, sometimes in the shape of peacocks or other birds or animals, charm boxes, necklaces of the so-called zi-beads said to be found in fields and river valleys, are commonly in use. These are probably beads which belonged to an ancient stratum of the population. Some of the zi-beads, showing a particular design, are sold for fabulous prices.

Whenever we passed a village a crowd of villagers would rush to meet us and escort us for a considerable time with shouts of "A-tsi, a-tsi, Kusho-la, Kale phep" — "Look! Look! Venerable Sir, go in peace!"

On the opposite bank of the Tsang-po rose proud monasteries and ruins of forts built on precipitous rocks and facing precipices. All the ruins and ancient monasteries had fine situations high above the river valley. The more modern ones were built on the valley bottom at the foot of the mountains. These ugly hamlets consisted of squares of sundried brick walls carelessly whitewashed from the outside. Tibetan whitewashing is a peculiar and strange procedure. Once we had to whitewash a house in which we were staying, and accordingly invited several local peasants to do the painting. They arrived with buckets and started to splash the whitewash on the walls, covering the walls, windows, doors, and the courtyard. It was impossible to remain in the house and we had to beg the men to return to their village and stop working.

Just above the trail on a steep, precipitous cliff, we found a cave with a stupa inside. This had once been the retreat of a famous hermit from Tashi-lhun-po. Now the cave stood forlorn, overlooking the valley of the Tsang-po, a silent witness of a glorious past and fameless present.

After eighteen miles' march we camped near a small village close to the monastery which owns the ferry across the Tsang-po. We chose for our camp a level spot on a projecting spur, but the villagers protested, saying that this particular place was consecrated to a lha. We had to move closer to the village and camp on barley fields.

The village consisted of a couple of farms and we had difficulty obtaining a sufficient supply of straw and grain for the animals. The people were wild looking and the men had a particularly angry look. The women wore the headdress common to the Tsang Province and some had silver ornaments in the form of peacocks, probably of Nepalese workmanship. Nepalese influence in objects of art is very strong in these parts of Tibet, situated close to the border of Nepal.

Portniagin, who escorted the yak caravan, had a bad accident on the way. The horse on which he was riding stumbled on a precipitous place and went over the cliffs. Portniagin had just time to jump off the horse, which rolled down the precipice.

Our men reported that one of our Mongols, Ochir, got drunk again at Yanju and was now collapsed on the road. He had a severe heart attack and his face and hands swelled terribly. He was unable to ride his horse and was left in charge of a Tibetan. Late in the evening a messenger arrived and reported that Ochir was dying and was asking for his brother, Dorje. Dorje was accordingly given a fresh horse and he rode off. About midnight both men returned, Ochir, although very weak, riding his horse. Our doctor administered a large dose of heart stimulant and the man passed a quiet night. In the morning he asked us to forgive him and was fined five dollars for drunkenness and disorderly conduct. After this case the two officials from Saga dzong were at once summoned to the camp and ordered to keep the peasants from selling intoxicating drinks to the camp servants of the expedition. In the evening a western wind blew clouds of dust along the river valley and wet snow fell during the night, covering the nearby hills.

April 30. We started at about seven o'clock. The trail was lined by numerous mani-walls. Partridges were seen among the rocks that rose above the trail. We passed several ruined forts, said to have been built by the Chinese after the Nepalese war of 1792.

After four miles we reached the ferry, which belonged to the Nying-ma Monastery, situated on the river bank. The ferry was manned by eight lamas from the monastery. It consisted of a large, square, wooden boat, with a wooden horse head on the prow. Such boats are commonly called in Tibet shing-ta or "wooden horses." The whole traffic across the river had been closed for others, and the boat was placed at our disposal. A caravan with grain, which arrived almost simultaneously with us, had to unload its yaks and wait its turn. There were several ferries on the Tsang-po but many of them were in bad condition and we had to use this one. The boat took eight horses and a considerable amount of baggage piled up on the prow. The current was swift and the boatmen had a hard time steering. The boat is steered with the help of two big oars fixed to the fore part, one from each side. Each oar is worked by two men. One pulls the oar by the handle, the other helps him by pulling a rope attached to the middle of the oar. The camels were transported without unloading them. Two camels were taken at a time and brought safely across the river. They were the first camels to cross the Tsang-po at this place. A trader coming from Lhasa asked our permission to cross the river with his four pack horses and to use the boat on its return trip to the northern bank. The trader wore an unusual fur cap which was said to be the latest fashion in Lhasa. The hat was high with rather large brims, which, instead of being trimmed with fur in the usual Tibetan fashion, were richly covered with brocade. It sparkled in the sun and was altogether a barbaric and tasteless production of a decadent age. The trader, in order not to wet his feet, was carried ashore on the back of his servant.

Having crossed the Tsang-po, we mounted our horses and followed the southern bank of the river until we had reached the forlorn village of Sharu, consisting of some six brick hovels which were built around the ruins of a former fort. The fort was said to date from the seventeenth century. The local people told us that the place formerly belonged to the labrang of Tashi-lhun-po and that people prospered under the rule of the Tashi Lama and never had to pay the high annual taxes which they are now forced to pay the Lhasan officials. After the departure of His Holiness the Tashi Lama, the place was taken over by the Lhasan Government and since then the population had diminished, the houses crumbled to ruins, and famine visited the region. We succeeded in buying radishes, the first fresh vegetables which we had seen since leaving Shih-pao-ch'eng in the Nan Shan Mountains.

Our yak caravan had an unexpected delay at the ferry. The caravan animals from Yanju were supposed to return from the ferry, and fresh animals from Sharu to take the baggage to the village. The loads were accordingly carried across the river and left on the southern bank. The Sharu yaks did not arrive in time and the Saga officials had to recross the river and return with the animals, which were already on their way back to Yanju. The baggage reached the village of Sharu only at six o'clock in the evening.

May 1. We started very early, at five o'clock, in order to reach the next stage before sunset. The morning was warm, and we rode preceded by the yak caravan which had started earlier. The trail followed a mountain valley, through which progress was made trying by numerous hummocks. In some places the horses could hardly find a place to put their feet and they stumbled.

The valley became narrower and the road heavy and stony. Huge bowlders on the detritus-covered slopes blocked the path. After a three hours' ascent, we reached the summit of the Sharu La (17,600 feet). The day was clear and we were able to see the whole of the Himalayan Range, with Mount Everest, above whose summit hovered light clouds. To the west of the pass, rose the sharp cone of Mount Tsang La (21,169 feet). On reaching the pass, our guides started to sing. They sang about a European coming to Lhasa, who told people "good morning." I rode closer to them and asked them to repeat the song but they laughed and refused to sing again. One of the men was a soldier who had served for five years at Kampa dzong on the Sikkim border and now was living as a villager at Sharu. The other guide came from Lhasa, where he was for some time employed as a dancing boy ( gar-truk ) at Norbu ling-ka, the summer palace of His Holiness the Dalai Lama. He danced and sang all the way down the pass. According to our guides, some years ago the Government decided to repopulate the district around Tingri, which was devastated after the Gurkha war of 1792 and several hundreds of peasant families were ordered to leave their native villages in the central provinces of Tibet and proceed toward Tingri. Here they were left in utter poverty, receiving only three sho per day, as a subsidy from the Government.

We descended along a narrow, monotonous mountain valley sheltered by grassy hills that vividly reminded us of the dreary uplands of the land of Hor. The similarity would have been complete except for the Himalayas that crowned the horizon with their sparkling peaks and glaciers.

