ONWARDS THROUGH THE FORBIDDEN LAND
January 13. Again this ominous number, which is regarded by so many
people as unlucky, and is surrounded by a cloud of superstition! Would
the 13th be unfortunate for us also?
The sun had scarcely risen when Hlaje Tsering sent to announce a visit.
Accompanied by his private secretary, the lama Lobsang Shunten, and all
the rest of his retinue, His Excellence the Governor of Naktsang came to
my tent on foot. They took their seats on the cushions, and Hlaje
Tsering opened the conversation with the following remarkable
declaration:
"Hedin Sahib, we have, neither of us, time to stay here for weeks and
months, waiting for an answer from Gyangtse. I cannot help you in your
correspondence with Gyangtse. I have thoroughly considered the
situation, and have discussed it with my secretaries, who, like myself,
are responsible to the Devashung. We are of the opinion that all you can
do is to pass southwards into the territory of the Labrang
(Tashi-lunpo). I beg you to set out the day after to-morrow."
What did this most unexpected change of front mean? Yesterday I was not
to be allowed to take a single step southwards, and to-day I was
requested to start as soon as possible to the forbidden land. Had Hlaje
Tsering received secret orders from Lhasa? Had he been informed that the
Tashi Lama was really expecting me? He said nothing on the subject, and
I cautiously refrained from asking him. Or were we the victims of a
ruse, and when we had been induced to travel with all speed to
Gyangtse, should we be compelled to return thence to India through
Darjiling? For there the Devashung could appeal to the terms of the
treaty, in which it is emphatically stipulated that only those who are
in possession of a passport from Lhasa have a right to travel about the
country, and so my journey would be speedily ended.
Might it not be better to make for the unknown country west of the
Dangra-yum-tso, which after all was the main object of my journey? Hlaje
Tsering's change of front was so absolutely at variance with my former
experiences in Tibet, that I had some misgivings, and wondered whether I
was about to fall into the jaws of the English, Chinese, and Tibetan
authorities, and should shortly be delivered unconditionally into their
hands.
But this opportunity must on no account be lost. Between the
Ngangtse-tso and Shigatse stretches the eastern part of the great white
patch north of the Tsangpo, which no European, no pundit, has trod, the
land of which not even hazy and uncertain reports at second-hand have
ever found their way into geographical text-books. Even if I had an
opportunity of making only a single traverse over it, my labour would
not be in vain. Nain Sing has two rivers on his map, which flow east and
north-east to the Kyaring-tso, and their upper courses he places in the
country south of the Ngangtse-tso. At present I knew nothing of them,
but I should learn everything if I accepted Hlaje Tsering's proposal.
But I had already perceived that the mountains on the south side of the
lake were quite fanciful and arbitrary as inserted in Nain Sing's map.
At any rate, I must not now betray my satisfaction, so I answered very
calmly and thoughtfully:
"Well, I will march southwards the day after to-morrow if you will
provide me with horses by then."
"I have sent men into all the valleys in the neighbourhood with orders
that all the available horses are to be brought here. Two roads lead
from here to Shigatse. If you travel by the west side of the lake you
will be in four days in the territory of the Labrang, but by the east
side you will reach it in two days. You may choose yourself which way
you will take, but I shall be better pleased if you decide on the
eastern, for with me the main thing is that you should clear out of my
province as quickly as possible."
"No, I will fix on the western road, that I may be able to make an
excursion to the Dangra-yum-tso; for I wish to see the lake, and also I
must go there because I have given it as my postal address, and the
messenger of the Tashi Lama is awaiting me there."
This was a very undiplomatic utterance. I ought to have avoided
disclosing my plans. Hlaje Tsering bristled up at once and exclaimed:
"To the Dangra-yum-tso? Never! The lake is holy; the mountain
Targo-gangri on its southern shore is holy, and there lies the great
monastery Sershik-gompa, in which influential intriguing monks dwell.
Your visit to the lake would lead to complications. No, if such is your
intention, I will leave only one road open to you, namely, that along
the eastern side of the Ngangtse-tso. I cannot and will not compel you,
but I implore you to give me your word of honour that you will not go to
the Dangra-yum-tso."
Thus I lost the holy lake a second time; but I gave my word of honour,
that I might not lose the important route still open to me. My premature
candour vexed me at the time, but I was soon to have reason to be
thankful for it. Had I gained an opportunity of visiting the holy lake
at this time, I should certainly have been arrested on its shore; but
that is another story which will be related in a later chapter.
