The circumstances under which I was now travelling did not permit me to make accurate investigations as to where the sand came from. A mere glance at the country all round made me feel sure that the sand had been conveyed from the south. This could be plainly seen from depressions and wave-like undulations, showing that it had travelled (roughly) in a northerly direction. I was fairly convinced that the sand had been deposited there by the wind, which had carried it from the plains of India over the Himahlyan chain.
My guard scoured the country from the high point of vantage on which we had ascended. Away in the distance, to the east, we saw a large number of horsemen raising clouds of dust. Riding down the hill, our ponies sinking in soft sand, we set off in the direction of the new-comers, the ground at the bottom of the hill being somewhat harder.
We travelled mile after mile at an unpleasant pace, until we arrived at a spot where, drawn up in a line, was the cavalcade we had seen from the summit of the hill. It was a beautiful sight as we approached it, though the pain which I was undergoing rather detracted from the pleasure I should otherwise have taken in the picturesque scene. There were about a hundred red Lamas in the centre, with bannermen whose heads were covered by peculiar flat fluffy hats, and an equal number of soldiers and officers in their gray, red, and black tunics—some two hundred horsemen in all.
The Pombo, in his yellow coat and trousers and his queer pointed hat, sat on a magnificent pony in front of the crowd of Lamas and soldiers.
Curiously enough, when close to this new crowd, the horseman who led my pony let go the rope, and the pony was lashed cruelly and left to run wildly. The soldiers of my guard reined up and drew aside. The pony dashed off in the direction of the Pombo, and, as I passed close to him, a man whose name I learned afterward was Nerba (a private secretary of the Tokchim Tarjum) knelt down, and, taking aim with his matchlock resting on its prop, deliberately fired a shot at me.
Although Nerba was considered one of the champion shots of the country, and the distance from the muzzle of his matchlock to me was not more than four yards, the bullet missed me, whizzing past my left ear. Probably the speed at which my animal was proceeding saved me, as the marksman could not take a steady aim. My pony, startled at the sudden report of the matchlock at such close quarters, took fright, and began rearing and plunging. I managed to maintain my seat, though the spikes in the saddle were lacerating terribly the lower part of my spine.
Several horsemen now rode up and captured my pony. Preparations were made for another exciting number in the programme of my tortures. In a way these Lamas possessed a sporting nature, but I swore to myself that, no matter what they did to me, I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing that they were hurting me. Acting on this principle, I pretended not to feel the effect of the spikes tearing the flesh off my backbone. When they led me before the Pombo to show him how covered with blood I was, I expressed satisfaction at riding such an excellent pony. This seemed to puzzle him.
A cord of yak-hair, about forty or fifty yards long, was now produced. The swivel attached to one end was fastened to my handcuffs, and the other end was held by a horseman. We set off again on our wild career, this time followed not only by the guard, but by the Pombo and all his men. Once or twice I could not help turning round to look at them. The cavalcade was a weird and picturesque sight, the riders with their many-colored dresses, their matchlocks with red flags, their jewelled swords, their banners with long ribbons of all colors flying in the wind—all galloping furiously, shouting, yelling, and hissing, amid a deafening din of thousands of horse-bells.
In order to quicken our speed, a horseman rode by my side lashing my pony to make it go its hardest. Meanwhile the horseman who held the cord did his utmost to pull me off the saddle, no doubt in the hope of seeing me trampled to death by the cavalcade behind me. As I leaned my body forward so as to maintain my seat, and with my arms pulled violently backward by the rope, the flesh on my hands and knuckles was rubbed off down to the bone by the chain of the handcuffs. Every tug brought me into forcible contact with the spikes and inflicted deep wounds. The cord eventually and unexpectedly gave way. The soldier who was pulling at the other end was clumsily unhorsed, and I myself was all but thrown by the unexpected jerk. This amusing incident at first provoked mirth among my escort, a mirth which their superstitious minds immediately turned into an ill omen.