After an eighteen-mile march we camped on a level spot close to a brook of fresh mountain water. The valley bore the name of Pang-lung, or "The Sod Valley." Our cameleer reported the bad news that a second camel had died on the pass. The animal had been ailing for several days and we had expected that it would die. Now only three of the brave animals remained with us. We sent mules to bring to the camp the load left on the pass. Portniagin, who again had to stay with the heavy baggage, reported that our Tibetan guide and the officials from Saga dzong got drunk after our departure, threatened to cut his head off, refused to give him a horse and ordered the stupefied peasants not to listen to the phyi-ling or stranger's orders. The whole affair was started because Portniagin had ordered the Tibetan guide to hurry up with the loading. The Tibetans reached our camp at Pang-lung in an excited state of mind and came to tell me that they would leave us here and take with them all the peasants and animals. I advised them all to keep quiet, and warned them that all their actions would be reported to the Government and that I should see to it that they were given just punishment. This quieted them and they never mentioned the case again. The conversation had a salutary effect on the official and he came to help us pitch the tents and personally distributed hay and grain to our horses, a thing which he had never done before. We were all thoroughly tired of this lawlessness and insubordination. On reaching the daily stages special precautions had to be taken in order to prevent the local population from selling intoxicating drinks to our camp servants. It is easy to control men dependent on you, but to prevent a Tibetan official from drinking and bringing drinks secretly into camp, was a thing beyond the power of an expedition leader.

May 2. We made an early start as usual. The Himalayas stood out clear on the dark background of the deep morning sky. The valley sloped and the trail was easy and sandy. The valley was covered by ruins of old forts, watch towers, and walls. These were said to be traces of the Nepal-Tibetan war of 1792, when the Gurkha troops swept all over the Tsang Province, sacked Shigatse and Tashi-lhun-po, and the Tibetans had to be rescued by a Chinese expeditionary force sent by the great Manchu Emperor Ch'ien-long (1736-95). The memory of the remarkable archery of the Manchu cavalrymen still lives among the people of today and many stories are told about the prowess of the So-lo mag-mi or Solon warriors, who formed part of the Chinese force.

In one place we saw the remains of a great jagged wall which once barred the entrance to the valley. After a four hours' march, we emerged on a vast plain which was said to be connected with the plain of Tingri, watered by the Phung-chu, which flows past Tingri and Shekar and then to Nepal, where it is known by the name of Arun. The plain was of a recent geological formation and was covered, over a great extent, by swamps and saline crust. We camped at a place called Khar-chung, a collection of several farms.

On a hill north of the settlement were ruins of a dzong of a local de-pa or chief. Some of the local peasants live in caves excavated in the flank of a limestone massif. These were the first cave dwellings we saw in central Tibet. They are common in southern Tsang and westward toward Nga-ri. We again had to change our caravan animals. In the afternoon a strong western wind shook our tents violently and threatening gray clouds collected over the mountains. In the evening we had the first rain and the Himalayas disappeared behind clouds of dust driven by the wind from the plain.

May 3. An exceptionally fine morning. The storm had cleared the atmosphere and the mountain scenery was wonderful with its sharp outlines and deep blue and purple colors. The summit of Mount Everest was hidden by clouds that hovered over the summits of the higher peaks of the Himalayas. We crossed the plain in a southerly direction following the left bank of the Phung-chu. The ground was covered by gravel and the landscape reminded one somewhat of the central Mongolian Gobi. Herds of kyangs raced in the distance, raising clouds of dust. One of the animals approached so near our caravan column that a Mongol rode up quite near to him and discovered that it was an old stallion, blind from age. We crossed the river, which was muddy and had a swampy bed. In the period of high water, the level rose and the river flooded the surrounding swamps. The right bank was very swampy and we were forced to make a long detour in order to reach the firmer ground at the foot of the hills. Herds of sheep grazed along the river banks. On the right bank the ruins were so numerous they seemed to cover every level patch of ground on the slopes of the hills. After eighteen miles of marching, we reached the small village of Dag-chö, a group of brick houses in the center of which rose a ruined watch tower.

The population was extremely poor, cultivating only a few barley fields, irrigated by channels which diverted the water from the river to the fields. The place belonged to the Red Hat sect and this was attested by the red, white, and dark blue vertical lines painted on the walls of the houses. We had to change our caravan animals again. Yaks were very scarce in the village and our baggage had to be carried on dzo.

In the evening the camp was visited by traveling mendicants who made a terrible noise and had to be asked to leave us in peace. A large group of pilgrims bound for the holy lake of Manasarowar walked round the camp and sang, in the hope of receiving something from the sahibs. Late in the evening, a small caravan with bales of brick tea arrived at the village and camped in our neighborhood. The mules and merchandise belonged to a governmental trade agent (shung-gi tshong-pa), that is, a trader who trades in the name of the Government and has obtained a license to do so.

May 4. There is an intense sadness in the landscape of the plain leading toward Tingri. Everywhere ruins, ruins, and ruins, former castles, depopulated villages, remains of jagged walls. Barren, rocky hills on either side of the valley only sharpen this impression of complete desolation. And above these scenes of destruction tower the mighty glittering snow peaks of the Himalayas, this jewel string of Asia. Across a vast plain you travel to Tingri, whose dark silhouette stands high on a rocky spur to the east.

Tingri is the fourth military station of Tibet after Lhasa, Shigatse, and Gyangtse. It has a garrison of some five hundred infantry of the Tsang Command and guards the road to Chyirong dzong and Khatmandu. The plain is everywhere surrounded by mountain ranges and to the east opens a broad mountain valley through which passes the trade route to Shekar dzong and then goes on to Shigatse and Lhasa. The approaches to the valley are protected by the military fort of Tingri. The military station and fort of Tingri had been founded by the Chinese after the Gurkha advance of 1792 and the ruins and dilapidated walls of the Chinese fort are still to be seen on the crest of the spur dominating the village of Tingri. In the time of the Manchu rule, the fort had a garrison of thirty Chinese soldiers under the command of a lieutenant. In case of an alarm, the garrison was assisted by a troop of local militia or sa-sung mag-mi (sa-srung dmag-mi), collected among the local nomads and villagers of the district. Naturally the fortress has no strategical value whatever and could be easily outflanked by an advancing force from the south. The soldiers of the garrison and their families live in the village below the fort.

Two dilapidated stupas with fantastic designs and heads of protecting deities, stand at the entrance to the village, which occupies the southeast slope of the spur. The plain near the village was swampy and it was difficult to find a dry spot for the expedition camp. After some search, the required stretch of level ground was found not far from the entrance to the village. On arriving at the camp, we were disagreeably surprised to find a large crowd of onlookers awaiting our arrival. Nothing was prepared for us, no tents, no fuel, no fodder, and what was worse, no caravan animals for the next day, for the gem-po or local headman, who attended to all civil matters of Tingri, had been away for several days and the officer commanding the fort, generally known as the Tingri da-pön (Ting-ri mda-dpön), was absent in Lhasa and his place was taken by his second in command, who pretended to know nothing about local matters left in the charge of the civil officials.

We at once dispatched messengers to bring back the headman and sent word to the major in command of the fort, asking him for some soldiers to clear the crowd out of our camp. In answer to this request, two Tibetans appeared, one in ordinary Tibetan coat and green Homburger hat, who introduced himself as a she-ngo or noncommissioned officer and the major-domo of the major's household. The other was a small fellow dressed in a dirty khaki uniform of British pattern. Both men were apparently traders in private life, for one at once offered to procure sugar and vegetables and even inquired whether we would buy some fine riding horses belonging to his master. The second one had been to Kalimpong on the Indian side of the border, and brought back quite an assortment of cheap perfumed pomades of Japanese make. These are in great vogue in Tibet for well-to-do people usually cover their faces with a thick layer of pomade to protect their skin from blistering when exposed to the cold winds of Tibet. Crossing the region of the Great Lakes some of us had to resort to the same remedy and smear our faces with pomade that was bought at Nag-chu. It was very popular with our Mongols and they emerged from their tents with shiny faces, darkened and blistered by the winds of the Tibetan uplands.