"Tell me, Hlaje Tsering, do you think that I shall be stopped in the
territory of the Labrang?"
"As you have not been arrested here, in Naktsang, probably you will not
be there. I do not know how I shall get on, but I have been Governor for
seven years, and my term of office expires in five months, so it is of
no consequence if I lose my post. The Devashung has plundered me so
thoroughly that I have few cattle and little other property left. Now,
for instance, I am travelling in my province at the expense of the
people; the nomads have to provide me with baggage animals and
provisions for the whole time."
"The Devashung must be a nice institution. How glad you must be that
your time of service will soon expire."
"Yes, but I must settle down in some place where I can live cheaply."
"Does the Devashung know that I am here?"
"I have not heard anything from it up to the present, but I despatched
another report on your affairs yesterday by express messenger. How they
will treat you I do not know; I have gone as far as I could for old
friendship's sake."
After that we again paid him a return visit. Some of Hlaje Tsering's men
had seen us engaged in rearranging our baggage, and this caused him to
ask me if he could have an empty chest. Four of the best were given him,
and also all kinds of other superfluous articles.
[Illustration: 96. SERVANTS OF HLAJE TSERING.]
[Illustration: 97. MESSENGER WITH LETTERS FROM HOME, AND HIS TRAVELLING
COMPANION.]
[Illustration: 98. HLAJE TSERING SETTING OUT.]
January 13 was a memorable day in our chronicles, and the 14th was to
bring with it still more wonderful incidents. Our life during the past
months had passed rather monotonously, but now the facts of our daily
experience were stranger than fiction. The alt-azimuth had been placed
on its tripod near my tent, and I had the chronometer, an aneroid, and a
thermometer close at hand. There I stood for fully three hours,
observing the phases of the eclipse of the sun. About nine-tenths of the
sun's disc were obscured. Shortly before the maximum the temperature of
the air was 16.7°, and soon after the maximum 11.5°. The violet line of
the thermograph fell sharply, and a slight breeze swept along the
earth's surface. Some Tibetans had betaken themselves to Muhamed Isa's
tent to sell us horses, but when the singular darkness fell, they shook
their heads and returned to their tents. The Ladakis are outside,
sitting at their fire and murmuring prayers. The ravens are quiet and do
not move. An eagle circles with heavy pinions close above the ground.
Our sheep come in of their own accord from the pastures, just as they
are wont to do in the evening, and yet the vanishing sun stands at its
mid-day altitude. The puppies break off their play, creep timidly into
the tent, and lie down on my bed. Only the horses graze on and display
no surprise that the day is so short. All is strangely still and
quiet.
But then the small sickle of the sun, which has not been extinguished in
interstellar space, increases again. It becomes lighter, and the shadows
that have just before shown a double outline, become sharp again. The
sheep stand a moment irresolute and then go slowly back to the pasture.
The dogs return to their play, and the Tibetans, one after another, peep
out of their tent doors. The ravens shake themselves and fly off
croaking to a hill. The prayers of the Ladakis are heard no more, and
the eagle is borne aloft by swishing beats of his wings to the sun,
which again shines out in all its splendour.
Then old Karpun came to visit us, and was given some tea, tobacco, and a
piece of cloth.
"Does the Bombo Chimbo remember that I tried to detain him five and a
half years ago with a large levy?"
"Yes, on the north shore of the Selling-tso (Zilling-tso). I gave you a
great deal of trouble then, and you could not induce me to stay."
"The trouble is all forgotten, and I am very glad to see you again in
good health and brisk."
"We did not expect then that we should meet again. You, too, are looking
well. But tell me why you are come just now."
"I have brought a message to the Governor from Shansa-dzong. The
officials remaining there have ordered me to call out the people. Now
all the militia must stand under arms to----"
"You surely do not intend to detain me again?"
"By no means. But news is come from the black tents on the middle course
of the Bogtsang-tsangpo that a large band of robbers has pillaged ten
tents and driven off all the owners' cattle and all the flocks of
sheep."
"When?"
"A few days ago."
"Then we may thank our stars that we did not fall into their hands, for
we passed along the middle course of the Bogtsang-tsangpo for five days,
and we have a large quantity of silver money in our boxes."
"The Bombo Chimbo is a friend of the gods. No harm can befall you."
"In which direction have the robbers retired with their booty?"
"They are still in the territory of Naktsang. We shall pursue them,
catch them, and cut off their heads."
