Heading in a south-easterly direction as before, we proceeded about four miles, now over hills and then across moorland, and arrived at the base of a mountain, where there stood three buildings. A strange sensation came over me when I saw dozens of sheep’s hides dangling from the eaves of these buildings. Nor was that all. They were also in the habit, so I was told, of butchering yaks on the premises. It is the custom of the Tibetans, I was told, to butcher cattle towards the latter part of autumn, and dry the meat for preservation, there being no fear of decomposition, owing to the cold climate of the country. The Tibetans esteem this dried meat as quite a luxury, and claim that it is the best food in the world. Not infrequently I heard people speak anxiously about their stocks of preserved meat in summer. I was told that autumn was the best time for killing cattle, because they yielded excellent meat after their feast upon the rich summer grass. Tibetans, however, dare not slaughter animals in their own villages, or near their tents, and the three buildings in question are used as a common slaughter-house by neighboring inhabitants. Generally the slaughter is not carried out on behalf of a single individual or family, but of the whole village. The beasts butchered on the day we visited the place included two hundred and fifty sheep and goats, and thirty-five yaks. Of the latter, fifteen were despatched after our arrival there. They told me that the cries of the yak were very strange, and invited me to witness the scene of the slaughter. What cruelty! how could I bear to see it? Desirous, however, of knowing something about the operations, I stood and watched the spectacle. Sadly and slowly a yak was conducted into the yard, two men pushing the animal on from behind. As soon as the proper point was reached, the legs of the poor creature were tied, and tears were seen standing in its eyes, as if it were conscious of its impending death as soon as it found itself in the pool of blood left by its companions. The scene was indeed unbearable. I wished I had money enough to redeem their lives, but I could see no help for it. Just then a priest came in, Holy Texts in hand, and read them for the doomed animal, on whose head the book and a rosary were placed. The natives believe that this religious proceeding will enable the poor yak to enter into a new state of existence and also absolve the doer of the cruel deed from the evil consequences which might otherwise follow. I hoped so, too, but even the Holy Texts read by the priest were now too much for my endurance. A flood of tears came into my eyes, and I could no longer stand the ghastly spectacle, but ran indoors. Presently, thump! something fell outside the doors; alas! the poor creature was beheaded. The natives handle a sharp knife so dexterously, that a single blow with it is said to be sufficient to finish the deadly work.

The blood gushing forth from the body of the dead beast was received in a pail, and afterwards boiled down into a kind of food said to be very delicious. When desirous to obtain this food, the Tibetans often draw blood even from the bodies of living yaks; this is done by means of a gash made in the neck of the poor beast, wide enough to cause a flow of the blood, but not to kill it. The blood taken in this way is said to yield much less delicious food than that obtained from the slaughtered animal. I then thought that the scene was the very extreme of cruelty, but afterwards found that I had been miserably mistaken, for I observed during my subsequent residence at Lhasa that more than fifty thousand sheep, goats and yaks were slaughtered there during the three months ending in December every year.

But to return to my itinerary. Leaving the scene of this tragedy, we had to proceed up a very steep slope about nine miles long, and then down another, seven and a half miles long. At the end of the latter distance we found a river, on the banks of which we passed the night. The next day, November 19th, we skirted the base of a mountain (upon which there stood a big temple of the Old School, called the Tasang Gompa) until we reached the bank of a river where we encamped for the night. On the 20th we made a journey of five miles, again in a mountain region, at the end of which we found ourselves at a village called Larung, which was situated on the western shore of a lake bearing the name of Manuyui Tso. It was about twelve miles in circumference, and appeared to be very deep. For the first time during my journey, I observed in this village patches of wheat-fields, dotted with cottages.