We found a shortage of provisions in Tingri, for the Nepalese traders who usually visit Tingri in the spring and summer did not arrive this year because of heavy snows on the Khambu-shar-kang La, a pass that leads toward the valley of Khatmandu. However, after considerable effort, we succeeded in buying some poram, dried potatoes, and a small quantity of onions. Our chief supplier was the former Chinese lao-ye of the fort, who since the downfall of the Chinese rule in Tibet took to trading and became thoroughly Tibetanized.

The local peasants recounted the depressing conditions in the Tsang Province. After the forced departure of His Holiness the Tashi Lama, a great many lamas have left the monastery of Tashi-lhun-po. The province and the monastery are at present administered by an official appointed from Lhasa who has the title of Labrang sha-pe (La-brang shabs-pad). All complained about the high taxes which had to be paid to the Lhasan treasury. Taxes are never fixed and the Government decrees the amount to be paid according to its financial needs. Sometimes a wealthy family has paid up to twenty ngü-sangs a month.

We also met some Tibetan traders, who knew the route to Sikkim well, and they assured us that the best route for us would be that passing through Shekar-Dobtra, north of the Tsho-mo Tre-tung Lake and Kampa dzong. Some of the men had a smattering of Hindustani and had often visited Gangtok and Kalimpong.

Late in the afternoon the local headman arrived, tall and gray haired. He assured us that everything would be ready for the next day and that we should not worry, for caravan animals were scheduled to reach Tingri before dawn, and that we would be able to march to Memo, a village between Tingri and Shekar. Toward evening an unexpected occurrence brought anxiety to the village. About seven o'clock a bugle sounded in the fort and all the soldiers present in our camp looked up at the rocky spur. What was it? There could not be any mistake, the bugle was calling to arms. We only then learned the rumor that a new war had started in Kham and that the Government was mobilizing troops for the eastern border. Traders from Kham, tall men of manly bearing, gravely spoke of the hard times in their native places. It seemed as if a fresh storm was approaching. The soldiers left hurriedly and rejoined their companies. An order had been received calling out troops to uphold the authority of the Lama Ruler of Tibet.

May 5. We arose very early, but soon found out that no pack animals had reached the village or our camp and that the headman was still enjoying his morning sleep. Portniagin and I went to his home and sternly told him to have the animals ready at once, otherwise he would have to accompany us to Shekar and be handed over to the dzong-pön. He pleaded that the peasants were ignoring his orders and that although a sufficient number of pack animals was available in the village, he was unable to collect them without our help! He insisted that we should remain in his house and give him time to run over to his assistant to find out whether the animals were ready. He disappeared for half an hour and then returned in despair, saying that the peasants scoffed at him and refused to obey his orders. He begged us to accompany him and to see the situation for ourselves. We accordingly started off for a round of the courtyards of the village. The procedure was brief, but worth noting. What happened invariably in each of the courtyards was just this: The headman, followed by us, entered the courtyard and asked in a loud voice "Are you ready to give your animals as ordered yesterday?" The question was followed in most cases by a lash of the heavy horsewhip which the headman carried in his hand. The recipient of the blow invariably answered in a high-pitched voice "la-les" or "yes." After this drastic procedure the pack animals were driven out of the courtyard into the street and the headman directed his steps to the next house. In this way we succeeded in collecting about half of the required caravan animals. The rest had to arrive from neighboring farms and villages. We protested to the headman about his cruel behavior toward the local peasants, but the man only laughed and considered our protest ridiculous.

We returned to our camp leading two fine riding horses. We had to wait a couple of hours for the remaining animals, which were reported to be on their way. An amusing accident happened in the morning, when the major, acting-commander of the fort, and several of his soldiers rode past our camp in order to show their steeds, which were for sale. The major's horse bolted, throwing his rider into the dust just outside our camp, and disappeared behind the spur. After such an ignominious performance, he did not dare to approach our camp and withdrew on foot to the village.

Finally the caravan animals arrived and we had to witness another curious scene. The headman angrily reproached the drivers and ordered one of his attendants to bring a broad piece of leather. When the instrument of punishment was brought, the belated drivers, three men and five women, were put on their knees and the headman administered several resounding slaps on their cheeks. The guilty ones cried in unnaturally high-pitched voices, but did not seem the worse for the punishment.

We left the camp soon after the arrival of all our animals and Portniagin remained behind to check up the loading of the last party of pack animals. A few minutes before the last section of the caravan had departed, the headman received an arrow with a strip of red cloth attached to it. It was the official command from Lhasa ordering one company of infantry to proceed at once to Lhasa, there to join the expeditionary force to Po-yul in southeast Kham Province. Village headmen along the route were ordered to furnish transport and provisions to the passing troops. The order made little impression on the local inhabitants and only more chang or barley wine was drunk this day. The Tingri headman after reading the order carefully, rolled up the cloth on the arrow and stuck it into one of our boxes and thus the mobilization order traveled with us to Memo and farther. It appeared afterward that the headman was afraid to send the order by a dispatch rider who might throw it on the ground and preferred therefore to intrust the important message to a caravan of foreigners! The da-yig or arrow letter announcing the mobilization of troops arrived at Memo with our caravan and was discovered by Portniagin, who was checking up the loads. It was at once handed over to the local headman, and an explanation was given to him that we had nothing to do with the mobilization. Notwithstanding our statement, the order was returned to us after perusal, on the ground that it had come with us and with us it had to go! We naturally refused to take it and in the morning it was again stuck into one of our boxes and carried to Shekar. According to the headman, it was safer to send the letter with a European caravan than to trust it to a local messenger.

What happened in Po-yul? Oppressed by excessive taxes the population of some of the more warlike valleys rose in arms against the Lhasan Governors and their soldiery. A Governor and about sixty Tibetan soldiers were reported to have lost their lives in Po-yul, a country of reputed warriors. Troops were mobilized in Lhasa and Shigatse and the Lhasan treasury was made to bear this new strain. Besides the sufferings of war, the country would have to bear the disastrous effects of a mobilization.

There is nothing orderly in the march of Tibetan troops. They usually receive transport from the local population. The soldiers themselves have to carry their own provisions supplied by their families and villages. All the soldiers ride, some on horses and mules, some even on donkeys and yaks. There are no uniforms, except for occasional puttees, while most of the men wear Tibetan coats and fur caps. The khaki uniforms adopted recently from India serve only as parade dress. The usual armament consists of British rifles of an old pattern, which are rendered almost harmless by want of proper cleaning. The Tibetan infantryman or cavalryman is fond of riding with a bayonet fixed to his rifle, which is moreover usually gaily decorated with ceremonial scarfs and multicolored pieces of cloth. When going into action he often prefers to leave his rifle behind, from fear of losing it and fights with an antiquated matchlock or simply hides behind some stone or any other natural protection. A Tibetan attack is always preceded by wild outcries, which serve to encourage the troops. "Khi, hu, hu," or "u-hu, u-hu, u-hu," are the favorite war cries of Tibetans going into the fight.

A Tibetan column is a long string of riders followed by hundreds of pack animals loaded with all sorts of domestic and camping outfits among which churns for making tea are very prominent. The officers ride their own riding horses or mules, which are sometimes richly caparisoned and have excess saddlebags thrown over the saddles that cause the rider to sit his horse as if he were in an armchair, with his legs stretched to the front. All goes well so long as the animal is quiet, but if it shies, it often leaves the rider and the saddlebags behind in the dust. Mounted messengers announcing the arrival of troops are usually sent ahead. In the present case, the messenger, hurriedly dispatched to Shekar, joined our caravan on the way and leisurely reached Shekar in two days instead of one, staying all the time in our camp and profiting by arrangements made for us under orders of the Government. He was drunk all the time and was a great nuisance to all of us.