Then I visited Hlaje Tsering with the corner pillars of my caravan. He
sat at his lacquered table drinking tea, and had his long Chinese pipe
in his mouth.
"Why is it that it has just been so dark?" I asked him. "The gods of the
Dangra-yum-tso are angry because you will not allow me to visit their
lake."
"No, certainly not. A big dog roams about the sky and often conceals the
sun. But I and the lama Lobsang have prayed all the time before the
altar, and have burned joss-sticks before the images of the gods. You
have nothing to fear; the dog has passed on."
"Very fine," I cried, and made a desperate attempt to explain the
phenomenon. Robert held up his saucer to represent the sun, and I took
two rupees to represent the earth and moon crossing each other's orbit.
Hlaje Tsering listened attentively to Muhamed Isa's translation of my
demonstration, nodded approvingly, and finally expressed his opinion
that all this might do very well for us, but that it did not suit Tibet.
At this moment the flap of the tent was thrown back, and Rabsang entered
panting and calling out to me:
"The post is here!"
Muhamed Isa and Robert jumped up as though there were fire under their
feet, and exclaimed, "We must be off." I sat quite still, and thrust my
feet against the ground so as not to show that I was trembling with
excitement. Was it possible? Letters from home, from India, from
Gyangtse, and perhaps from the Tashi Lama!
"Who has brought the mail?" I asked, as if nothing had happened.
"A man from Shigatse, accompanied by two others," answered Rabsang.
"Where is he? Let him bring the mail-bag."
"We have already told him to come, but he replies that he has strict
orders to hand over the letters to the Sahib himself in his own tent.
He refuses to do so in the tent of the Governor."
"What is the matter?" asked Hlaje Tsering, astonished at the general
commotion.
"I have news from the Tashi Lama," I returned very coolly. It was now
Hlaje Tsering's turn to look disconcerted. The news made a very deep
impression on him. He quickly gave an order, two men hurried out and
returned with a confirmation of my statement. Then he gave me a friendly
clap on the shoulder and said, smiling:
"Hedin Sahib, this news is of much greater importance to me than to you.
It is of no consequence what kind of tidings you receive, but the
arrival of the post from the Tashi Lama is, in itself, a proof that His
Holiness is actually expecting you, that Labrang is open to you, and
that I acted rightly when I told you that you might continue your
journey. If I had not already granted you permission yesterday, I should
do so now."
"I have always said that I should receive my letters from the Tashi
Lama."
"That is true; but now I have for the first time tangible proof, now I
am perfectly satisfied, and do not intend even to wait for your
departure. I shall travel back to Shansa-dzong the day after to-morrow."
Now I could no longer curb my impatience. I took leave and hurried to my
tent, whither the post-messenger was summoned. He was a young powerful
Tibetan, a servant of Kung Gushuk, one of the highest officials in
Shigatse, and younger brother of the Tashi Lama. Lieutenant Bailey, who
had taken the place of Major O'Connor, absent on furlough, had,
according to orders from India, sent the carefully packed post-box to
the Tashi Lama with a request that he would forward it to me. The
forbidden Dangra-yum-tso appeared in the Tibetan address also. By
command of the Tashi Lama the man was furnished with an open passport
from the Labrang, the Vatican of Tashi-lunpo, which empowered him to
demand horses and provisions along the route. The men with him were the
nomads who had last supplied him with horses at the Dangra-yum-tso, and
now that they were sure of tips would not leave him. He had taken
eighteen days to travel to the holy lake, and had looked for us there
for three days, when he heard by chance that we were encamped on the
Ngangtse-tso. Then he had hastened to us in order to execute his
commission. But why was he so late? I had arranged for November 25. Yes,
but Kung Gushuk had let the box lie for forty days, and Kung Gushuk is a
blockhead. But this was a piece of good luck. Had Kung Gushuk done his
duty, the post would have arrived at the right time, while I only
reached the place agreed upon at the end of December. A higher
providence had overruled the whole affair, and everything turned out
well (Illustration 98).
Now the box was broken open. What excitement! It contained packets of
letters from my home, from the Government House in Calcutta, from
Colonel Dunlop Smith, and many other friends. I first ascertained from
the last letter that all were well at home, and then read all the
letters in chronological order with the most eager interest. The letters
were the more welcome that they contained nothing but good news. I
received a quantity of Swedish newspapers; they were old as the hills,
but I should now have no lack of reading on my way to Shigatse.
