Then the baggage which was being carried by the goat got lost. It contained what the robbers had left—a carpet made of sheep-skin, shoes, drugs, and such things. I searched everywhere, but in vain. I had to give up my search and proceed further, for I wished to reach a tent before night, as sleeping amid the snow on the open field for several nights consecutively would mean the end of my life; so I pushed on until eight o’clock and had covered twenty miles, when another trouble cropped up in the shape of terrible pain in the eyes, the result of the strong glare of the sun on the snow. My eyes felt as if they would burst, and I could not remain quiet. Moreover the snow recommenced falling in the evening, and the cold was extreme, and when I lay down I felt the biting coldness of the snow on my head. I pressed the snow on my eyes, but it did not lessen the pain in the least. A cold sweat broke out all over me from the pain and cold, and, in trying to calm myself, I found that my body was becoming benumbed by the frost. I tried keeping my eyes shut, and anointed them abundantly with the oil of cloves. But slumber was far from me. I rivetted my thoughts on Buḍḍhism, and was doing my best to keep down the pain, when, quite unexpectedly, I was inspired with an uta, which runs:
Upon these plains of snow, my bed is snow,
My pillow, snow; my food also the same;
And this my snowy journey, full of pain.
The effusion soothed my heart, and I felt more than ever thankful for the beauty of the Japanese language.
The next day, October 1, 1900, at about six in the morning I decided to proceed on my journey. The snow had ceased, and the sun was shining brightly, to the increased pain of my eyes. I could not walk with my eyes shut; and yet the pain of keeping them open, however slightly, was more than I could bear. I was so overcome by it that I would from time to time fall down, wherever I might be. I had had no food for nearly four days, and was so weak that the smallest stone lying in the snow would bring me down. Fortunately I sustained no injury, owing to the softness of the snow and the lightness of my body. There was a time, however, when I got quite exasperated by hunger, the pain in my eyes, and the weakness of my legs, and sat down in the snow, feeling that I was fated to die. Intellectually, however, death was far from my thoughts. Were there only some means of getting rid of my bodily pains, I thought I could walk on and on, and at last reach safety.
At this juncture a horseman put in an appearance far ahead. I strained my eyes, though with terrible pain, and thus made out that it was a horseman. I stood up at once and signalled him to approach. I wished to shout but could not; the effort seemed to choke me, and it was only after enormous exertion that I squeezed out two feeble shouts and wildly gesticulated. The horseman, having apparently observed me, galloped towards me, to my great joy. Soon he was beside me, asking me what I was doing in such a desert of snow, and I told him with uncommon difficulty that I had been robbed of most of my baggage, had lost what remained to me en route, and had had nothing to eat for over three or four days. He was a young man, full of sympathy. Though he was provided with extra provisions, he said, he would give me only some sweetmeats, made of cream and brown sugar, a food which is esteemed as a rare delicacy in the northern steppes of Tibet. I swallowed down the food which he gave me so hurriedly that I did not even taste it.
I then enquired of him if I could not find a lodging hereabouts. His reply was that he was a pilgrim, and that his parents and others were staying beside the mountain ahead of us, and that I should be able to obtain some accommodation there. He therefore advised me to come to his tent, and, saying that he was in hurry, galloped away in that direction.
The distance was only a little above two miles, but I do not remember how often I stumbled and fell down, and rested, and ate snow, before I reached the tent. More than three hours were occupied on the journey, and I did not reach the tent till past eleven o’clock, when the young man came out to welcome me. His parents congratulated me on my narrow escape from death, and entertained me with the best sort of Tibetan food, which consisted of boiled rice covered with butter, and accompanied by sugar and raisins. I did not take much of the food, for fear that the sudden repletion might injure me, but I took a little milk after a very modest repast. The pain in my eyes was no better. There was no medicine, and the best I could do was to cool them with snow. In spite of the fine bed with which I was accommodated I could not sleep that night, owing to the pain I felt in my eyes.
These people, being pilgrims, were intending to move on day by day. The next morning, therefore, I also had to proceed on my journey. But it was some time before they could start, for they had to pull down the tents and pack them on the yaks. I finished my tea therefore, and went out of doors, while they were busily engaged in packing their effects. I had walked to the further end of a row of four or five tents, when seven or eight ferocious Tibetan dogs attacked me, barking loudly. Handicapped as I was with the pain in my eyes, I could not deal with these dogs so deftly as at other times. At first, I kept my eyes open and brandished my two sticks, driving back the animals, which attacked me from all sides. But once I was obliged to close my eyes, and immediately a dog behind me seized one of my sticks. The next moment another dog fastened his teeth on my right leg, and threw me down.