to Lhasa or from Lhasa to Darjeeling. The distance
if a perfectly straight course can be kept, is 390 miles
but, from one reason or another, the total amount that
I had to cover was about 400 miles. For example,
four miles were lost over the crossing of the Tsang-po
alone. The military authorities in India had issued
instructions that I was to be assisted in every possible
way. Had it not been, in fact, for the kindly cooperation
and help which I found at every stage, it
would have been impossible for me to do the journey
in anything like the time I actually took.
The first stage Was a long one. The sun rose about
the time that I passed De-bung Monastery, and I was
glad of its warmth. Hitherto the road had passed
the plantations and thickets, swamps and fields that
I had again and again re-visited. Henceforward it was
to go over an old track indeed, but throughout from a
different point of view, which counted for much, and
with a rapidity which afforded one a far better proportional
view of the whole road between Lhasa and
India than the toilsome daily movement of a force
can ever give.
Near De-bung I passed many little companies of
Tibetans, both men and women, - going into Lhasa
with ponies laden with goods for market. A light
rain blew in their faces as we came along, and, head
to wind, they were often almost upon me before they
knew of my coming. But there was always the same
kindly smile and some unintelligible remark smothered
in a fold of their robe. After sunrise the rain ceased.
I followed the road through the cultivated patches
that lead on from one clump of white houses to another,
all nameless so far as I could ascertain. Sooner than I
had expected the road raised itself a little and by a
stone causeway reached up to Tolung- bridge. The
river beneath me was in a different state 'from that
which we had previously known. Sullen floods of
brownish water banked themselves against the retaining
walls, and swooped down with concentrated
viciousness upon the long sterlings of the bridge. A
Sepoy sentry on either side roused himself as I passed.
On the bridge I turned to look at the Potala, just then
reflecting the first rays from its golden roofs. It was
strangely clear, and I could hardly believe that it had
seemed so far away when we had seen it on our arrival
at this point. The clouds seemed driven upwards
along the whole line of mountains which contained
the plain. They formed a pearl-grey canopy, of which
the lower edge was cut, as before, with knife-like sharpness.
The greenery of the plain ran riot. From
Tolung we went on past isolated farmsteads, keeping
our right shoulders forward, till at last the tall heap of
stones and the chorten, to which I have before referred,
crawled slowly up towards us.
When it came to the point, it was no easy thing
to see the last of Lhasa. But I knew that when that
heap was reached, the last of Lhasa was just about
to fade behind the spur which runs out from the southern
hills. It needed no pile of stones to tell me that. I
had been watching, with concentration and almost
sadness, the slowly dwindling palace of the forbidden
town. I would have given a good deal then to go back.
But the thing was settled, and it had to be done. I
went on till I reached the stones, and there halted
to look at the two small pyramids of grey which rose
far away in the distance just beyond the end of the