The caravan did not see much of me that evening. I lay on my bed engaged
in reading, and made my men heat the tent well. The Ladakis, too, were
merry, kindled a large fire, danced and sang. I was invited to go and
look on at their merry-making for a moment, and availed myself of the
opportunity to make a short speech, in which I told them that they had
all served me well and faithfully, and that hitherto we had met with
good fortune. Now the road to Tashi-lunpo was open to us, and they would
attain their wish of making a pilgrimage to the holy town. There they
would rest after their exertions. Then I returned to my letters, and
read on till the day dawned in the east, till long after the brazier had
grown cold, and there were 45 degrees of frost in my tent. But I was
well wrapped up in furs and did not feel the cold. Near my tent a troop
of wolves made such a noise that Tsering had to go out and silence them
with a few shots.
On the 15th I still lay down and read. On the 16th Hlaje Tsering paid me
his farewell visit. We talked very pleasantly together, joked, and
wondered whether fate would ever bring us together again. Then I
attended him to his horse, which was snowy white, had a crimson
saddle-cloth, and was bedecked with ornaments of shining brass and a
chest-cloth with jingling bells. He mounted into the saddle, gave me
both his hands at parting, and disappeared with his small retinue behind
the hills. Then I again went back to my letters, but I felt a dull void
now that the amiable Governor of Naktsang was gone (Illustration 97).
January 17. What did it matter if the day were gloomy, if freshly fallen
snow veiled the surrounding mountains, and heavy greyish-blue clouds
rolled over the lake as though to hide it from our sight at the moment
of our departure? To us everything seemed bright, cheerful, and smiling.
A powerful governor had come to prevent us from travelling further, and
yet the route to the south was as free to us as the uninhabited
Chang-tang had lately been. But now we were much better off. We should
pass black tents daily, be able to buy all we wanted, and have no cause
for alarm because we had provisions for only five days longer. We
enjoyed unlimited freedom, and had not a single man with us as escort or
watchman. Before us lay a country which might be said to be the most
interesting in the world from a geographical point of view, and in which
every day's journey might lead to discoveries of the highest importance.
What did we care if the air was raw and cold? Spring must come sometime.
We could count on warmer weather for three reasons: we were advancing to
more southern climes, we should soon reach districts at a lower level,
and the spring was daily approaching. And for three reasons the
Ngangtse-tso would ever be memorable in the diary of my reminiscences:
there freedom of movement had been unexpectedly accorded to us, there
connection with the outer world had been again established, and there I
had an opportunity of determining the depth of the lake by a complete
series of soundings, and of drawing its contours in a map.
We had obtained three new horses fairly cheaply, on which Robert,
Muhamed Isa, and Tsering rode, while I kept to my small Ladak white.
Accompanied by the post-messenger and his two comrades, we rode in a
south-easterly direction down to the lake, and along the eastern shore
to the southern part, where we bivouacked near two black tents. Kiangs
and wolves were frequently seen. A kiang had been torn in pieces by the
wolves, and the white puppy and the Pobrang dog remained by the body to
enjoy a good feast. We were terribly starved during the long march of
13.2 miles, and in the night the thermometer marked 61.9 degrees of
frost, the worst cold of the whole winter.
The next day's march took us up a transverse valley of the mountains
which rise on the south shore of the Ngangtse-tso. It was rather narrow,
and a small source murmured under its covering of ice. We followed a
plainly marked path, leaving a couple of tents behind us, and passed
sheepfolds, grassy plots, and dark spots where tame yaks had lain and
worn off the grass; everything was black, the tents, the Tibetans, the
half-naked children, and the dogs. At length the gully turned westwards;
just at the bend was a waterfall congealed into milky white ice. Far up
the valley we encamped on a plateau, where we had a very interesting
view to the north-east. We could see almost the whole of the lake which
Nain Sing left at some distance to the south of his route, and which he
called Daru-tso. I cannot dispute its correctness, but none of the
Tibetans whom I questioned had ever heard this name for the lake; they
called it Marchar-tso, and it now figures in my map under this name. It
often happens that a lake has different names among different nomad
tribes. In camp No. 109 it lay just below us as on a map; its form is
not so simple as on Nain Sing's map, but abounds in peninsulas and bays,
and it is extremely narrow in the middle. The isthmus between the
Ngangtse-tso and the Marchar-tso is only a few miles broad; at the
highest point the old shore terraces of the two lakes touch one another.
At the time when the water stood higher the two lakes were therefore
connected. The Marchar-tso is said to be as salt as its neighbour, but
its ice was smooth and blue, and we saw no fields of free salt on its
surface.
