hten my jailers, and I addressed the sponge in English, and with any
word that came into my mouth, pretending to utter incantations. The
attention of the Lamas and soldiers was naturally quickly drawn to this
unusual behaviour on my part; and they could not conceal their terror
when, as I spoke louder and louder to the sponge, it gradually swelled to
its normal size with the moisture it absorbed.

The Tibetans, who at first could hardly believe their eyes at this
incomprehensible occurrence, became so panic-stricken at what they
believed to be an exhibition of my occult powers, that there was a
general stampede in every direction.

In a way, all this was entertaining, and anyhow it served to pass away
the time. The most amusing scene that afternoon was, however, still to
come.

After a time the Lamas screwed up their courage, and returned to where my
baggage had been overhauled. One of them picked up my Martini-Henry, and
the others urged him to fire it off. He came to me, and when I had
explained to him how to load it, he took a cartridge and placed it in the
breech, but would insist on not closing the bolt firmly home. When I
warned him of the consequences, he struck me over the head with the butt
of the rifle.

[Illustration: BELT, WITH BULLET AND POWDER POUCHES, DAGGER, NEEDLE-CASE,
AND FLINT AND STEEL]

It is the fashion, when aiming with one of their matchlocks, which have a
prop attached to them, to place the butt in front of the nose instead of
holding it firmly to the shoulder as we do. So the Lama aimed in this
fashion at one of my yaks peacefully grazing some thirty yards off. While
everybody watched anxiously to see the results of this marksman's
shooting, he pulled the trigger; the rifle went off with an extra loud
report, and behold! the muzzle of the Martini burst and the violent
recoil gave the Lama a fearful blow in the face. The rifle, flying out of
his hands, described a somersault in the air, and the Lama fell backwards
to the ground, where he remained spread out flat, bleeding all over, and
screaming like a child. His nose was squashed; one eye had been put out,
and his teeth shattered.

Whether the rifle burst because the bolt had not been properly closed, or
because mud had got into the muzzle as well, I could not say; but I give
here a photograph of the broken weapon, which the Tibetans returned to
me several months later through the Government of India.

The injured Lama, I may say, was