A dismal, inauspicious day was January 4, 1907. Towards noon Islam Ahun appeared, half dead with weariness. He had left headquarters on the morning of the 2nd, and searched up and down the lake for us; had been on the west and on the south shore; and at last, following the most recent track of the sledge, had found us in our dell. He brought me a letter from Robert:

Yesterday, on January 1st, six armed men came to the camp, made a few inquiries, and went off again. To-day, the 2nd, they returned with some other men, and said the Governor of Naktsang had ordered them not to allow us to proceed further, because we had no passport from the Devashung, and that we must remain where we are. They wanted an answer from Master, in order to report to the Governor, who would communicate immediately with Lhasa. They are waiting impatiently for a reply, so I am sending off this letter.

After Islam Ahun had rested and eaten, he had to take back a letter to Robert at camp No. 97. Robert was to inform the ambassadors that I would not give an answer until I had seen them in person; if they were so anxious to hear it, they might come on the afternoon of the 5th to the northern shore at a distance of three miles from camp No. 98. If they did not, they must be answerable for the consequences. Muhamed Isa must come with them as interpreter.

Now matters were coming to a head. This time it was not a false alarm. Tidings of our journey had been sent to Lhasa, and we were in the hands of the Governor of Naktsang. I had put off the decisive moment in order to get time for at least one more line of soundings. If I could advance no farther in Naktsang, at any rate I would complete my investigation of the Ngangtse-tso. Afterwards the great retreat might commence. The intense excitement in which we had lived during the past months had now reached its culmination, and the Ngangtse-tso was to be the turning-point of our journey. I heard distinctly the creaking and grinding of the hinges as the great gates of the land of holy books, the forbidden land in the south, were slammed in my face.

At length we set off to camp No. 104, which was situated on the southern shore to the east of camp No. 99.

January 5. Every blade and stalk was covered with rime in the early morning when we marched over the ice in a direction north, 19° E. The day was fine and calm, the air pleasant, almost warm. Was the spring coming? Did spring set in so early in these more southern regions? It had seemed so far off that we had not thought of looking forward to its mild air while the long winter of Chang-tang still lingered in our limbs. We needed more warmth to thaw properly. The ice cracked and groaned wildly in the night, but it was not on that account that I slept badly.

Here the ice-fields form long waves; banks of water pressed up and then frozen, brittle as glass, came in sight every minute. The greatest depth, 32.9 feet, occurred when we were 6.6 miles from the shore, and was the deepest we sounded in the Ngangtse-tso. The lake is, then, deeper in the east; the west wind silts up its western half with sand and dust.

Half way across we saw a small dark speck on the ice in the direction of the Laen valley. It was the Hajji with a letter. The envoys had received fresh orders from the Governor of Naktsang. In four days he would appear in his own exalted person, and meanwhile his representatives were to watch us closely. Consequently they remained with the caravan, but they had allowed Robert and Muhamed Isa to transfer our headquarters to a place south-east of camp No. 97, where the pasturage was better. We had therefore freedom for a couple of days longer. The Governor of Naktsang! It was he who in 1901 had made me halt at the south side of the Zilling-tso. I could expect no mercy from him. On the contrary, I had on the former occasion given him so much trouble and annoyance that he would be furious at my return to his province.

On January 6 Ishe was so ill that the Hajji was obliged to take him home. Now we crossed the lake again in a direction north, 49° E. We had just arrived at our second sounding-hole when three men, who had followed our track, came in sight behind us. They made signs that we should stop, so fresh news must have arrived. We were able to cut out our hole and take a sounding before they came running up to us. They were Muhamed Isa with two other of my men, perspiring and breathless, and I invited them to make themselves comfortable on our lawn.

“What is the news?” I asked.