When we saw the Tibetan troops passing, we wondered what would become of them in the mountain valleys of the Po-yul, and whether their commanders would be able to cope with the situation. These uprisings in the mountains are a terrible calamity, carrying many lives away like a flood. You never know exactly where and who the enemy is, and marching columns, unable to offer resistance, are often massacred in the narrow valleys. Such cases are frequent in eastern Tibet, according to an old Tibetan soldier, who saw some campaigning under the Kalön Lama in 1917-18.

The road to Shekar followed the right bank of the Phung-chu. It was sandy, and limestone cliffs rose on either side of the valley. The country reminded one vividly of the central Gobi. Here and there were small villages with scant cultivation. The peasants were plowing their fields and fresh grass could be seen on the river banks covered by flocks of wild geese, Brahmini ducks, and teals. A lama riding a fine, black mule joined our party and rode with us until our camp at Memo. He carried on his back a fine Mauser carbine and a cartridge belt. He was from Tashi-lhun-po, and accompanied his master, a wealthy lama trader, to Shekar.

About two o'clock in the afternoon we reached the small village of Memo which consisted of one big house belonging to the local headman and several farmsteads in the neighborhood. We were received by the wife of the local headman, an elderly lady who did her best to make us comfortable. The camp was pitched on a level patch of ground outside the village and everything fared well until trouble was started by our Tibetan guide, who got drunk on arriving and refused to do his share of the work properly. Mrs. Roerich rebuked him for his conduct and this made him wild. He rushed out toward the crowd of peasants and shouted that we were bad people because we had told him that he was drunk when he was not, and ordered the peasants to stop serving us.

The result was that the crowd got frightened and dispersed and we were left without fuel and fodder for about three hours. The disorderly servant retired to his tent and flatly refused to do his work. The soldier from Tingri, who was accompanying the expedition to Shekar, was himself drunk and quite unable to assist us. He came to see me, and in despair asked me to talk with the peasants and persuade them to change their attitude. I was obliged to go to see the headman and talk over the problem. I found the headman's family to be quite ready to aid us. The headman's wife at once called out all the peasants and gave them strict orders to supply us with fuel and fodder and to collect animals for the morrow. In an hour we had everything. But the first trouble was followed by another outbreak. A serious dispute arose between the caravan men from Tingri and the villagers of Memo. The villagers of Memo had received the letter announcing our arrival a few hours before our coming and were unable to prepare the required number of caravan animals. They decided to hire caravan animals from the Tingri men. These latter refused, and made off for their horses and mules, but were held up by a party of Memo villagers, while another party of men drove all the animals into the courtyard of the headman's house. After some violent talking, the matter was settled and the Tingri caravan men agreed to hire their animals. Professor Roerich ordered the rebellious servant to be discharged at once and his conduct to be reported to the district governor at Shekar.

Late in the afternoon, we received a visit from a lama of Tashi-lhunpo. The venerable monk complained bitterly of the oppressive rule of the Lhasan Government and told that many of the monks had left the monastery and many of the richer families of Tsang had been reduced to utter poverty.

In the evening, we sat by the tents and watched the continuous stream of riders going from Tingri to Shekar. Some rode mules, some fine riding horses of exceptional stature, said to be bred in central Tibet. The soldier-messengers, dispatched from Tingri to announce the passage of troops, took their duty leisurely and spent the night in our camp. They got drunk and one of them complained bitterly of the sad life of a Tibetan soldier. According to his story, his company had just returned from Kham to Tingri and now it was again ordered to march to Po-yul and take part in war operations against the Po-pas. Our third camel showed signs of exhaustion and we had to leave him behind in care of the headman's wife. The old lady was accordingly invited to our camp and presented with the camel. She felt extremely honored and insisted that we should instruct her and her brother how to look after a camel. We gave her a lesson in "cameleering" and made the camel rise and lie down. Every one of the onlookers was thrilled and the brave animal was conducted to its new home. The gate leading into the courtyard of the house was too small to let the camel in, and had to be enlarged by removing a portion of the brick wall. It was the first camel seen in this region and the headman's family appreciated the honor conferred upon them. In the night, an awful commotion and stampeding about the camp made us jump from our beds. The camel had broken loose and rejoined his comrades. The headman with all his family chased the animal, but were unable to get hold of the beast. Our men had to bring the camel to its new stable, arranged in the courtyard of the headman's house.

With Tingri and the region southwest of it, around the range Lapchyi kang-ri, is connected one of the sublime episodes of the religious and literary history of Tibet. Here, in the first half of the eleventh century, lived and labored the most eminent religious teacher of Tibet, the hermit Milarepa (Mi-la ras-pa), the St. Francis of the Snow Country.

South of Tingri, in almost inaccessible mountain valleys, leading toward the loftiest mountain region on earth, where the snow massifs of Everest, Makalu, and Gaurishankar rise to a tremendous height, as if rivaling each other, there still dwell hermits zealously preserving the mystery of Milarepa, transmitted through generations of teachers. Here, lost in the wilderness of the mountains, one can still hear the songs of Milarepa and contemplate, on the walls of forlorn mountain hermitages, the image of the Teacher, listening to the Inner Voice. Every year pilgrims ascend the almost inaccessible approaches toward Mount Everest, to behold the gigantic cleft on the flank of the mountain, a trace of Naro Bön-chung's fall.

Once Naro, one of the foremost teachers of the Black Faith of Tibet, challenged Milarepa to ascend the summit of the mountain, "The Lady of the Great Snow" or Mount Everest. Milarepa accepted the challenge and sat in deep meditation. Meanwhile, Naro, seeing Milarepa sitting motionless, started to fly, through his supernatural power, toward the summit of the lofty mountain. But how could the victory of the Black Faith be achieved? Of a sudden, on the summit of the mountain appeared a shining throne, on which sat, meditating, Milarepa. Blinded by the sparkling of the vision, Naro fell into a deep precipice and in his fall traced the gigantic sign of his defeat. So says the legend and hundreds of pilgrims extol the wisdom of the teacher to whom beasts and birds were obedient.

There, in those distant mountains, one can still meet recluses, members of the secret brotherhood of followers of Milarepa, called "Brothers and Friends of the Hidden." There also, on the ice-clad slopes, one can see passing the figure of a monk, dressed in the white garment of the adepts of the hidden science of "Inner Fire" or Lung-tum-mo (lung gtum-mo). The fame of this region spread far over Buddhist central Asia and learned lamas of Mongolia often tell about the religious teachers and hermits of the mountain country to the southwest of Shigatse.

On our way to Tingri, we met some lama followers of Milarepa, going on pilgrimage toward the valley of Lap-chyi and its temple. Some of them carried big damaru and the trident, and had the kang-ling or trumpet made of human bone fastened to their belts. Their garment consisted of a once white homespun coat, gray from constant usage and exposure. Their hair was kept together by a string on the crown of the head.

I profited by the opportunity to talk with them and produced the Gur-bum or the collection of the songs of Milarepa. I asked them about followers of Milarepa and famous retreats in the mountains. At first they seemed puzzled by my questions. What right and interest had a stranger to inquire into the life of their fellow monks? But slowly, seeing that I was in earnest, they became more communicative. The already mentioned "Brothers and Friends of the Hidden" are usually initiated pupils of one teacher, and they are united by this common source of instruction. They usually dwell in mountain retreats and recognize each other by certain signs. They practice intense meditation and the hidden science of the "Inner Fire" that allows the adept to sit for hours in biting wind and gale, without feeling the frost. On the contrary, he feels an agreeable warmth spreading over his body and occasionally sees fire tongues spring up around him. It is said that some of the adepts of these practices, whose life have been particularly holy, are able to melt the snow around them for a considerable distance. Before attaining this stage of tum-mo, an aspiring monk has to undergo a course of instruction under the guidance of a teacher, who keeps close watch over his pupils. Without a teacher, tum-mo is considered to be extremely dangerous and there are many cases where monks become insane. I have heard of a monk who had practiced concentration leading toward tum-mo fourteen years but was once interrupted by a passing man, who had lost his way and asked the monk about the road. The result was that the meditating lama experienced such a terrific shock that he was unable to stand it and lost his mind. Rules of tum-mo and of meditations which serve to develop the faculty are laid down in special manuals. Some of them are printed at Narthang, but to get them, a special permission has to be obtained from the Government. Most of the manuals are manuscript and are handed over by the teacher to his best pupil at death. These manuals are as a rule composed in the so-called mantra language, a highly technical form of literary Tibetan, using special expressions.

