On November 6th, 1900, we took our way to the south-east, and marched up and down several rolling hills, till after walking more than twenty miles we reached the foot of a great snow-covered peak and lodged there. On the 7th we again climbed up and down the spurs of the Himālayas for a distance of over five miles, and arrived at the Chaksam Tsangbo (river of the iron bridge). It was no fine suspension bridge, but an iron rope, fastened to the rocks on either side, by which travellers crossed the river hand over hand, and which gave the river its name. For I heard that there is in the vicinity of Lhasa another iron bridge, which consists of two iron chains, by means of which one can very comfortably pass over the river. The bridge over the Chaksam does not now exist; but the name of the river of the iron bridge seems to have been derived from the fact that it was crossed by one of these iron ropes, though which kind it was is more than I can say. The river had a tremendously rapid current, thickly strewn with blocks of ice; but I easily crossed it on my horse. Then we had to travel through a plain between the hills, which were generally bare and devoid of vegetation except when there was a swamp where grasses were seen growing. The scene was exceedingly dismal, and there was nothing to relieve the eye. We went on for some four miles, and came to a rivulet, and at the end of another four miles arrived at a castle called Sakka Zong. We lodged beside a swamp on the west of the castle, which stands upon the summit of a hill. The style of its architecture differs not much from that of a temple, though it presents a certain martial aspect. There were no regular troops stationed there. When needed the people in that vicinity, some two hundred in number, take up arms. I was told that the year before last a tribe on the northern plain had made an attack on this locality, with the result that the latter lost twenty or thirty men and about two thousand yaks. The trouble was still pending as a subject of litigation. Thus the castle seems to be a fortification against the attacks of roaming tribes, though it also has a revenue office in it. That day we travelled some fifteen miles, and the evening was spent in my lecture on grammar, as were many succeeding evenings.
The following day, after we had travelled eight miles, we passed the southern fort, on a snow-clad mountain called Chomo-Lhari. Then we travelled five miles more in a south-easterly direction, and encamped for the night. Nothing occurred worthy of mention.
On the 9th we travelled for seventeen miles along the same lonely mountain-pass leading to the south-east, and reached a valley in which we observed an exceedingly large animal ahead of us. This strange beast resembled a yak, though there was no doubt that it was not an ordinary yak. On asking its name, I was informed that it was what the Tibetans called a dongyak (wild yak). Its size was twice or three times that of the domesticated animal, and it stood about seven feet high. It was smaller than the elephant, but its eyes looked dangerous. Its horns measured twenty-five inches in circumference and five feet in length. These measurements were taken afterwards at Lhasa, where I saw the horns of a wild yak. It is described as graminivorous; when it becomes angry it will attack men or animals with its horns, often inflicting fatal injuries. Its tongue is extremely rough and anything licked by the animal would be torn to pieces. Once I saw the dried and very large tongue of a young dongyak, which was being used as a brush for horses.
MEETING A FURIOUS WILD YAK.
An honest fellow in the party asked me to prophesy, by my art of divination, whether that night was to be passed in safety or not. I thought he was afraid of the dongyak, but the truth was not so. He pointed to a place a little below the slope, and said that in the preceding year six merchants had been killed by robbers there. He was therefore going to keep watch that night, and wished to know whether robbers were coming. In order to pacify him, I said that nothing of the kind was going to take place that night. But the features of the place were anything but agreeable, as may be guessed from the fact that the dongyak was quite at home there. The night was, however, spent without any accident. The following day we travelled over the steppes for a distance of fifteen miles, and again lodged near a swamp; we always preferred swampy places for lodging, on account of the abundant grass.
On the 11th we travelled again for fifteen miles, and on the 12th crossed a steep pass called Kur La, seven miles in length, and walked seventeen miles eastwards, lodging again beside a swamp. It was about that time that a change for the better came over the relations between the pedantic monk and myself. Proud as he was, he seems to have thought that hostility could not be maintained without serious loss to himself, as the majority of the party had come to entertain a sincere love for and confidence in me. He approached me with a kindly face, which could not be repelled; whatever his motives may have been, it would have been very ill-advised for me to quarrel with him, so I reciprocated his kindness, with the result that our relations became perfectly smooth, and I was glad to get rid of the fear that he might inform the Tibetan authorities of his suspicions about me.