"Middù" (Have not got any) he replied, making several quick semicircular movements with the upturned palm of his right hand.
This is a most characteristic gesture of the Tibetan, and nearly invariably accompanies the word "No," instead of a movement of the head, as with us.
"Keran ga naddoung?" (Where are you going?) he asked me, eagerly.
"Nhgarang ne koroun!" (I am a pilgrim!) "Lungba quorghen neh jelghen" (I go looking at sacred places).
"Gopria zaldo. Chakzal wortzé. Tsamba middù. Bogpe middù, guram middù, dié middù, kassur middù" (I am very poor. Please hear me. I have no tsamba, no flour, no sweet paste, no rice, no dried fruit).
This, of course, I knew to be untrue. I calmly said that I would remain seated where I was until food was sold to me. At the same time I produced one or two silver coins, the display of which in Tibet was always the means of hastening the transaction of business. In small handfuls, after each of which the Tibetans swore that they had not another particle to sell, I managed, with somewhat of a trial to my patience, to purchase some twenty pounds of food. The moment the money was handed over they had a quarrel among themselves about its division, and they almost came to blows. Greed and avarice are the most marked characteristics of the Tibetans. Tibetans of any rank are not ashamed to beg in the most abject manner for the smallest silver coin.
The men of the party were picturesque. They had flat, broad noses, high cheek-bones, and small, slanting (mere slits), piercing eyes. Their hair was plaited in long pig-tails ornamented with pieces of red cloth, discs of ivory, and silver coins. Nearly all wore the typical dark-red coat, with ample sleeves hanging over the hands, and pulled up at the waist to receive eating-bowls, snuff-box, and other articles of daily use. All were armed with jewelled swords.
They stood at a respectable distance, studying our faces and watching our movements with apparent interest. I have hardly ever seen such cowardice as among these big, hulking fellows. To a European it scarcely seemed conceivable. The mere raising of one's eyes was sufficient to make a man dash away frightened. With the exception of the chief, who pretended to be unafraid, notwithstanding that he was trembling with fear, they one and all showed ridiculous nervousness when I approached them to examine the ornaments they wore round their necks, such as the charm-boxes that dangled prominently on their chests. The larger of these charm-boxes contained an image of Buddha, the others were mere empty brass or silver cases.
When night came I did not consider it safe to encamp near the Tibetans. We moved away, driving our yaks before us and dragging the newly purchased sheep. We marched two and a half miles, and then halted in a depression (16,050 feet), where we had a little shelter from the wind, which blew with great force. To our right was a short range of fairly high mountains stretching from north to south. Through a gorge flowed a large stream. At that time of the evening we could not hope to cross it, but an attempt might be made in the morning, when the cold of the night would have checked the melting of the snows, and therefore lowered the level of the water in the river. Heavy showers had fallen during the day. The moment the sun went down there was a regular downpour. We had pitched our little shelter-tent, but we had to clear out of it a couple of hours later, the small basin in which we had pitched it having turned into a regular pond. There was no alternative for us but to come out into the open. Where the water did not flood us the wind was so high and the ground so moist that it was not possible to keep our tent up. The pegs would not hold. The hours of the night seemed long as we sat tightly wrapped in our waterproofs, with feet, hands, and ears almost frozen. At dawn there were no signs of the storm abating. We had not been able to light a fire in the evening, nor could we light one now. We were cold, hungry, and miserable. The thermometer had been down to 36°. Toward noon, the rain still pouring down in torrents and there being no sign of its clearing, we loaded our yaks and entered the gorge between the snow-covered mountains. With difficulty we crossed the tributary we had so far followed, and then proceeded along the right bank of the main stream.
We were so exhausted and wet that when near the evening we came to an enormous cliff, on the rocky face of which a patient Lama sculptor had engraved in huge letters the characters, Omne mani padme hun, we halted. The gorge was very narrow here. We found a dry spot under a big bowlder, but as there was not sufficient room for all five, the two Shokas went under the shelter of another rock a little way off. This seemed natural enough. I took care of the weapons and the scientific instruments, while the Shokas had under their own sheltering bowlder the bags containing nearly all our provisions except the reserve of tinned meats. The rain pelted all night, the wind howled. Again we could not light a fire. The thermometer did not descend below 38°, but the cold, owing to our drenched condition, seemed intense. In fact, we were so chilled that we did not venture to eat. Crouching in the small dry space at our disposal and without tasting food, we eventually fell fast asleep. I slept soundly for the first time since I had been in Tibet. It was broad daylight when I woke up.