had once faced us were not easily brought into the
field again. These were casual generalizations, no doubt, but they
contained a great deal of truth. The Kham men who opposed us at the
first Karo la action, the Shigatze men who attacked the mission in May,
and the force from Lhasa who hurled themselves on Kangma, were all new
levies. Many of our prisoners protested very strongly against being
released, fearing to be exposed again to our bullets and their own
Lamas.

On the 18th we reached Nagartse Jong, and found the Shapes awaiting us.
They met us in the same impracticable spirit. We were not to occupy the
jong, and they were not empowered to treat with us unless we returned to
Gyantse. It was a repetition of Khamba Jong and Tuna. In the afternoon a
durbar was held in Colonel Younghusband's tent, when the Tibetans showed
themselves appallingly futile and childish. They did not seem to realize
that we were in a position to dictate terms, and Colonel Younghusband
had to repeat that it was now too late for any compromise, and the
settlement must be completed at Lhasa.

From Nagartse we held interviews with these tedious delegates at almost
every camp. They exhausted everyone's patience except the
Commissioner's. For days they did not yield a point, and refused even
to discuss terms unless we returned to Gyantse. But their protests
became more urgent as we went on, their tone less minatory. It was not
until we were within fifty miles of Lhasa that the Tibetan Government
deigned to enter into communication with the mission. At Tamalung
Colonel Younghusband received the first communication from the National
Assembly; at Chaksam arrived the first missive the British Government
had ever received from the Dalai Lama. During the delay at the ferry the
councillors practically threw themselves on Colonel Younghusband's
mercy. They said that their lives would be forfeited if we proceeded,
and dwelt on the severe punishment they might incur if they failed to
conclude negociations satisfactorily. But Colonel Younghusband was equal
to every emergency. It would be impossible to find another man in the
British Empire with a personality so calculated to impress the Tibetans.
He sat through every durbar a monument of patience and inflexibility,
impassive as one of their own Buddhas. Priests and councillors found
that appeals to his mercy were hopeless. He, too, had orders from his
King to go to Lhasa; if he faltered, _his_ life also wa