We had seen nothing of the white puppy and the Pobrang dog after we had
left them behind, so I sent the Hajji back to the lake. But he came back
without having found any sign of them. We never saw them again, and I
sorely missed the white puppy, who had been a faithful friend in the
tent and on the march. Either they had had a fight with wolves and got
the worst of it, or they had lost our track and had been adopted by
nomads. The former was the more probable, for the Hajji when he came to
the lake saw a troop of wolves careering over the ice.
On the 19th we surmounted the neighbouring pass, the Chapka-la (17,474
feet), on which a stone pyramid is erected in honour of the gods. As a
watershed it is only of secondary importance, for the water from both
sides flows to the Ngangtse-tso. The valley leading down makes a curve
to the south; in the Lamblung valley we had eleven tents as neighbours,
and were able to provide ourselves with all we needed for several days.
The country was still in the Naktsang territory, but the nomads were
subjects of the Labrang, and paid their taxes to Tashi-lunpo.
We remained here two days, which we ought not to have done, and we would
not if I had properly considered the matter. It was not the furious
snowstorm which caused us to waste forty-eight hours, but Ngurbu Tundup,
the postman. I had intended to keep him with us as long as possible, for
it would evidently be an advantage to us, and would increase our
dignity, to have with us a servant of one of the highest officials of
Shigatse. He was our living passport; if he were not with us, we might
perhaps again be regarded as freebooters, and be ordered to stop by some
despotic chief. But Ngurbu Tundup was deaf to our entreaties, and
declared that he had strict orders to return immediately his task was
accomplished, and give in his report. He had already disobeyed his
orders and had lost several days, but he consented to remain with us if
we would rest in the Lamblung valley. I had great need of the time to
get all my huge correspondence ready. On January 20 I wrote for sixteen
hours, and by noon of the 21st the mail was ready and packed up. Ngurbu
received a present of 82 rupees for his excellent service, and if he
handed over the packet of letters to the British commercial agent in
Gyangtse he was to receive further especial reward, when we met again at
Shigatse. But he was to make all speed, changing his horse several times
a day. If he loitered and covered only 18 miles a day, that is, reaching
Gyangtse in ten days, he was to expect only 10 rupees. If he completed
the journey in nine days, he was to receive 20, and if he accomplished
his task in eight days, I would give him 30 rupees, and so on, at the
rate of 10 rupees for every day saved. He actually arrived in eight
days. I really committed a blunder in making this arrangement, for I
gave notice of our approach to the south, and it might have happened
that the Tibetans might have conceived evil designs against us. Nay, had
the Chinese received news of our march, we should most certainly have
been very soon stopped.
When Ngurbu had ridden off over the hills, we were again cut off from
contact with the outer world, and were left to ourselves.
The following morning we ascended eastwards along the valley in which we
had encamped, and where some _mani_ cists stand, the longest of which
measures 33 feet, and is covered with slabs of sandstone bearing the
holy formula in incised letters. Continual snowstorms and huge masses of
cloud with or without snow--that was the characteristic weather in
January.
The Pongchen-la (17,621 feet) is a low threshold, like the preceding of
secondary importance. On its summit stands a votive stone heap, with a
bundle of rods, on which pennants, cloth rags, and ribands flutter.
Smaller cairns radiate out from it. Here we had a last glimpse of our
dear old Ngangtse-tso, and to the north-east a valley ran down to the
Marchar-tso. To the south-east rose a dark range with several snowy
peaks, which is called Pabla. The valley we traversed is broad and open,
and is enclosed in low mountains. We saw no tents all the day, but
numerous traces of summer encampments. Namgyal, however, who is a quick
intelligent man, spied out two tents in the neighbourhood of our camp
No. 111, which was pitched in a district called Namachang, and there
bought some sheep, parched meal, barley, milk, and sour milk. He also
brought a young Tibetan with him, who was good-looking, honest, and
gentle, and did all we asked him willingly and pleasantly. His accent
was so soft and refined that it was a pleasure to hear him speak. He
gave me a quantity of credible information and promised to accompany us
a day's journey.
