I was not aware of this at the
time, and only learned it some weeks after. It is usually at the third
stroke that the victim is actually beheaded.

The Lamas were still clamoring for my head, but the Pombo made a firm
stand this time, and declined to go on with the execution. They
collected round him and seemed very angry. They shouted and yelled and
gesticulated in the wildest fashion, and still the Pombo kept his eyes
fixed upon me in a half-respectful, half-frightened manner, and refused
to move.

An excited consultation followed, during which, in the midst of this
scene of barbarity, my coolie Mansing arrived. He had fallen off his
bare-back pony many times, and had been left far behind. The man who
held my hair now relinquished his grasp, while another pushed me
violently from in front, causing me to fall heavily backward, and
putting a painful strain on all the tendons of my legs. Mansing, bruised
and aching all over, was brought forward and tied by his legs to the
same log of wood to which I was fastened. They informed me that they
would kill my coolie first. One brutal Lama seized him roughly by the
throat. I was pushed up in a sitting posture. A cloth was thrown over my
head and face, so that I could not see what they were doing. I heard
poor Mansing groan pitifully, then there was a dead silence. I called
him, but received no answer, so I concluded that he had been killed. I
was left in this terrible suspense for over a quarter of an hour, when
at last they removed the cloth from over my head, and I saw my coolie
lying before me, bound to the log and almost unconscious, but, thank
God, still alive. He told me that, when I had called him, a Lama had
placed his hand upon his mouth to prevent him from answering, while,
with the other hand, the Lama had squeezed his neck so tightly as to
nearly strangle him. Mansing's coolness and bravery during these
terrible trials were really marvellous.

We were told that our execution was only postponed till the next day, in
order that we might be tortured until the time came for us to be put to
death.

A number of Lamas and soldiers stood round jeering at us. I seized this
opportunity to hail a swaggering Lama and ask him for some refreshment.

"_Orcheh, orcheh nga dappa tugu duh, chuen deh, dang, yak, guram, tcha,
tsamba pin!_" (I am very hungry; please give me some rice, yak meat,
_ghur_, tea, and oatmeal!) I asked, in my best Tibetan.

"_Hum murr, Maharaja!_" (I wa