hands, and setting them to cut down a tree, or to chop
firewood, which they seldom refused to do, when a
little such douce violence was applied.
My object being to reach the Tambur, north of the
great east and west mountain ridge of Sakkiazung,
without crossing the innumerable feeders of the Myong
and their dividing spurs, I ascended the north flank
of the valley to a long spur from Tonglo, intending to
follow winding ridges of that mountain to the sources
of the Pemmi at the Phulloot mountains, and thence
descend.
On the 3rd November, I encamped on the flank of
Tonglo (called Nanki in Nepal), about 700 feet below
the western summit, which is rocky, and connected
by a long flat ridge with that which I had visited in
the previous May. The Bhotan coolies behaved worse
than ever; their conduct being in all respects typical
of the turbulent, mulish race to which they belong.
They had been plundering my provisions as they came
along, and neither their Sirdar nor the Ghorka soldiers
had the smallest authority over them. I had hired
some Ghorka coolies to assist and eventually to replace
them, and had made up my mind to send hack the
worst from the more populous hanks of the Tambur,
when I was relieved by their making off of their own
accord. The dilemma was however awkward, as it was
impossible to procure men on the top of a mountain
10,000 feet high. No course remained hut to send to
Dorjiling for others, or to return to the Myong valley,
and take a more circuitous route over the west end of
Sakkiazung, which led through villages from which I
could procure coolies day by day. I preferred the
latter plan, and sent one of the soldiers to the nearest
village for assistance to bring the loads down, halting a
day for that purpose.
From the summit of Tonglo I enjoyed the view I
had so long desired of the Snowy Himalaya; Sikkim
being on the right, Nepal on the left, and the plains of
Tnrlifl. to the southward; and I procured a set of
compass bearings, of the greatest use in mapping the
country. In the early morning the transparency of the
atmosphere rendered this view one of astonishing
grandeur. Kinchinjunga bore nearly due north, a
dazzling mass of snowy peaks, intersected by blue
glaciers, which gleamed in the slanting rays of the rising
sun, like aquamarines set in frosted silver. From this the
sweep of snowed mountains to the eastward was almost
continuous as far as Chola, following a curve of 150
miles, and enclosing the whole of the northern part of
Sikkim, which appeared a billowy mass of forest-clad
mountains. On the north-east horizon rose Donkia
(23,176 feet), and Chumulari (23,929). Though both
were much more distant than the snowy ranges, being
respectively eighty and ninety miles off, they raised
their gigantic heads above them, seeming what they
really are, by far the loftiest peaks next to Kinchinjunga
; and the perspective of snow is so deceptive, that
though from forty to sixty miles beyond, they appeared
as though in the same line with the ridges they overtopped.
Of these mountains, Chumulari presents
many attractions to the geographer, from its long disputed
position, its sacred character, and the interest