An officer of high rank was sitting cross-legged at the farther end of the tent. He wore a handsome dark-red tunic trimmed with gold and leopard skin, and was shod in tall black-and-red leather boots of Chinese shape. A beautiful sword with a solid silver sheath inlaid with large pieces of coral and malachite was passed through his belt.

This man, apparently between fifty and sixty years of age, had an intelligent, refined, honest, good-natured face. I felt that he would be a friend. Indeed, whereas the soldiers and Lamas treated me with brutality and were indescribably mean, this officer alone showed some civility to me. He made room by his side, and asked me to sit there.

"I am a soldier," said he, in a dignified tone, "not a Lama. I have come from Lhassa with my men to arrest you. You are now our prisoner. You have shown no fear, and I respect you."

So saying, he inclined his head and laid his forehead touching mine, and put out his tongue. Then he made a gesture which meant that, though he wished to say more, he could not, owing to the presence of the soldiers.

Later on we entered into a friendly conversation, in the course of which he said he was a Rupun (a rank below a general). I tried to explain to him all about English soldiers and weapons. He displayed the keenest interest in all I told him. In return he gave me interesting information about the soldiers of Tibet. Every man in Tibet is considered a soldier in time of war or when required to do duty. For the regular army all lads strong and healthy can enlist from the age of seventeen. Good horsemanship is one of the qualities most appreciated in the Tibetan soldier, and, after that, unbounded obedience. The Rupun swore by Tibetan matchlocks, which he believed to be the most serviceable weapons on earth. According to him, as long as you had powder enough, you could use anything as a projectile. Pebbles, earth, or nails did as good work as any lead bullet.

He told me that large quantities of these weapons were manufactured at Lhassa and Sigatz (Shigatze). The majority of Tibetan men outside the towns possessed matchlocks. Gunpowder was made in the country with saltpetre and sulphur.

The Rupun, seeing how quick I was at picking up Tibetan words, took a special delight in teaching me, as one would a child, the names of the several grades in the Tibetan army. The Tchu-pun was the lowest grade, and only had ten men under him; then came the Kiatsamba-pun or Kia-pun, or officer in command of one hundred soldiers; and the Tung-pun, or head of one thousand. These officers, however, were seldom allowed the full number of soldiers. Often the "commander of one thousand" had only under him three or four hundred men at the most. Above the Tung-pun came the Rupun, a kind of adjutant-general; then the Dah-pun, or great officer; and highest of all, the Mag-pun (or Mag-bun, as it is usually pronounced), the general-in-chief.

The acquaintance of one of these generals I had already made at Gyanema. Though my informant said that officers were elected for their bravery in war and for their strength and aptitude in the saddle and with their weapons, I knew well enough that such was not the case. The posts were mainly given to whoever could afford to pay for them, among men of families under special protection of the Lamas. In many cases they were actually sold by auction.

The Rupun had a keen sense of humor. I told him how fast the Tibetan soldiers had run away on previous occasions when I had met them and had my rifle with me. He was quite equal to the situation, and exclaimed: "Yes, I know that they ran, but it was not through fear. It was because they did not wish to hurt you." Upon which I answered that, if that were the case, they need not have run so fast.

The Rupun was amused, and laughed at my sarcasm. He patted me on the back, and said I was right. He professed to be grieved to see me tied up. He had received strict orders not to give me food or unloose my bonds.

The soldiers, who had been harsh and rough, listened open-mouthed to the friendly talk between the Rupun and myself, a practice not common in Tibet between captor and prisoner. Following their chief's example they, too, became quite kind and respectful. They placed a cushion under me and tried to make me a little more comfortable.

Toward the evening the Rupun was summoned before the Pombo. The guard was relieved by a fresh lot of men. This was a change for the worse. The new-comers were extremely rough. They dragged me away from the dignified seat I had occupied in the place of honor in the tent, and knocked me violently down on a heap of dung which was there to be used as fuel.

"That is the place for Plenkis!" shouted one of the men, "not in the best part of the tent."

