Tibet and Nepal: Painted and Described

“Once you have visited the snows of the Himahlyas,” said a venerable old man of Kumaon to me, “you will have to return to them time after time until you die. When away from them, all through your life you will ever see them before you in your dreams.” Well, that was quite so; and that is what everybody feels who has spent some time on the higher elevations of that majestic range of mountains. To any one who appreciates Nature in all its grandeur, the fascination is so great that everything else in the way of scenery sinks into perfect insignificance by their side. It is, to my mind, rather a pity that in England people have not yet learnt to call that range by its proper and poetic name “Himahlyas,” by which the range is known all over Asia, instead of the distorted “Himalayas,” which has no meaning whatever except to natives of these foggy little islands. The Americans, I am glad to say, when the corrected pronunciation was pointed out, at once accepted it, and it is now taught in all the schools. Two years had elapsed since my first journey across Tibet, and I was still suffering greatly from the effects of the tortures and wounds which had been inflicted upon me during my captivity in the Forbidden Land. Nor did banquets and receptions and interviewers, autograph-collectors, etc., much help to rebuild my constitution. In fact, while in London, instead of improving I was getting weaker and more of an invalid every day. In doctors I have no superabundant faith, but somehow or other felt that a little change from the monotony of a civilised existence, in the shape of chasing about their country some of my Tibetan friends who had tortured me, might possibly be of some benefit to my health. And if you take it into your head that something will do you good, it is not unusual that some sort of a cure results from it. So, again I bundled my blankets, my surveying instruments, several cameras, and hundreds of plates, provisions, and painting materials, and by the first P. and O. steamer sailed for Bombay. From that place I went by rail to Kathgodam, thence by trail to the hill-station Almora in the North-West Provinces, which I again made my starting-point, as in the first journey. Perhaps it may interest the reader to know that the entire preparations, the selection of all my followers, the purchase of an excellent Tibetan pony, and of all the outfit and provisions to last my men several months, were accomplished in the short space of twelve hours. The selection of men for the type of expeditions I undertake, in which abnormal endurance is required, is not an easy matter, but I was particularly fortunate on that occasion. Big athletic fellows I generally avoid as absolutely useless for work requiring steady endurance and quick perception. I gave preference to small, determined, wiry men, light in weight, supple and quick in their movements.