It is interesting to note that tum-mo is also practiced in Mongol monasteries. These monasteries, usually called dyan-khit or dhyana hermitages (Skrt. dhyana—meditation), are scattered throughout the country. Special permission has to be obtained to visit them, and even if the permission has been obtained, the visitors are enjoined not to speak to the lamas in their cells.

Milarepa and his songs are very popular among the population of Tingri and the neighboring country and legends about Milarepa are often told in the evenings at camp fires and at the hearths of village houses. The author has greatly profited by such conversations with travelers, both traders and lama pilgrims.

In some of the houses at Tingri and the villages of the locality, we found wall paintings representing Milarepa with his right hand lifted up to his right ear, listening to some mysterious voices of nature. He is always pictured sitting in front of a cave with a huge snow mountain in the background. He wears the white garment of his sect, and the ascetic string. Gazelles, leopards, and deer watch the saint, plunged in deep meditation. His teacher, Je-tsün Marpa, is often represented above him in the clouds, his hands in the dhyani-mudra, the posture of meditation. Another favorite representation pictures the saint in his usual pose, sitting among sharp rocks with snow-capped mountains in the background and the goddess Tshe-ring-ma attending upon him. The saint is seen to be emaciated after the severe penance. The execution of these frescoes is rather crude in design but exquisite in color. Time has softened the too vivid contrasts and hidden the faults of the design. Painted images of Milarepa are common, but bronze statues of him are exceedingly rare. We succeeded in obtaining only one bronze image of the saint, of very crude workmanship.

May 6. We made an early start. At six o'clock the caravan left Memo and crossed the vast plain on which the village was situated. After turning a rocky promontory, the trail followed a narrow valley, inclosed on all sides by limestone ridges. At a small village of a dozen hovels, situated on the Phung-chu, the road branched off. One road followed the bank of the river toward a bridge, the other forded the river at the village and turned northeast into the mountains. The second road was much shorter and we decided to ford the river. Having hired two men as guides we began the fording. The river was deep and some of us who were riding on small horses got our feet wet. There was trouble in bringing over the donkey caravan. The water was too high for a laden donkey and some of the larger loads had to be carried across on men's backs. The bed of the river was sandy and in the rainy season (July-August), swelled considerably. On crossing the river, we entered a highly intersected country of sandy and limestone hills. After two miles the limestone disappeared and we rode past rocky crags and massive witnesses of volcanic activity in a recent geological period. The road was narrow and heavy. After crossing two mountain cols of no great height, we descended into a longitudinal valley covered by numerous barley fields and farmsteads. After crossing a low, rocky spur, we emerged into the narrow, well-sheltered valley in which Shekar dzong is situated.

Shekar is undoubtedly one of the most picturesque places of Tibet. The dzong itself towers on a rocky massif. Below the fort were several monasteries, of which the most important was the Shekar chö-de. All the monasteries belonged to the ruling Yellow Hat sect of Lamaism. The town of Shekar was built at the foot of the massif and was divided into two sections by a tiny stream of filthy water. The district of Shekar was governed by two Joint-Governors, one layman and a rtse-drung or lama official. During our visit the lay governor was absent in Lhasa and the district was in charge of his clerical colleague and a ku-tshap or delegate of the Civil Governor. The lama governor was a young man of quiet dignified manners, but looked dull and apparently took little interest in the administration. Most of the dzong business was transacted by his chief secretary. The present governor did not live in the picturesque dzong on the crest of the hill but occupied an insignificant square structure in the center of the town.

On our arrival we were shown a camping place south of the town, but the local headmen were very slow in making the necessary arrangements and a whole hour was spent in arguing with the mi-ser thü-mi or representative of the people of Shekar who were to attend to our needs. Professor Roerich and myself went at once to see the Governor in order to inquire about our further route to Kampa dzong. We found him peering at our camp from behind a projecting wall on the roof of his house.

We were ushered into a big room on the second floor. The Governor sat on the usual low seat placed close to a window, and politely inquired about our health and the difficulties we had experienced on the route. Most of the conversation was conducted by the Governor's secretary, and an important custom official from Lhasa who was on an inspection tour in the Shekar district. This gentleman did most of the talking. He was formerly Governor at Nag-chu and was very eager to learn about the present conditions in that district. He had a vague idea of the outside world and America was known to him under her Chinese name of Mei-kuo. He showed a real interest in skyscrapers and asked for permission to visit our camp in the afternoon. The secretary of the Governor informed us that the animals could not be ready before three days. A long argument followed this announcement. We were eager to go ahead in order to cover the distance between Shekar and the next three stages before the troops from Tingri arrived and requisitioned all the transport available.

The custom official, who took a lively part in the conversation, told us that the letter ordering pack animals for our caravan had been dispatched several days before but that the peasants had not had time enough to collect the animals and bring them there. The population was oppressed by excessive taxes and the local Governors were unable to insist too much on the prompt execution of their orders for fear of possible disturbances, an open admission of the impotent position of the civil authorities in the district. We insisted that we should be allowed to proceed to Kampa dzong via Dobtra, north of the Tsho-mo Tre-tung Lake, but the Governor was in favor of another route through Ting-kye dzong. According to him, there were no arrangements at Dobtra and a caravan from Shekar dzong would be unable to carry our baggage all the way to Kampa dzong. We finally left the dzong, having made the Governor promise that the animals would reach Shekar on May 9.

In the afternoon several Tibetan traders came to see us. Most of them trade with India and frequently visit Kalimpong and Gangtok during winter months. The secretary of the dzong came to count our loads and commissioned two miserable looking peasants, dressed in rags, to watch the loads during the night. He told us that the authorities were in great difficulty for, besides us they had to supply transport animals to the coming troops. He promised to do his best.

A continuous string of riders, with jingling bells, passed our camp. Most of them were traders coming from inner Tibet. Some rode fine animals and presented a very picturesque appearance. Close to our camp were situated the barley fields of Shekar and peasants were plowing with brightly adorned bullocks. In the rural district of Tibet the bullocks usually have their horns adorned with bright red tassels hanging down on both sides of their heads.

May 7. The forenoon was occupied with obtaining provisions for the rest of the trip. The prices for foodstuffs were unusually high. Our camp was crowded by spectators who watched every movement and even endeavored to come inside the tents. We tried to persuade the crowd to disperse but all such attempts failed completely and the crowd only doubled in number, thinking probably that we were about to do something exciting. Very soon it became impossible to move about the camp without being accosted by some one, or followed by a group of natives. We had to apply to the Governor and ask him to depute a couple of his men to keep the crowd away. The men duly appeared on the scene but were unable to disperse them. They advised us to do it ourselves for the crowd would not dare to resist foreigners. Portniagin and I accordingly succeeded in pushing the crowd outside the camp, but people remained standing at a considerable distance and even sat down and made themselves comfortable. They had apparently decided to spend the day watching the performance at the foreigners' camp.

