On re-entering the inn, we found in the courtyard, which in the morning had been used as a theatre, a noisy assembly of men and beasts. They were occupied in collecting our oulah, which was settled at twenty-eight horses, seventy oxen, and twelve guides. At the commencement of the night, the Dheba came to inform us that all was done in accordance with the sacred ordinance of the Talé-Lama, and that on the morrow, we could depart at an early or late hour as we pleased. At the dawn of day, we mounted our horses, and bade adieu to Midchoukoung. After some hours journey, we left, as through the extremity of a large funnel, the great valley in which we had been travelling since we left Lha-Ssa, and emerged into a wild uncultivated region. For five days, we journeyed on in a labyrinth, now to the right, now to the left, and sometimes retracing our steps, in order to avoid abysses and inaccessible mountains. We were perpetually in the depths of ravines, or on the precipitous and rocky banks of torrents; our horses rather leaped than walked. The most vigorous animals, not accustomed to these dreadful places, could not resist for any length of time the fatigues of such a route. For half a day only could we travel with any pleasure and security. We came again
to the river we had crossed on quitting Lha-Ssa; it was tranquilly flowing over a slightly inclined bed, and its broad banks offered an easy and even path to travellers. Amid these wild regions, you find no place wherein to pass the night, except cold, damp hovels, exposed to all the winds of heaven. However, you arrive there so overcome by fatigue, that you always sleep profoundly.
Before reaching the town of Ghiamda, we crossed the mountain Loumma-Ri. “This mountain,” says the Chinese itinerary, “is high and somewhat declivitous; it extends over a space of about forty lis. The snow, ice, and menacing peaks which travellers meet with on the way, before reaching this mountain, and which intimidate the heart and dim the eye, may cause this to be regarded, in comparison, as a plain easily traversed.” The summit of Mount Loumma-Ri, although very lofty, is, in fact, very easy of access. We reached it by an easy slope, without being obliged to dismount once, a very remarkable circumstance in the mountains of Thibet. We found, however, on the other side of the mountain a somewhat serious difficulty, on account of the snow, which fell that day in abundance. The animals frequently slipped, sometimes their hind feet came suddenly in contact with their fore feet, but they never fell. The only result to the horsemen was a sort of jerking swing, to which we grew gradually accustomed.
The Pacificator of Kingdoms took it into his head to dismount, and walk, to warm himself a little; but after a few stumbling steps, he staggered for an instant on his poor legs, fell, and made in the snow a broad, deep furrow. He rose in a fury, ran to the nearest soldier, and loaded him with curses and cuts of his whip, because he had not dismounted to support him. All the Chinese soldiers immediately jumped from their steeds, and fell at the feet of their colonel, making excuses. All, in fact, had been deficient in their duty; for, according to the Chinese code of politeness, when a chief sets his foot on the ground, all the subalterns must on the instant dismount.
When we were at the base of the mountain of Loumma-Ri, we continued our march along a little river, which meandered through a forest of firs so thick that the light of day scarce penetrated it; the snow lay deeply on the broad branches of the trees, whence the wind shook them in thick flakes on the caravan. These small avalanches, falling unexpectedly upon the horsemen, made them start, and utter cries of surprise; but the animals, which, doubtless, had crossed the forest before in similar weather, were in no degree affected. They continued at their ordinary pace, without taking fright, contenting themselves with quietly shaking off the snow from their ears whenever it incommoded them.
We had scarcely emerged from the forest when we were all obliged to dismount, for the purpose of scaling, during a full hour, some horrible rocks. When we had reached the summit, we laid the bridles on the necks of the horses, and left the animals to the sagacity of their instinct as a guide over this rapid and precipitous descent. The men descended, now backwards, as down a ladder, now seated, and letting themselves slide down the snow; every one extricated himself victoriously from this dangerous position, and arrived at the bottom, without breaking or bruising arms or legs.
