An unknown article in Tibet--My sponge bewitched--A Lama fires my
Martini-Henry--The rifle bursts.
THEY had now reached the bottom of the water-tight case, and the Pombo
drew out with much suspicion a curious flattened object.
"What is that?" inquired he, as usual lifting the article up in the air.
My sight had been so injured that I could not clearly discern what it
was; but on their waving it in front of my nose, I recognised it to be my
long mislaid bath-sponge, dry and flattened, which Chanden Sing, with his
usual ability for packing, had stored away at the bottom of the case,
piling upon it the heavy cases of photographic plates. The sponge, a very
large one, was now reduced to the thickness of less than an inch, owing
to the weight that had for weeks lain upon it.
The Tibetans were greatly puzzled at this new discovery, which they said
resembled tinder; and it was touched with much caution, for some of the
Lamas said it might explode.
When their curiosity was appeased, they took it and threw it away. It
fell near me in a small pool of water. This was a golden opportunity to
frighten my jailers, and I addressed the sponge in English, and with any
word that came into my mouth, pretending to utter incantations. The
attention of the Lamas and soldiers was naturally quickly drawn to this
unusual behaviour on my part; and they could not conceal their terror
when, as I spoke louder and louder to the sponge, it gradually swelled to
its normal size with the moisture it absorbed.
The Tibetans, who at first could hardly believe their eyes at this
incomprehensible occurrence, became so panic-stricken at what they
believed to be an exhibition of my occult powers, that there was a
general stampede in every direction.
In a way, all this was entertaining, and anyhow it served to pass away
the time. The most amusing scene that afternoon was, however, still to
come.
After a time the Lamas screwed up their courage, and returned to where my
baggage had been overhauled. One of them picked up my Martini-Henry, and
the others urged him to fire it off. He came to me, and when I had
explained to him how to load it, he took a cartridge and placed it in the
breech, but would insist on not closing the bolt firmly home. When I
warned him of the consequences, he struck me over the head with the butt
of the rifle.
[Illustration: BELT, WITH BULLET AND POWDER POUCHES, DAGGER, NEEDLE-CASE,
AND FLINT AND STEEL]
It is the fashion, when aiming with one of their matchlocks, which have a
prop attached to them, to place the butt in front of the nose instead of
holding it firmly to the shoulder as we do. So the Lama aimed in this
fashion at one of my yaks peacefully grazing some thirty yards off. While
everybody watched anxiously to see the results of this marksman's
shooting, he pulled the trigger; the rifle went off with an extra loud
report, and behold! the muzzle of the Martini burst and the violent
recoil gave the Lama a fearful blow in the face. The rifle, flying out of
his hands, described a somersault in the air, and the Lama fell backwards
to the ground, where he remained spread out flat, bleeding all over, and
screaming like a child. His nose was squashed; one eye had been put out,
and his teeth shattered.
Whether the rifle burst because the bolt had not been properly closed, or
because mud had got into the muzzle as well, I could not say; but I give
here a photograph of the broken weapon, which the Tibetans returned to
me several months later through the Government of India.
The injured Lama, I may say, was the one at the head of the party that
wanted to have my head cut off, so that, naturally enough, I could not
help betraying my satisfaction at the accident. I was glad they had let
me live another day were it only to see his self-inflicted punishment.
[Illustration: MARTINI-HENRY EXPLODED]