In the afternoon we received a return visit from officials from the dzong. They were greatly interested in photographs of New York. They counted the number of stories in each building and wondered at the amount of traffic in the streets. "Our Tibet is far behind your country," said the custom official. "No wonder you must despise us because of our backwardness." During the official visit, the crowd again overflowed the camp and even the officials themselves were unable to keep them away. They came close to the tents and crowded the entrances so that it became quite dark inside the tent. The official protested but with very little success. Especially annoying were small novices from the monastery who constantly asked for bakhshish with the usual cry: "My throat is dry. Please give me something to buy wine."

May 8. The Governor assured us that he would do his very best to procure caravan animals. More soldiers arrived from Tingri en route for Lhasa and Po-yul, the main column of troops following behind. In the afternoon our camp was suddenly flooded by a huge crowd of monks of different ages, who swarmed round our tents, peering inside and making life miserable. The crowd was an exceptionally dirty one and I was constantly reminded of the words of Captain Rawling about another Tibetan monastery: "Their bodies were always thickly covered with grease and fat but the more exposed parts suggested strongly that the lamas had recently completed the sweeping of a chimney or the cleaning of a stoke-hole."

In order not to experience further delay on our way to Kampa dzong, we persuaded the Governor to send a special mounted messenger to Ting-kye dzong and Kampa dzong and write another letter to the local officials asking them to make haste with caravan animals.

May 9. Late in the evening we heard the tramping of a large column of animals, marching on the main route, and were told that these were our animals for the next day. In the morning there were no traces of caravan animals and the column of last night proved to be a privately owned caravan with barley grain.

A crowd of officials and headmen assembled in our camp and argued endlessly about the distribution of our loads. The secretary of the dzong made a round of the village and collected all the available pack animals. At ten o'clock in the morning a sufficient number was found and the caravan left Shekar in several columns. The local authorities experienced some trouble with local lamas who were supposed to supply about twenty donkeys. At the last moment the monks refused to give the animals. The secretary of the fort called out the head lama and sternly ordered him to supply the needed animals. After a heated argument, the recalcitrant monks and their animals appeared on the scene. We obtained unusually fine riding horses for ourselves as the local officials had to give their own riding animals. The Colonel rode a fine gray and I secured a big black gelding.

We started rather late and the march was said to be a long one. The trail followed the left bank of the Phung-chu or the Arun. We passed several small hamlets. On both sides of the river rose limestone ridges with deeply eroded surfaces. In some places the track crossed eroded canyons, cut into the flank of the mountains.

After a five hours' ride along the bank of the Phung-chu, we entered the big village of Tsöna, which was our stage for the day. The two delegates from the dzong, who were supposed to accompany us until Ting-kye, were delayed at Shekar and were guided only by a man who was in charge of our relay horses. The villagers gave us the wrong information that tents had been pitched for us some four miles farther down the bank of the river. We accordingly continued our journey but to our surprise found nothing on the indicated spot and decided to await the arrival of the dzong representatives. We made a temporary camp on the bank of the river, and prepared some tea. I remained on the projecting hill with field glasses to watch for our caravan. Nothing was seen on the vast plain toward Tsöna village. At six o'clock we were overtaken by a party of riders, who proved to be representatives from Shekar and our Mongols. The representatives seemed greatly annoyed and told us that the villagers had prepared tents for us some six miles farther on, and as the road was easy and flat we had to go there. We again mounted our horses and rode across the vast, sandy plain, that occupied a large plateau on the bank of the river. It was becoming dark but the camp was not to be seen. At last after a march of some twenty-eight miles we found an old Chinese relay station, very similar to those found in other parts of inner China and one black tent pitched outside the courtyard. This was our halting place. The baggage animals arrived only at two o'clock in the morning and we had only one tent. Most of us had to find quarters in the tent pitched by local inhabitants and the resthouse. I preferred to sleep in the open, with a pair of fallen trees for my bed. Across the river, we could see in the dim light of the evening a village with several monasteries scattered on the mountain slopes. The second representative from Shekar, who was absent the whole day, arrived late at night. He had received a false report that we had crossed the river and had gone to the village on the opposite bank. He returned thoroughly wet and hopelessly drunk. Outside our camp there was a deep channel full of mud and water and the official plunged into it headfirst. He had to be rescued with his mount and guided to the resthouse. The recalcitrant monks from the Shekar chö-de threw down their loads on the plateau east of Tsöna and returned home. In the early morning we had to send men and animals to collect the loads.

May 10. We started very late, as the men and animals badly needed a long rest after the strenuous march of the previous day. The trail followed a tributary of the Arun and then turned eastward and struck across a sandy plain with belts of sand dunes. The whole landscape resembled the plain of Chinese Turkestan. After crossing the plain, we came to the sandy bed of another tributary stream of the Arun. There was not much water in the stream and we had no difficulty in crossing. The trail followed a narrow gorge surrounded by limestone ridges. At the bottom of the gorge flowed a tiny mountain stream, emptying into the tributary of the Arun system. After six miles of march the trail emerged on a latitudinal plain on which were several villages. The village Chung-tü was situated on the bank of a small rivulet, flowing south. The village was particularly interesting and picturesque, built on a limestone hill fantastically cut through by narrow passages which served as streets. On the projecting point of the hill stood large stupas and some houses. The place had a small Red Hat monastery belonging to the great Royal Monastery of Sa-skya. We camped on an elevated terrace outside the village. The caravan was again delayed en route and we received our tents only at ten o'clock that morning. A section of our caravan was unable to reach the village and was forced to camp on the river bank, outside the village.

May 11. The start was again delayed by trouble with the caravan. The peasants from Shekar refused to carry our baggage to Tashi-gang, which was our next stage. From Chung-tü there are two routes to Tashi-gang; one across the Pha La, a pass in the mountain range northeast of Chung-tü, and a second route, following the plain on which Chung-tü is situated and turning round the mountain range southeast of Chung-tü. The second route was much longer, but had no passes to cross.

Some of the peasants decided to go by the longer route, the rest agreed to follow the shorter route across the Pha La. The route to Pha La passed hamlets and farms with small gardens of poplars and willow trees. Near the Pha La we even saw the remaining portion of what once was a large forest of poplars and willows. The pass had a steep but short ascent, and led into a latitudinal valley in which Tashi-gang was situated.

Tashi-gang was a large village in the center of which rose the big house of the local headman. The streets were narrow, so narrow indeed that two riders were unable to pass each other. All the houses were built close together and from a distance gave the impression of being one huge building. The house of the headman was a two-story building and had a large courtyard and stables, where we placed our horses.

A camp was pitched for us outside the headman's house on a patch of level ground which was probably a former barley field. Many irrigation channels cut the large valley into squares on which barley was sown. The villagers seemed hospitable. Some of them knew a little Hindustani and had been to India. The Tashi-gang plain has a considerable population and was covered by farms and hamlets. To the southeast and south, rose a high mountain range, in which the Gu-lung La was situated, the pass which we had to cross on our way to Ting-kye.

May 12. In the morning the headman unexpectedly refused to supply caravan animals. He said that the Governor of Shekar knew perfectly well that Tashi-gang was not on the main road to Ting-kye and that Tashi-gang was exempt from relay or ula service by special order from His Holiness the Dalai Lama. The two officials from Shekar who were escorting us as far as Ting-kye, were unable to persuade the headman, and only asked him to give them a written statement, which he did. We were forced to use the same animals. The peasants stubbornly refused to supply animals despite the threats of the officials delegated from Shekar. Most of the caravan spent the night outside the village about a mile away and they were about to enter Tashi-gang and hand over the loads to the local headman. One of the officials from Shekar took up a position outside the village and when the caravan came nearer, ordered the drivers to turn toward the Gulung La. A violent scene followed in which the official had to use his whip. The caravan turned and slowly continued its way toward the pass.