We still went on five lis more, in a narrow valley, and then perceived, at the foot of a high mountain, a large collection of houses, amongst which rose two Buddhic temples of colossal proportions. This was the station of Ghiamda. A little before reaching the town, we found on the road, a company of eighteen soldiers, drawn up in file, and having at their head two petty Mandarins, decorated with the white button. Mandarins and soldiers had their sabres drawn and their bows in their shoulder-belts. It was the garrison of Ghiamda, which, under arms and in full uniform, awaited Ly, the pacificator of kingdoms, to pay him military honours. When the caravan had come within proper proximity, the eighteen soldiers and the two Mandarins fell on their knees, turning the points of their sabres to the ground, and crying out with one voice, “To the Tou-Sse, Ly-Kouo-Ngan, the humble garrison of Ghiamda wishes health and prosperity.” At these words, Ly-Kouo-Ngan, and the soldiers of his suite, stopped their horses, dismounted, and ran to the garrison, to invite them to rise. On both sides there was an infinity of bowing, during which we quietly continued our journey. On entering the town, we had, in our turn, our little official reception. Two Thibetians, in holiday attire, seized, to do us honour, the bridles of our horses, and conducted us to the house which had been prepared for our reception. There the Dheba, or chief magistrate of the district, awaited us; he offered us a scarf of blessings, and led us into an apartment where was a table already laid out with tea, butter, cakes, and dried fruits. In all these marks of friendship and attention, we could not help discerning the effect of orders forwarded by the Regent. Whilst we were doing honour to this modest collation we were informed that we should be obliged to stop two days at Ghiamda, because the Dheba of the district, having received only that morning the announcement of our approaching arrival, had not had time to send for the animals, which were grazing, at a great distance from the town. This news was very welcome to us; but it plunged Ly-Kouo-Ngan and the Lama Dsiamdchang into despair. We essayed
to console them, by telling them that when one cannot direct events, one bears them with resignation. Our two conductors acknowledged our doctrine to be very fine in theory, but the practice was not to their taste. However, they were obliged to admit afterwards, that this delay was very opportune, as, during the two days that we remained at Ghiamda, the sky was so overcast, the north wind blew with so much violence, and the snow fell so abundantly, that, in the opinion of the Ghiamdians, we could not have proceeded with safety in such boisterous weather. In fact, judging from what passed in the valley, it was easy to imagine that a frightful storm must have laid waste the mountains.
The day after our arrival at Ghiamda we received a visit from the two Chinese officers stationed in the town. The one bore the title of Pa-Tsoung, and the other that of Wei-Wei. The Pa-Tsoung was a fine man, strongly made, with a sounding voice and quick movement. A large scar across his face, and great black mustachios, contributed not a little to give him a highly military look. For four years he had served in the Kachkhar as a private soldier, and had returned thence with the title of Pa-Tsoung and the decoration of the peacock’s feather. The Wei-Wei, a young man two-and-twenty, was also a well-built person, but his languid and effeminate mien presented a singular contrast with the manly bearing of his colleague. His face was pale, flabby, and extremely delicate, his eyes were constantly humid and languishing. We asked him if he was ill. “No,” replied he, with a scarcely audible voice; “my health is excellent;” and, as he spoke, his cheeks were slightly tinged with an angry redness. We saw that we had been guilty of an indiscretion, and we turned to another subject of conversation. This poor young man was an insane smoker of opium. When they were gone, Ly-Kouo-Ngan said, “The Pa-Tsoung is a man born under a very favourable star; he will ascend rapidly the grades of the military mandarinship; but the Wei-Wei was born under a cloud. Since he has become addicted to the European smoke, heaven has forsaken him. Before a year has elapsed he will have said good-by to the world.”
The torrents of rain which fell almost without interruption during our stay at Ghiamda, prevented us from visiting in detail this populous and commercial town. You find a great number of Pebouns or Indians of Boutan, who monopolise here, as at Lha-Ssa, all that appertains to the arts and industry. The agricultural products of the country are next to nothing. They cultivate in the valley some black barley, but scarcely sufficient for the consumption of the inhabitants. The wealth of the district is derived from its wool and goat’s-hair, out of which they manufacture large