They pounced upon me, and though I made no resistance whatever, they again tied my feet together. An additional rope was fastened round my knees. The ends of these ropes were left long, and each was given in charge of a soldier.

No part of a Tibetan tent was ever clean. The spot where I was to rest for the night was the dirtiest. Bound so tightly that the ropes cut grooves in my flesh, it was out of the question to sleep. Worse than this was the disgusting fact that I soon got covered with vermin, which swarmed in the tent. From this time till the end of my captivity, or twenty-five days later, I suffered unspeakable tortures from this pest. The soldiers, with their swords drawn, were all round me inside the tent. More soldiers were posted outside.

The night was full of strange events. Shouts could be heard at intervals from a distance outside, and were answered by some one of the guard inside the tent. They were to keep the men awake and make sure that I was still there.

In the middle of the night the Rupun returned. I noticed that he seemed much upset. He sat by my side. By the light of the flickering fire and a wick burning in a brass bowl filled with butter, I could see on his face an expression of great anxiety. I felt, by the kind way in which he looked at me, that he had grave news to give me. I was not mistaken. He moved me from the dirty place where I had been thrown down helpless by the soldiers, and laid me in a more comfortable and cleaner part of the tent. Then he ordered a soldier to bring me a blanket. Next, to my astonishment, he became very severe, and said he must examine my bonds. He turned quite angry, scolding the soldiers for leaving me so insecurely tied, and proceeded to make the knots firmer, a thing which I felt was impossible. Though he pretended to use all his strength in doing this, I found, much to my amazement, that my bonds were really becoming loosened. He then quickly covered me up with the heavy blanket.

The soldiers were at the other end of the large tent arguing loudly over some paltry matter. The Rupun, stooping low, and making pretence to tuck in the blanket, whispered:

"Your head is to be cut off to-morrow. Escape to-night. There are no soldiers outside."

The good man was actually preparing everything for my flight. He put out the light, and came to sleep by my side. It would have been comparatively easy, when all the men had fallen asleep, to slip from under the tent and steal away. I had got my hands easily out of the ropes, and should have had no difficulty in undoing all my other bonds; but the thought that I should be leaving my two men at the mercy of the Tibetans prevented my carrying the escape into effect. The Rupun, having risen to see that the guard were asleep, lay down again close to me and murmured:

"Nelon, nelon; paladÒ" (They are asleep; go).

Well meant and tempting as the offer was, I told him I must stay with my men.

Having my hands free, I managed to sleep a little during the night. When morning came I slipped my hands again inside the ropes, as I feared they might accuse the Rupun of unloosing my hands, and he might be punished on my account.

The Rupun, who seemed much disappointed, tied the ropes round my wrists firmly again. Though he appeared vexed at my not availing myself of the chance of flight he had given me, he treated me with ever-increasing respect and deference. He even produced his wooden bowl, which he filled with steaming tea from the raksang, and lifted it up to my mouth for me to drink.

On perceiving how thirsty and hungry I was, not only did this good man refill the cup time after time until my thirst was quenched, but he mixed with it tsamba and lumps of butter, which he then stuffed into my mouth with his fingers.

It was really touching to see how, moved to kindness, the soldiers imitated his example, and, one after the other, produced handfuls of tsamba and chura, and deposited them in my mouth. Their hands were not over-clean, but on such occasions it does not do to be too particular. I was so hungry that the food they gave me seemed delicious. I had been for two nights and one day without food, and, what with the exertion of the fight and my various exciting experiences during that time, my appetite was very keen.

The great politeness and consideration with which not only the Rupun, but even the soldiers, now treated me made me suspect that my end was near. I was grieved not to be able to obtain news of Chanden Sing and Mansing. The soldiers' reticence in answering questions regarding them made me fear that something terrible had happened. Nevertheless, though my jailers were friendly, I did not betray anxiety, but pretended to take all that came as a matter of course. I spent the first portion of the day in a lively conversation with the soldiers, partly to divert my thoughts and partly to improve my knowledge of Tibetan.