We left the village and rode after the caravan. We crossed a stream flowing outside the village and began the long ascent of the pass. The donkey caravan which had gone ahead of us, was found on the trail. Most of the animals had collapsed under their loads. Their owners, with tears in their eyes, begged us to let them go back to Shekar, because their animals could not ascend the steep pass. They stuck out their tongues and prostrated themselves. The situation seemed serious and we decided to inquire into the matter. It was soon discovered that the donkeys were strong enough to continue the journey to Ting-kye but that the owners had purposely made them lie down and the poor animals could not rise again under their loads. We ordered them to raise the animals at once and continue the ascent.

The Shekar officials were still in the village waiting for relay horses and we had to send word to them. The Colonel and I were left with the loads. We started to take them off and the "tired-out" animals sprang up and began to graze on the mountain slope. After the arrival of the officials the donkey column was loaded again and began its slow march toward the pass. Professor Roerich, with the rest of our party, was already far ahead, having reached the summit of the pass. The Colonel and I had to remain with the two camels, helping the cameleer. The ascent was extremely steep and it took us fully three hours to get to the summit. From the pass we descended, following an eroded canyon, to the plain, the basin of the Lake Tsho-mo Tre-tung.

To the south rose the snow-capped range of the central Himalayas. The road passed along the western shore of the lake. Near the lake we overtook the rest of our party and crossed a flat col, situated southwest of the lake. Wet snow and a cold western wind started to blow soon after we had reached the summit of the col. The descent was long but gradual and led toward the great upland plain stretching along the northern foot of the Himalayas. The trail was heavy, being in many places blocked by accumulations of detritus and bowlders that had rolled down the mountain slopes. At the foot of the descent, we passed a small farmhouse and several barley fields. From there the road turned westward and we were soon in sight of the dzong of Ting-kye, on the western shore of a small lake.

In the neighborhood of the dzong were several monasteries and villages. We were met by some dzong officials who escorted us to a place on the eastern shore of the lake, the former camping place of the Mount Everest Expedition. Notwithstanding the receipt of our letter announcing our arrival by the local dzong-pön the animals were not ready and we were told to stay one extra day at Ting-kye, and leave the place on May 14. We agreed to this, for our camels and horses badly needed a rest after the difficult ascent of the Gulung La. Our camp was pleasantly situated and we enjoyed our stay at Ting-kye. North of us was the Yellow Hat Monastery of Tashi-chombü, and a village belonging to it. The dzong itself, a large square building, surrounded by brick and stone hovels of retainers, was built on the opposite shore of the lake. The road to the dzong followed a dam that divided the lake into two parts.

Next day Professor Roerich and I went to see the dzong-pön in order to fix the cost of hire of each animal to Kampa dzong. One entered the dzong through a large gate, which led into a stone-paved courtyard. As in all Tibetan houses, this inner courtyard had a stable. From the courtyard we climbed a stone stairway with large steps and reached the second floor. From here we had to climb a wooden ladder to where the Governor awaited us. He sat on a veranda overlooking the inner courtyard. He was still a young man, with pleasant manners and dressed in the usual Tibetan puru , and he made a friendly impression. After the conventional compliments and mutual inquiries about health, we started to talk business. The dzong-pön informed us that he would charge us for each animal according to local prices, neither more nor less. Several headmen were called in and a long conference followed. The prices were finally fixed as follows: three ngü-sangs for each horse and one ngü-sang and five sho for each pack animal. According to the dzong-pön , they had had an exceptionally snowy winter in the district and many people had perished on the passes across the Himalayas. The Sepo La was now free from snow but the high passes south of Ting-kye were still impassable.

May 13. In the morning light clouds hovered over the summits and a passing cloud sent a light shower of rain and hail. The morning was spent in a visit to the monastery of Tashi-chombü, which was situated on the slope of a rocky ridge. The track to the monastery climbed the slope of the mountain and was lined with mani-walls and small, dilapidated stupas. Below the track not far from the village, stood an inclosed grove of poplars with a large, open square in the center. Here in the fourth month of the Tibetan year, gaily decorated tents are pitched and the monks of the monastery hold religious debates and listen to the discourse of learned doctors who visit the monastery for this occasion. The debates continue for about ten days. The monastery is inclosed by brick walls, and several gates lead into the courtyard, paved with large slabs of stone. It is a branch of the great Dre-pung Monastery of Lhasa and lamas of Dre-pung are periodically sent here for a year or two. In front of the assembly hall was situated a small paved courtyard with frescoes representing the thousand Tathagatas. The Healing Buddha, or Man-la in Tibetan (sMan-bla), the white and green Taras and some of the eighty-four ascetics of India, were all represented in rows on the walls of the courtyards. The paintings were crude and had little artistic value. In some places the color had disappeared and left ugly, dark spots on the white background of the wall. Iconographically, the frescoes had a certain value, for the name of the represented deities and saints was as a rule written below the figure. The abbot of the monastery, a high lama from Dre-pung, who temporarily resided in the monastery, greeted us in the courtyard and conducted us inside the dukhang or assembly hall. In the glimmering light of offering lamps in front of the altar images, we noticed the gilded clay images of Sakyamuni, the Buddha, of his two principal disciples, Shariputra and Maudgalyana. Tsong-kha-pa with his two disciples Jye-tshap-je (rGyal-tshab-rje) and Khe-dup-je (mKhas-grub-rje) stood on the altar. A great offering lamp of silver burned in front of the images. A section of the walls was occupied by the monastic library containing a complete collection of Känjür and Tänjür of an old Narthang print. The rest of the walls were covered by frescoes in the orthodox style. I noticed several representations of the chief yi-dams of the Yellow sect, beginning with a Tantric form of Yamantaka, the Protector of the sect. Near the entrance of the temple stood a huge image of the yi-dam of Kalacakra, represented in his Tantric form.

There is little difference between a fresco technique and the ordinary technique used in painting thang-kas or painted banners. A fresco is only an enlarged thang-ka spread on the wall of the temple with the same design, the same composition and coloring. Sometimes a fresco serves as the background to sculpture. This is often the case with images of the Buddha. I remember seeing frescoes representing the Buddha tempted by Mara, the Evil One, the night before the attainment of complete enlightenment. The principal figure of the Buddha, seated in the meditative attitude, the head slightly bent, was made of gilded clay, which had assumed a soft coloring, and the hair was as usual painted blue. Mara and his host were represented on the fresco behind the image of the Buddha. The same combination of fresco and sculpture was known to central Asian artists, who decorated the cave temples of Chinese Turkestan and western Kansu.

According to the kham-po or abbot, only one hundred monks were at present residing at the monastery, the rest being scattered in the country or on pilgrimage. Coming out of the assembly hall, we were met by a lama who was very much interested in whether the sahibs would present tea or man-ja to the monastic congregation and with what kind of currency they would pay, ngü-sangs, Chinese dollars, or Indian rupees. We understood he was the financial advisor of the monastery.

The rest of the day was spent in repairing and adjusting the loads. Our tents badly needed repair. The upper fly of my tent had been torn to pieces by a windstorm several weeks ago and I had to content myself with a single fly.

The Governor, accompanied by his little son and several officials, paid a visit to our camp. He had received information that we were in possession of photographs of New York and he was very eager to see them. He made intelligent comments and apparently realized how much his country had to learn from the outside world.

May 14. It was not easy to start the new caravan, for the baggage had to be again distributed among six different villages. The drivers took off their garters and handed them to the headman who afterward decided which load was to be carried by the respective owners of the garters.

The day was cloudy and the Himalayas were hidden behind an impenetrable veil of mist. Distant thunder roared in the mountains and occasional rain and wet snow fell during the morning. After two hours of hustle, we left the camp with the last section of the caravan. The trail followed the plain stretching from Ting-kye toward Kampa dzong. The trail was level and crossed swampy, saline grounds and belts of sand dunes surrounded by quicksands. We passed a small lake, called Chang-tsho by local inhabitants. In order to avoid the swamps on the shores of the lake, we had to turn northward toward the hills and enter a narrow valley blocked by bowlders and accumulations of detritus.

