"Then we shall beat you and your man until you say what we want!" the Lama exclaimed, angrily.
"You can beat us if you like," I replied, with assurance, "but if you punish us unjustly it will go against yourselves. You can tear our skin off, you can make us bleed to death, but you cannot make us feel pain."
Ando, the traitor, who spoke Hindustani fluently, acted as interpreter whenever there was a hitch in our conversation. With what I knew of the Tibetan language, and with this man's help, everything was explained as clearly as possible to the Tibetans. Notwithstanding this, they continued to lash mercilessly my poor servant. In his agony he was biting the ground as each blow fell on him tearing away patches of skin and flesh. Chanden Sing behaved heroically. Not a word of complaint nor a prayer for mercy came from his lips. He said that he had spoken the truth, and had nothing more to say. Watched intently by all the Lamas and soldiers, I sat with affected calm before this scene of cruelty, until, angry at my indifference, order was given to the soldiers that I should be dragged away. Again they led me behind the mud house, from where I could distinctly hear the angry cries of the Lamas cross-examining Chanden Sing and those dreadful sounds of the lash still being administered on my poor servant.
It began to rain heavily. This was lucky for us, for in Tibet, as in China, a shower has a great effect upon the people. Even massacres have been known to be postponed until the rain stopped.
Such was the case that day. The moment the first drops fell, the soldiers and Lamas rushed here, there, and everywhere inside the tents. I was hastily dragged to the most distant tent of the settlement, which became packed with the soldiers in whose charge I had been given.
CHANDEN SING BEING FLOGGED
FOOTNOTES:
[10] The Lamas stated afterward that this was the number.
[11] Counting Lamas, villagers, and soldiers.