levels run to the foot of the distant ranges. Other
familiar things but a few yards away— a worn footpath,
a clay drinking-trough, or a half up-rooted tree-
stump—have vanished with the jong. Pala village
is faintly betrayed in the distance by its whitened
walls, but even of that there is no certainty. Six
hundred yards to the front the position of the Gurkha
Post is only distinguished by the trees which cut the
sky line over it.
As one peers out into the warm night, a long monotone
is faintly droned from the darkness ahead. It is
one of the huge conch shells in the jong and it may
only mean a call to prayer— the “ hours ” of Lamaism
are unending— but as the moaning note persists softly
and steadily, a vivid speck of flame stabs the darkness
across the river. A second later the report of the gun
accompanies a prolonged “ the-e-es ” overhead. There
is another and another, and the balls chase each other
through the trees. ' The Tibetans are out for the night
A heavy fire breaks out for two or three hundred yards
along the further bank, the neater crack of the European
rifles in their possession blending with the heavy explosion
of matchlocks an inch in bore, and the malicious
swish of the conical bullets with the drone of
leaden lumps.
The sentry moves inwards shadow-like and rouses
an officer sleeping in a corner of the parapet. It is
only a word or two, “ Water-gate, sir.” As the fire
increases, the garrison, a ghostly company of half-seen
men, move silently and mechanically to their posts
from their beds behind the traverses. After a little,
the officer of the watch comes round and one hears a
few whispered words in the compound below. But
this has happened so often, night after night, that there
is not much to do ; the defences are manned without
question needed of. answer given. A minute or two
T h e Quarter-deck a t Chang-lo. L ieu t. H a d ow ’s maxim an d te n t a t th e end.
A Gurk h a sentry on th e left is looking through th e sand-bags to the jong,
from which a jin g a l b a ll is fired now an d then.
later there is hardly a change to be noted in the quietness
of the post, except for the wail of the bullets overhead,
and the occasional inevitable cough of the