After a two hours' march we reached the small village of Ling-kar, situated on a firm patch of land and surrounded on every side by swamps. Southeast of the village rose the snow peak of Jo-mo yum-mo and in the evening a beautiful sunset effect lit the towering snow range south of the upland plain.

May 15. We made an early start, at six o'clock in order to reach Kampa dzong in the forenoon. The day promised to be clear and the snow of the Himalayas glittered in the rays of the morning sun. I unfortunately lost my Tibetan wolfhound, Kadru. The dog was probably stolen by villagers. We made a house-to-house search but found no traces of him. Subsequently we notified the Governor of Kampa dzong but even he was unable to produce the dog or to find the thief.

We continued our journey in an easterly direction toward the small village of Mende. At Mende we crossed the small river of Ya-ru chu. At this time of the year the river was shallow, but it was said to carry a considerable volume of water in summer. On crossing the Ya-ru chu, we ascended a low, sandy ridge and found ourselves on the plain of Kampa dzong.

Kampa dzong is one of the most picturesque places of Tibet. The dzong itself is hidden in a narrow mountain gorge, sheltered by high, sandy ridges. The old dzong is built on a rocky cliff. It is a square building of solid masonry, encircled by stone walls and towers which protect the approaches into the valley. The present governor of the district no longer lives in the old dzong , for the ancient building is said to be unsafe. He built himself a small one-story house at the foot of the cliff in the neighborhood of the village.

On our arrival, the Governor awaited us outside the village and conducted us to the camp. We were told that the animals could not reach the place in time and that we would probably have to stay an extra day at Kampa.

May 16. A fine, sunny day. In the morning we made an excursion to the old dzong on the top of the cliff and paid a return visit to the Gov- ernor of the fort. The old dzong, with its proudly rising stone wall, is one of the best architectural creations of old Tibet. South of the dzong, high on the crest of the ridge, stood the little monastery of Kampa ritö, famous for the saintly life of its eight monks.

In the afternoon we were again visited by the Governor. He remembered having seen Sven Hedin at Saga dzong in 1908. We had a long talk on Tibet and other countries and on map making, field glasses, and photography. In the afternoon we again went to see the Governor to fix the prices for animals as far as Thangu on the Sikkim side of the frontier.

Late in the evening, a black column appeared in the gorge, and the familiar whistling of yak drivers heralded the approach of our yak caravan for tomorrow. The yaks were tied to ropes round the camp and camp fires were lit, illuminating the neighborhood.

May 17. We started very early. Before dawn the camp was already packed and the loads adjusted. The dzong-pön had given us his own riding animals as far as Thangu, fine mules and horses. Our stage was to be a short one to the frontier hamlet of Kyeru. A messenger rode off with letters from the Governor and ourselves to Col. F. M. Bailey and the headman of Lachen, announcing our arrival. Long ago at Nag-chu, we had asked the Tibetan Government to inform the British authorities of our coming and hoped that they were prepared for our passage. After two hours of easy marching over an ascending plain, we reached the small, dirty hamlet of Kyeru. Because of the altitude, no cultivation was possible and the hamlet served only as a relay station for passing caravans and as a frontier outpost. We pitched our camp on a level spot outside the village. Travelers from Lachen passed our camp. Most of them were natives of Lachen going to trade at Kampa dzong.

May 18. A memorable day for all the members of the expedition. Notwithstanding the bitter cold of the early morning hours, everyone was up before dawn and camp fires flickered in the darkness. Horses were saddled and tents were rolled up and loaded on mules. Before sunrise everything was ready for the start, but it was still too dark to ascend the pass and we had to wait for an hour. At last the sun rays lit the snow peaks towering on either side of the Sepo La and the long string of our riders and caravan animals left Kyeru and began the ascent of the Sepo La. The ascent was very gentle. Higher and higher rose the trail, until it had reached the summit of the pass with an elevation of 16,970 feet. A stone cairn marked the summit, which forms the political frontier between Tibet and the Indian Empire. Then began a gradual descent, past huge masses of snow, glaciers, and tremendous peaks. It was bitterly cold, because of the snows.

Farewell Tibet, land of gales and winds and inhospitable rulers! We were heading toward the wonderland of Sikkim with its rhododendron forests and deodars. The valley narrowed and the trail skirted the small lake from which the river Lachen has its source. Suddenly a wonderful fragrance filled the air, as if we were approaching pine forests. But we rode and rode and saw no traces of trees. The change came suddenly. The trail turned into a narrow gorge of the Lachen River and we saw in the distance, mountain slopes thickly covered by the evergreen shrubs of balu . The plant was in full bloom and the mountain sides were covered with its white and pink flowers.

Late in the afternoon, we noticed something dark ahead of us. We looked through our field glasses and recognized the first forest of rhododendrons growing on the mountain slopes. Farther down the river gorge, through which roared the Lachen River, stood the Thangu dak bungalow, and all around grew the wonderful rhododendron forest in full bloom. An unforgettable scene, so welcome after three years of wandering in the barren region of inner Asia.

One mile more, and we dismounted from our tired horses in front of the bungalow and were greeted by the friendly chowkidar or watchman of the place. It was strange to be again in a house, to sit in rooms and to be able to take off our fur coats, boots, and dust-covered fur caps.

We had an exciting time with our Mongol horses, who shied at trees and objected to the stable. The local population had never before seen camels and everyone wondered at the use of them. Our two camels were the first to come from Kampa dzong and we were glad to have been able to bring both the animals in sound condition to Sikkim, especially the big black camel that came all the way from Bulugun River, near Kobdo in northwestern Mongolia, a journey of more than five thousand miles.

May 19. We had to remain one day at Thangu and await the Lachen headman, who sent word that he was coming with pack mules and riding horses. He arrived in the afternoon and kindly assisted us with the arrangement of a new caravan to Gangtok. He agreed to escort the caravan himself and hire mules as far as Gangtok, a thing which is seldom done by Lachen people. The rest of the day was spent resting in the spacious dak bungalow.

May 20. When we rose in the morning of the next day, the caravan with the baggage was already gone, and we hurried to mount our horses. What a wonderful country is this Lachen Valley! Spring was in full glory and it was a treat to ride through the woods. In Lachen the expedition was very kindly entertained by Miss Tornquist of the Finnish Mission. Thanks to her, we secured some provisions and real sugar, of which we had been deprived for a very long time.

On the next day we were at Tsönthang and had to stay in tents, for the local bungalow had been washed away by the flooded river. The Lachen Valley is a dangerous place, for landslides occur annually and carry away large patches of valuable land.

From Tsönthang we proceeded through Singhik to Drichu. At Singhik we were met by the Chief of the Sikkim Military Police, deputed by the Sikkim Durbar to assist our expedition.

On May 24 the expedition reached Gangtok and was hospitably received in their home at Gangtok where we spent two delightful days.

On May 26 all the European members of the expedition proceeded to Darjeeling. The three Mongols, Ochir, Dorje, and Manji, who had so faithfully served the expedition on its difficult march across Tibet, were to return to their own native place in Tsaidam by way of Lhasa. Thanks to the kind assistance of Colonel Bailey, they were given passports and permitted to retain the rifles which were given to them. The two camels, the last of the forty-two camels to survive, were presented to His Highness the Maharaja of Sikkim and we were much gratified to learn that His Highness arranged to keep the animals at his Tibetan estate at Dobtra.

In Darjeeling the expedition was officially disbanded and its members returned to their homes, carrying with them recollections of mighty snow ranges, roaring mountain streams, and boundless deserts.

In spite of the tremendous difficulties, including political upheavals, and unfavorable seasons for traveling, during which the expedition was often obliged to go on, it achieved a signal success and brought back a unique record of the regions of inner Asia.