ere are the Lamas of
Sera!" Such was the cry which resounded through the town, and inspired
all hearts with fear. The Lamas burst like an avalanche upon the house
of the Chinese ambassador, and dashed in the door with shouts of "Death
to Ki-Chan! death to the Chinese!" But they found no one upon whom they
could vent their rage. The ambassador, forewarned in time of their
arrival, had run and concealed himself in the house of a Kalon, and the
people of his train were dispersed over the town. The multitude of Lamas
then divided itself into several bands, some took their way to the palace
of the Nomekhan, and others besieged the dwellings of the Kalons,
demanding loudly that they should give up to them the Chinese ambassador.
There was, on this point, a long and fierce contest, in which one of the
four Thibetian ministers was torn to pieces, and the others received
wounds more or less dangerous.

Whilst they were contending with the Kalons for possession of the person
of Ki-Chan, the most numerous party of the Lamas had broken into the
prison where the Nomekhan was confined, and wanted to bear him in triumph
to the Lamasery of Sera. The Nomekhan, however, strongly opposed this
intention, and exerted all his influence to calm the excitement of the
Lamas. He told them that their inconsiderate revolt aggravated his
position instead of ameliorating it. "I am," said he, "the victim of a
conspiracy. I will go to Peking; I will explain the whole affair to the
Emperor, and will return in triumph amongst you. At present we have only
to obey the imperial decree. I will depart, as I have been commanded.
Do you go back quietly to your Lamasery." These words did not shake the
resolution of the Lamas, but, night falling, they returned tumultuously
to Sera, promising themselves a better plan for the morrow. When day
broke, the Lamas began to move about in their vast monastery, and to
prepare themselves for a fresh invasion of the town of Lha-Ssa, but, to
their great astonishment, they perceived in the plain, round about the
Lamasery, numerous tents and a multitude of Chinese and Thibetian
soldiers, armed to the teeth, and prepared to bar their passage. At this
sight, all their valour evaporated: the marine conch was sounded, and
these extempore soldiers, throwing aside their arms, re-entered their
cells, took their books under their arms, and quietly proceeded to the
choir, to recite, as usual, their matins.

A few days af