It snowed so thickly all night and the following day that I frequently
could not see Rabsang, who marched with the Tibetan guide just in front
of my horse. The snow enveloped us, whirled about us, and piled itself
into small drifts on the sheltered side of every stone, grassy hillock,
and hollow. The valley slopes gently to the south-east, and its frozen
river is called Buser-tsangpo, and is a tributary of the Tagrak-tsangpo,
which debouches into the south-western corner of the Ngangtse-tso. We
are therefore still in the basin, of which the lake occupies the lowest
part, and of which the border on the north-west and east lies close to
the lake, but on the south is removed many days' journey from it. The
camping-ground this day is called Kapchor; eastwards extends an open
longitudinal valley, through which runs the road to Shansa-dzong; on the
north side also of the Ngangtse-tso and Marchar-tso a road runs thither,
and by this Hlaje Tsering had reached our camp in twelve days. This road
is known from Nain Sing's journey in 1873-74.
On the morning of the 24th we were nearly blinded on going out of our
tents, so brilliant was the reflexion from the thousands of small facets
of the snow crystals which had spread their white cloak over hill and
valley in a thick continuous sheet. The sky was clear, and blue as the
purest turquoise from Nishapur, but the wind swept bitterly cold over
the snowfields a night old. Our route ran south-eastwards to the exit of
the narrow valley where the Tagrak-tsangpo, now frozen to the bottom,
rested mute and motionless in the arms of winter. We followed the river,
the largest watercourse that we had seen since the Chang-chenmo,
upwards. At some places small nomad communities had their winter
pastures, and there large herds of yaks and flocks of sheep roamed over
the slopes. The name of the valley is Kayi-rung, of the spot where camp
113 was pitched Kayi-pangbuk, and of the district Tova-tova. Nain Sing's
Dobo Dobá Cho, from which he brings the river Para-tsangpo to the
Kyaring-tso, was not known to the inhabitants. The Pundit makes the
water drain eastwards, but as a matter of fact it runs westwards and
north-westwards to the Ngangtse-tso. This is due to his not having been
here himself, for the statements of the natives are usually very
unreliable.
Immediately beyond the camp we crossed on the 25th a small saddle, where
we obtained an instructive insight into the lie of the land. The eyes
swept unhindered over all the wide plain, with the three streams forming
the Tagrak-tsangpo meandering over the level ground in capricious curves
and bends like silver ribands in the brown and grey country. Close to us
on the south-east is the Kesar-tsangpo, which receives the Naong-tsangpo
at the foot of our gap, and then cutting through our mountain begins its
course in the Kayi-rung valley. Farther off to the north-east the
Naong-tsangpo has already absorbed the waters of the Kung-tsangpo, and
with them makes its way to the Kayi-rung valley and the Ngangtse-tso.
The great plain is enclosed by moderately high, rounded mountains and
hills.
After crossing the Kesar-tsangpo we follow the right bank, upwards as
far as Toa-nadsum, where we bivouac. A quadrangular wall of earth marks
the spot where the _bombo_, or chief of the district, usually erects his
tent; now he is in Tashi-lunpo to pay his tax. In the adjoining valleys
there are at the present time twenty-two tents, but only four near our
camp, and in these beggars are wintering in great poverty. The country
is said to be noted for its cold, raw climate even in summer. It rains
in June and July, but the fall varies very much from year to year. If it
rains hard for a long time, all the rivers swell, draining water from a
thousand valleys, and the Tagrak-tsangpo is then sometimes unfordable.
When we started on the following day in a twilight caused by heavy
clouds, the poor natives came up holding out their hands for _tsamba_ or
money, and each received a coin. Our way ran to the east-south-east, to
the Naong-rung valley, traversed by the Naong-tsangpo, now frozen to the
bottom. We now ascended gradually, and at camp No. 115 found ourselves
at a height of 16,844 feet.
Two large black nomad dogs fell in love with the brown puppy, and
followed us as though they belonged to the family. One limped, having at
some time hurt his leg; he was old and shaggy, and was received with
stones and abuse. Yet he clung to us faithfully, and put up with hard
words from the men and the offal from slaughtered sheep. He was at last
admitted a member of our travelling company, and hobbled, with drooping
head and tongue hanging out, over lofty passes and through deep valleys,
and answered to the name of "Cripple." As he was old he often lagged
behind, but in spite of his slow pace he always turned up and took his
place before Muhamed Isa's tent. He was the grand dog of our tent court,
and was much concerned about us when danger threatened. Naturally he
became a friend of us all, was allowed to eat as much as he liked, and
acquired a position in the caravan. Then we would gladly have forgotten
we had had the heart to beat him, and to greet him with stones and
whips--he, our Cripple, who had come to us of his own accord to defend
us and guard our tents, only asking free board in exchange; for free
lodging of course he had under the everlasting stars in great desolate
winterly cold Tibet.