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 A torrent, swollen by the heavy rain, came rushing down a perpendicular rock with an almost deafening roar right across the path, which at that point was water-worn rock and very slippery, and then leapt into an abyss below, the bottom of which I could not see. A couple of saplings about four inches in diameter had been placed across, and I had gone over in safety and was resting on an incline on the other side, when one of my coolies came up. For some reason, as he was crossing the poles, he either slipped or lost his balance, I could not see which, but he fell on the upstream side, was immediately carried under the bridge and swept over the precipice before my eyes. It all happened in a moment, and such was the inaccessibility of the spot and so dense the jungle, it was quite impossible to do anything for the poor fellow. Some more coolies now came up, and we tried to cut a way down through the dense tangle of trees and undergrowth, but this proved quite impossible, though, after an hour’s work, one man managed to get down by a circuitous route, only to find that his unfortunate companion had been swept into the main torrent, and that nothing was to be seen of either him or his load. I am thankful to say that in all my wanderings in the Himalayas I have only lost one other coolie.

Nothing more could be done, so we moved on, but the delay caused us to be overtaken by nightfall while we were still in the gorge, with no room to pitch a tent. I was glad to find an overhanging rock under which to sleep, and thought myself lucky to find a comparatively dry spot out of the drip, but it was not a very restful night surrounded by my coolies who, like all natives, talked for hours, and with the air full of acrid smoke from the wood fires which made sleep difficult. It was still raining when I arrived at Jongri, my next halting place, 13,140 feet high, just above tree level, and where our camp was in open country.

The following day I reached the glaciers which come