A solitary wild-goose flew screaming over our camp. Had he got lost, or was he a scout sent out to see if the ice were broken up on the lakes to the north? Doubtless he would soon return to his tribe and make his report. It seemed to me that he had been despatched too soon.
From February 24 to March 24 we had traversed only 190 miles, owing to the cutting storm, loss of animals, and now at length the difficult country. We now seldom made a day’s march of as much as 7 miles.
It is most irritating that a tent, like a sentinel-box or a spying eye, always stands at the northern foot of a pass, so that I have to walk all the way. This day also, when we crept up to the Sanchen-la, a small shelter stood on the saddle, 17,572 feet high. Southwards there were still more mountains. At a distance of 20 to 25 miles north, 60° E., rose the highest peak of Sha-kangsham, a fine sight in the beautiful weather, when not a cloud obstructed the view. Five Ovis Ammons careered in nimble and elastic springs over the heights, and small agile Goa antelopes leaped along the southern slope, where we scrambled down among detritus. The Pantholops antelope is not seen in this region.
Close to where we encamped at Nema-tok was a tent, and the inmates sold us a sheep’s load of rice. An old man, whom my fellows called familiarly ava or father, came to look at our black horse which we wished to sell, as it could evidently not travel much farther. But the old man said he would not give a rap for the horse. He informed us that in nine days nomads from all quarters would repair to the place where Karma Puntso dwelt, to buy tea and pay their taxes to the Government. Tsongpun Tashi was a powerful and influential man, he said. We drew near to this potentate with a feeling of uneasiness and growing respect. He enjoys peculiar privileges from the Devashung. He sells tea to the nomads on credit. When they sell their sheep’s wool in summer at the tasam they pay their debts to him in tengas or in goods. Tsongpun Tashi makes a good profit on these transactions, and therefore it is to his interest to stand well with the Devashung. If he, who must have the reputation of being more intelligent and sensible than the simple nomads, were to let us pass by with impunity, he would have to answer for it to the Devashung and would lose his privileges. We were therefore evidently coming to a most critical moment.
Nothing venture, nothing have! If I would explore the blank space in the heart of which I now found myself, I must expose myself to various annoyances and run great risks. For a moderately intelligent man it could be no particular pleasure to go on foot through desolate wastes like a vagabond, and drive a flock of refractory sheep. I was already thoroughly weary of this work, for I had no talent or training to perform it properly. I had to paint myself black every morning like a negro, and I sat with a brush before the looking-glass, smearing my face three times over to produce an evenly dark complexion. My eyes were concealed with a pair of large round Tibetan spectacles with my own polished glasses fixed inside. This time I was much more carefully disguised than in 1901, when I tried to get through to Lhasa as a Mongol, but was held fast in the strong claws of Kamba Bombo. My turban was too white, so it was dipped in a dye of boiled butter and ashes, and became at once quite shabby. My soft leather boots were in holes, so that the toes came out. It was well that I ran no risk of meeting acquaintances from Stockholm or London.
This journey was painful and trying to the nerves. Day and night I lived in the greatest anxiety lest I should be discovered and ignominiously unmasked. The farther we advanced southwards the more I was troubled by this apprehension. Should we succeed, or should we be forced back when we had traversed only half the distance across the blank space? Should I never cross the Trans-Himalaya again? At every stage our watchfulness and cautiousness increased, and also the tension of our nerves. I must always be on my guard and never hold a cigarette in my hand when we were on the march. My map sheets and compass I thrust into my bosom to be near at hand. When I collected a rock specimen, took a bearing with the compass, or made a drawing near a tent, Lobsang had to screen me, and he became astonishingly adept at this game. The sun I could observe only when we were quite sure that no Tibetan could see the instrument. Sometimes I sat and drew a panorama through a peephole in the tent cloth. The sheep were my refuge, and with them I set out first, and had not to take part in the packing and loading, and I was spared from watching the animals at night, as in 1901. In both cases I was practically a prisoner in my tent, where the evening hours seemed very long. Nothing is so trying and irritating to the mind as this anxiety in which I lived, travelling in disguise, and expecting any moment to come to a crisis in my fate.
CHAPTER LXIV