at way; it is the nature of the
beast. But even so when by some strange accident we are taken unawares,
and some rare and magnificent glory of nature suddenly confronts us,
and, without our consenting or even against our will, pierces that crust
of sordid matter-of-factness that usually encases us so securely, as did
that great white mountain Chumalari that day when we met him on the
Phari plain, then we too abandon ourselves and for once in a way find
ourselves drinking in the beauty as greedily as ever that old lady
drinks in her sunset.

A few miles along the plain brought us to Phari.

CHAPTER VIII

TO KANGMA

All our little columns concentrated at Phari. Our camp was just outside
the 'jong' or fort. Phari-jong was quite typical of the genus 'jong,'
looking from the outside like the sort of mediaeval castle that sometimes
adorns the foreground of a drop-scene in a theatre. On the inside it was
rather extra-typical, being even more rambling, darker, and dirtier than
most jongs. A grim humorist had selected the topmost garret as the
post-office. This selection gave the local postmaster, who was also
possessed of grim humour, the vastest entertainment. For the little
columns came pouring in day after day, bringing all sorts of folk who
were pining for their letters. Every one, as soon as he was off duty,
went head-down to the post-office. We were now at a level of 15,000
feet, and the climb, at that altitude, of several hundred feet of rough
Tibetan passages and staircases was a great strain on the lungs to any
one unused to it.

The postmaster sat in his office, cool and comfortable, while all day
long officers, British rank and file, sepoys and followers, poured in
for their letters, every one arriving panting, with his tongue lolling
out, and quite unable to state his requirements for at least two
minutes. The postmaster made a point of asking every one most politely
what he wanted at the very moment of his arrival, so as not to keep him
waiting, and grinned diabolically at the desperate efforts of the latter
to splutter out his name and address. When, as one of the victims in
question, I went for my letters, and had duly provided him with my share
of the entertainment, I asked him whether he was not enjoying himself,
and he assured me it was the best fun he had ever had in his life.

From Phari to Kangma we marched in two columns, of which I accompanied
the second.

The 'Tang-La' was our first halt